The woman directing the moving of things wore an indigo-blue Suzhou-style qipao, her hair coiled up. A hint of smug smile floated on her slightly plain face.
"Sorry to keep you waiting, Miss Painter. I'm late, I hope I didn't keep you too long?"
Chang Xuyu stared at the newcomer without blinking, her breath catching for a moment. This face was all too familiar—it was Jian Shufan.
She slowly crouched down to pick up the bag and held it again, but her palm still felt empty.
No wonder these paintings were all odes to love or had sweet meanings. She had guessed they were for wedding decorations.
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