"Keep Su Rui, if you want to go, stop him."

In the villa beside Junting Lake, Su Wuyi is talking about a large piece of Xuan Paper splashing ink and not raising his head.

Su Zhiyan stood beside him, seemingly in a dilemma: "What if he can't stop it?"

Su infinitely heard what he said. The brush just dipped in ink was hanging in the air. A little ink dripped from the end of the brush and formed a small ink mark on the snow-white rice paper.

"Are there any other people the old man wants to keep?" Su raised her eyebrows limitlessly, and a sword-like meaning came out of...