In his own eyes, Yan Qingdu was undoubtedly a genius.
In the eyes of the family, Yan Qingdu was undoubtedly a waste.
When he heard the name of the good-for-nothing young master of the Banquet family, Zhongliyin thought of a dejected figure, cynically curled up in a dark corner, resentful of loneliness or numbness and loss of ambition.
"How could it be? I'm actually a very easy person to get along with." Yan Qingdu smiled softly at him and said, "Come on, drink up this glass of wine."
"I don't know how to drink." Zhong Liyin was horrified and tried to calm down while holding a wine vessel named Qian Tan Bu Ying, which could pour a thousand jars of wine.
"This is strange. Your mouth has not been sewn shut. You can eat, drink, and talk, but you can't drink?" Yan Qingdu's tone was full of patience with naughty children: "Stop joking, drink it before you can get back the sword that you stole during the sword-making ceremony when I was ten years old. I couldn't complete the ceremony and was called a waste."