'Xiao Wei', that was Zhang Zhen's handwriting.
When he wrote her name, he liked to use beautiful artistic font. He stubbornly believed that she was unique in his heart. Even when he wrote her name, he was very serious and never sloppy.
It was obvious that the word had been freshly painted. The overlapping traces were very clear compared to the dim ceiling.
From where Zhang Zhen was sitting, he could see Zhou Wei's name when he looked up.
She was unhappy that he would rather spend most of his time in the 'study' to compose, but she did not know that he could see her name when he looked up. This was probably the only other action he could do in this narrow space besides getting up.
Zhou Wei's expression began to relax for a moment. She paused for a while and the phone on the table suddenly rang.
The call was from Zhang Zhen's parents. They were asking when she would be able to pack up her son's belongings and come to take them.
