"Why don't you write yourself?"
"I'm a doctor, I'm very busy, and besides, I only have ideas, no writing skills. You studied literature."
"Oh, so you're using me?"
"If you put it that way... well, I do want to use you. Do you want to let me use you?"
"You... humph!"
"I'm doing plastic surgery for free! Anne Hathaway, my lady."
"There's no such 'plastic surgery'! You're just fooling me!"
"Alright, so do you want to be fooled?"
"You, you... fine! I'll let you fool me!"
"Anne, you're talking as if you're suffering a great loss. Your face isn't red?"
"Haha... don't tease me!"
Back at her apartment, Anne Hathaway couldn't sleep all night.
Lying in bed, she couldn't help thinking about every detail with Zhou Mo Sen at the pier.
They were always bickering.
But it seemed like the bickering was just trivial matters.
Not important.
Now, they were more like a pair of old friends with tacit understanding.
