He sat quietly in the corner, his posture upright and elegant, surrounded by a faint scent of ink. Xin Youling liked this smell.
Jiang Ning held the brush, gently moving it across the xuan paper. His strokes were smooth and powerful, every twist and pause filled with an otherworldly grace.
The characters he wrote were as ethereal as his demeanor, completely free of standardized rigidity.
Xin Youling sat quietly beside him, not interrupting but silently appreciating.
The verses Jiang Ning wrote were: "The heart is like a white cloud, always at ease; the mind flows like water, going wherever it will."
It wasn't until he finished writing that he looked at Xin Youling and smiled, "Isn't this the busiest person in our class? What brings you here to play?"
Xin Youling pouted and, recalling his mischievous remarks from last night, said with a serious tone, "I need a favor."
