Zeng Qianqian's eyes finally returned to their original position, staring wide.
Ever since the legend of the Demon King spread across the land of Jiangzhou, she had fantasized about one day getting to know this mysterious hero, and even set up many encounter scenarios in her mind, but unfortunately she never had the opportunity to meet him.
As a result, her grandfather told her that the devil was the college classmate she once despised the most.
It's really better than a Hollywood movie.
"Grandpa, you're not particularly old. Why did you get deceived by that guy? He's a major general and a devil. I don't believe it. He's just a licking dog from an orphanage.
Now he’s an even more annoying liar!”
Zeng Guofu sighed and shook his head, too lazy to say anything else.
Anyway, there is absolutely no possibility between his granddaughter and Chen Yan.
...
in the room.
When Chen Yan saw Miss San, he found that she was actually writing calligraphy.
Words are like people.
Her calligraphy is graceful and elegant, and her frame is slender. The whole article looks very comfortable and eye-catching, like looking at a neatly printed calligraphy and painting.
"Good words!"
When the third lady finished writing a poem about Liangzhou in one breath, Chen Yan said with a smile.
The third young lady was wearing a long white dress today, and her hair was like ink, which was in line with the artistic conception of writing now. She gently put down the brush, looked up at Chen Yan, and raised her eyebrows slightly: "You also know how to write?"
Chen Yan smiled casually: "What age are we in now? Nine-year compulsory education has been available for decades. You can't find many people who can't write."
The third lady burst out laughing.
That expression is like talking about falling in love with a cow.
He said casually: "Then tell me, what's so good about me?"
Chen Yan chuckled: "Your handwriting is just a good-looking imitation, every stroke is regular, and there is no overstep. However, your handwriting is like a tiger painting. Your handwriting is good-looking, but it has no soul."
The third lady was unhappy and actually said her writing had no soul.
"You are said to be fat and you are out of breath, but you can still see the soul of words? So you are a master of words? How many words can you write!"
Chen Yan shook his head: "Forget it, I'll have a baby today."
The third lady insisted on letting him write it.
"Okay, let's write a few."
Chen Yan had no choice but to ask him to come with a purpose and to ask her to look for Jiuqu Tianxiang. He immediately picked up a piece of white paper and placed it on the table.
The third lady has an illusion.
The moment Chen Yan picked up his pen and closed his eyes, he seemed to have become a profound literary master, with an air of erudition and talent about him.
The next second.
I saw him suddenly open his eyes.
He had an aura as sharp as a sword.
"Why...are you still using it like this?"
The third lady was stunned for a moment, and then she saw the pen in Chen Yan's hand, which was suddenly pointed on the paper. Then the pen moved like a dragon, its momentum penetrated the paper, and became more and more fierce.
In the blink of an eye, write the next text.
The content is exactly the same as what the third lady wrote before.
The third lady looked at what he had written and didn't take it seriously at first. The whole length of the text felt a bit messy and incomparable with her own article. But then when she looked at each word carefully, she suddenly felt different.