After looking at a few questions, Meng Zhao realized that these questions were not difficult, just a bit convoluted. However, there were many questions based on real events. Although she could solve them with numbers, she was not quite clear about some of the ancient common sense questions. Just as she was about to ask Shen Qing and what, why hadn't they come over yet, the door was opened from the outside.

A tall, slender figure appeared at the doorway. He had probably lost a lot of weight due to the busyness of the past few days. Even though his plain white robe was tightly closed, it still looked somewhat loose. He wore a large black overcoat, which made him look even thinner. The moonlight outside also gilded him with a layer of silver light, making him look even more aloof and otherworldly, like a ghost.

After the ghost entered the room, it first turned around and closed the door, then walked towards the table. Its silk robe swayed slightly with its movements, vaguely outlining its long legs. Seeing this, Meng Zhao's throat bobbed, and he subconsciously swallowed.

After Shen Qinghe approached, he moved a chair to Meng Zhao's left, shook his robes, and sat down. Seeing that Meng Zhao looked somewhat dazed, he asked softly, "What's wrong? Is the question a bit difficult?"

Meng Zhao snapped back to reality, quickly reached under his nose and touched it, letting out a slight sigh of relief. He was secretly thankful that he hadn't had a nosebleed, otherwise he would have been incredibly embarrassed.

She coughed lightly and shook her head, feigning composure: "No, no, I was just thinking about something else."

Shen Qinghe smiled slightly and said in a gentle tone, "These questions were collected by Dean Gu over the years. He searched for countless people to find some of them, but none of them could solve them. Even if you can't solve them, he won't say anything."

His voice was deep and warm, with a faint warmth, gently brushing against Meng Zhao's ear. Meng Zhao felt a slight itch in her ear, scratched it, and subconsciously moved her body to the side.

However, Shen Qinghe seemed oblivious, leaning forward slightly to ask her, "Where are you looking? I've seen this booklet too, and there are many parts I don't quite understand."

Meng Zhao's head was spinning, and she couldn't remember which page she had just been on, but she didn't want to show weakness in front of Shen Qinghe, so she said in a cold voice, "Is this the kind of address you use when you ask questions?"

Shen Qinghe was slightly taken aback, then a smile appeared on his face. "Then... I'll trouble you, elder sister, to enlighten me." His voice was soft, with a hint of pleading.

Meng Zhao looked up and saw that he had just taken a bath. His fair skin had a touch of color in the steam, making him look more lively than usual. His eyes were slightly curved with a smile. He didn't look like an official who had already entered the court. Instead, he looked more like a young man.

Meng Zhao then remembered that he had just turned eighteen and was still a teenager. Thinking of this, he calmed himself down and tried to bring his attention back to the booklet.

This is a water conservancy problem: The imperial court needs to dig a canal between villages A and B, with a total length of 1050 zhang (approximately 670 meters). If village A sends people to dig, it will take 35 days to complete; if village B sends people, it will take 56 days. If both villages dig simultaneously, how long will it take to complete the canal? If, after the canal is completed, the village that dug less needs to pay the other village 100 wen (approximately 500 coins) per zhang (approximately 3.3 meters), how much money will the village that dug less need to pay in total?

Although this problem was still a calculation problem, it was impossible to remember so many numbers by mental calculation alone, so a draft was needed. As soon as Meng Zhao laid out the paper, Shen Qinghe reached out and took the inkstone that was originally on Meng Zhao's right, placed it on the table in front of him, and stretched out his fingers to pick up the inkstone and slowly grind it.

Meng Zhao is a food blogger in modern times. When she first started posting videos, she didn't get much popularity because the filming conditions were relatively average. However, there was always a special group of people who would like and comment on her videos frequently: her hand-obsessed fans.

They said their hands were extremely beautiful, and that they could cut ingredients with swift, powerful strokes, often going on and on about how beautiful they were.

Meng Zhao was somewhat puzzled by this. Although her fingers were indeed rather slender, her nails were kept very short because she had to cook, and there were several scars on her fingertips from cutting vegetables. There were also burn marks on the back of her hands from hot oil, so they were not exactly pretty.

So she always felt a little confused by those excited comments.

However, looking at Shen Qinghe's hands at this moment, she suddenly understood the feelings of those fans.

These were exceptionally beautiful hands, with distinct joints, long and slender. At this moment, in order to grip Mo Ding, the veins on the back of the hands were slightly raised, tinged with a faint blue, like a winding mountain stream, containing a kind of power called forbearance.

As he ground the ink, his black robe slipped down, revealing a section of his fair wrist. The ink gradually spread in the inkstone, as black as night, making his hand appear even whiter. When he stopped grinding, Shen Qinghe put down the inkstone and placed it back on Meng Zhao's left.

Just as he was about to withdraw his hand, Meng Zhao suddenly reached out and grabbed his wrist.

The air seemed to freeze at that moment, and all around was silent. Meng Zhao could clearly feel the pulse of the meridians on his wrist, thump, thump, as if it were trying to match her heartbeat.

Shen Qinghe was slightly taken aback, looked down at her wrist that was being grabbed, and a hint of doubt flashed in her eyes: "Sister? What's wrong?"

Meng Zhao suddenly realized, "Ah! I didn't wrap this ink properly, and it got on your hands! Let me wipe it clean for you!" With that, she reached out and picked up the handkerchief on the table, wiping his fingertips a few times.

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