Half-written arrangements were scattered on the ground. Many pieces of paper had two lines crossed out, with seven or eight such pieces beside Qiao Nian's chair.
After replying to Guan Yan's message, Qiao Nian placed her phone aside, propped her long and straight legs under the table, and glanced at the waste paper scattered on the ground from the corner of her eye.
Qiao Nian bent down, picked up a piece, and held it to the light.
The white paper was not thick, to begin with. When the light passed through it, the flamboyant scrawl on it became even more eye-catching.
Suddenly finding inspiration, Qiao Nian immediately sat up straight and picked up her fountain pen again, writing a string of notes on the paper.
Knock knock.
Someone knocked on the door half an hour later.
Qiao Nian said without looking up, "It's not closed."
