When Qing'er stretched lazily and got up, the last stroke of the painting in Chu Xuan's hands fell.
She was a bit surprised and curiously leaned over for a look.
The person in the painting was lying on the bed with a snow-white, delicate body, propped up on her elbows, holding a wolf hair brush in one hand and pressing down on the rice paper in the other, deeply engrossed in painting.
Her two white little feet were crossed in the air, gently swaying. Sunlight streamed in from outside the hall, and the fine golden chains reflected scattered glimmers~
The entire painting was only in black, white, and gold. The overall lines were simplistic, not confined to resembling reality, and more focused on capturing the essence.
But Qing'er immediately liked it, feeling even a little touched, "You haven't painted for me in a long time."
