He looked at those hands, which were thin and white, about sixteen or seventeen years old, holding a piece of home-made rose cake, carefully, just like his daughter's family.
Look at his hand again. It is thin and white, as if he is eighteen or nineteen years old. It exudes the aura of a sword, but it is curled up with a scroll of book.
"Continue carrying it after you finish eating, or you will be scolded by Mr. Zhou." It was clearly an old-fashioned voice, but it made the young man laugh.
"Third brother said that Mr. Zhou was scolded just now, so the eldest brother's memory is really bad.
The pear blossoms in the courtyard were swept in by the wind, fell on the legs, and fell on the wooden wheels.
The young man narrowed his eyes and smiled, and continued to deal with his puff pastry, the new puff pastry in spring.