About This Novel
On the desk, there is a piece of six-foot rice paper, with smoke and clouds brewing and green peaks emerging. A small regular script brush with fine brush is placed on the edge of the ink plate. Next to the ink plate, there is a wine bottle with remaining wine. Liangjun looked at the ink paintings on the rice paper. He never talked about painting with his father, not even a word. The same goes for Dongfang Wuji. He never asks about his son's work, whether it's easy, tiring, satisfying, or suffocating. Dongfang Wuji drinks wine slowly, one sip, one sip, pouring it lightly and savoring it carefully. Liang Jun sat next to his father. Finally, Dongfang Wuji finished drinking the wine, his face was slightly tipsy and his eyes were blurry. At this time, Liangjun stood up, went out, and closed the door.
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