Wen Qiao and Lin Luang were both bewildered by Fu Jinghen's move, gazing at him in unison.
Fu Jinghen, composed as ever, said, "Your hand is positioned too stiffly; it would be better with something propping it up."
Since Wen Qiao was lying on her left side, having her right arm straight beside her body was uncomfortable, and leaving it hanging down for too long would also make her shoulder sore; indeed, a cushion in front would offer better support.
Seeing that Wen Qiao had no objections, Lin Luang had even less to say.
Wen Qiao adjusted the cushion and draped her arm over it, recalling Lin Luang's earlier comment, she casually asked, "I've been watching the movie for half an hour now, how come you still haven't started painting?"
Lin Luang's face stiffened, not sure how to answer her question.
He certainly couldn't say that he had been too busy watching Wen Qiao to remember to paint.
If it were just the two of them, Lin Luang would have felt less embarrassed to say so.
