C45

By the time Fang Meng Ru had woken up, the calligraphy piece had already started driving away. A gust of cold wind blew past, and her face was filled with a bone-chilling coldness.

Did she cry? Why? Was it because of the gentleness of the cold ink brocade that reminded her of that hateful Ji Zhan Rui?

He would clearly look at her with a warm gaze, clearly nervous about her injuries