Fu Beimo and Meng Li looked surprised.
As Caiyu's cursing faded away, Yan Funing changed the subject: "Husband, are Beimo and the others able to wield swords now?"
Fu Ciyi said calmly, "Okay."
"Very good!"
Fu Beimo and Meng Li both jumped up and clapped their hands in the air.
To make the front sword, you need to compose the picture.
That night, Fu Ciyi was reading in the study when Yan Funing knocked on the door and went in.
"I have no idea about the sword's dimensions. Could you guide me in drawing it?"
Fu Ciyi looked up when he heard the voice and saw that she looked serious. He then stood up, put away the books on the desk and spread rice paper on it.
After laying out the pattern, he picked up his brush and dipped it in ink: "Draw a few strokes first."
Yan Funing walked to the desk, took the wolf hair brush, and bent down to paint.
Fu Ciyi glanced at her indifferently for a moment, took two steps behind her, grasped her delicate hand holding the pen, and added a few strokes.
"The sword should have a bloodletting groove, so the enemy won't have a chance to survive."
The voice is cold.
Yan Funing felt inexplicably panicked. She had known that he was very skilled in martial arts, but now it seemed that he was very knowledgeable about how to take people's lives.
Her delicate body trembled uncontrollably.
The man's other hand passed in front of her and held her in his arms.
"Why, scared?"
Yan Funing shook her head: "How could I be afraid?"
At this moment, the man's chest was pressed against her thin back, his fresh breath fell on her ears, and his clothes were rubbing against her clothes.
The two of them were in this posture, as if they were rubbing each other's ears.
Only she herself knew that she was scared to death.
I'm afraid that my life will be in his hands in the future.
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