Jiu paused for a moment, the bitterness in his eyes flashed briefly and vanished, saying, "I'm just a servant, after all, in the Imperial Court, there's not much charcoal for servants and Your Highness to use during winter."
Rong Heng gently tapped the table in front of Gu Lan with his fingertips, saying, "Focus."
The voice was serene and lingering, not severe.
Accompanied by the warmth of the charcoal fire, Gu Lan's pen flew across the paper, and he soon finished copying the passage Rong Heng had recited a hundred times.
Rong Heng looked at the unbearably messy handwriting, took a deep breath, and told himself to get used to it.
Seeing the look of disdain in his eyes, Gu Lan glanced at her own writing, then pouted:
"Brother Hang, although my handwriting is ugly, at least I'm good-looking!"
It's not her fault her handwriting is bad, maybe it was inherited from the Dingyuan Marquis.
Upon hearing this, Rong Heng first marveled at Gu Lan's shamelessness, then looked at her.
