Yan Funing's beautiful eyes were hazy as she said seriously and earnestly, "No, your hands are really beautiful. They are the most beautiful hands I have ever seen on a man!"
None of the male stars on modern TV have hands as pretty as his.
His hands are slender with even joints and his skin is as white as jade, giving off a strong impression at first glance.
Anyway, it looks very good and suits her aesthetic taste.
Fu Ciyi wondered, does she have a habit of staring at men's hands?
How many men has she seen, and how many men's hands has she stared at?
Thinking this way, I wrote a lot faster.
Suddenly, Yan Funing looked at her right hand. There was a scar on the palm of her hand, and the tip of her index finger was burned, with the red mark still there.
Comparing myself to him, I feel so sad.
So she stopped looking at his hand and reached out to touch the wolf-hair brush hanging on the pen holder.
She gently stroked a stack of rice paper on the front of the table. The rice paper felt very good to the touch, and she couldn't help but touch it with her fingertips several times.
She was afraid that he would not allow her to touch his things, so she touched them secretly.
Fu Ciyi caught a glimpse of her series of small movements out of the corner of his eye, looking aggrieved and pitiful.
"You want me to teach you how to read and write?"
His voice was low and mellow, like the night outside the window.
Yan Funing woke up immediately and sat up straight: "Are you willing to teach me?"
He said calmly, "If you are stupid, I will never teach you."
"I'm so smart."
Yan Funing said this, but she was secretly complaining that the requirements were still so high.
Shouldn't he reflect on himself for not teaching her well?
Of course, she will definitely learn well.
Fu Ciyi retorted coldly: "Can being smart get you burned?"
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