With a delicate stroke of the brush, Xie Luohe's smile came to life, leaping off the page.
All that remained were the eyes.
For all these days, Zheng Xiu had never painted Xie Luohe from the front.
He had never painted her face.
If, at first, Zheng Xiu had been acting out of pique, perhaps it was a battle of wills.
But just as the thought 'It wouldn't hurt to paint her face just this once' crossed his mind, the memories of Gongsun Mo would inevitably surface.
It was the hard-won advice from his grandfather, the Painting Saint.
The words seemed to imply that when someone from the Gongsun Family paints a person, something happens.
'What could happen?'
The thing called curiosity was like a mouse, gnawing at his chest and leaving an unbearable itch.
"Dotting the eyes."
Dotting the eyes was the final step.
Zheng Xiu raised his sleeve, his brush poised in mid-air, but his hand began to shake uncontrollably.
The heavy snow continued to fall, landing on Zheng Xiu.
