C827 It Was the End of the Day Again

Shen Xiu, this kind of beautiful man, was satisfied just by watching him from a distance.

Xia Bing lowered his head as he looked at the paintings handed over by the students one by one.

It was a childish line of writing, but Xia Bing was looking at it seriously.

Pen and ink could be slowly cultivated the day after tomorrow. What Xia Bing valued more was the children's wild imagination