In those years at Pingjing Prince Mansion, she often took out her father's writing samples to pass the time. As she looked at them, she couldn't help but pick up a brush and copy the characters, as if doing so could somehow fill the void in her heart.
During those dull days, day after day, year after year, her writing skills gradually improved.
She had overlooked this point for a moment and didn't expect her grandmother to notice it.
She could only think of an excuse, but her heart couldn't help but feel a bit bitter. If her father were still alive, she might not have been so muddled, stubborn, and…inferior in her previous life.
As Su Xinyi thought about it, it seemed that being in the small Buddha hall with its Bodhisattva dedicated to saving all living beings allowed her tightly closed heart to open a crack, and she couldn't help but let a teardrop fall.
