Mu Yunsheng slid his fingers under the parchment, and picked it up by an ear. The thick clouds of doubt swam in his keen eyes, as he eyeballed the contents in it; every character was neat and distinct in a beautiful way. "It's not your writing." His brain flashed images of her calligraphy that he had known.
Tang Yu's enthusiasm was shot into disarray at that one sentence from him. His hawk-like gaze was plunging hard into her composure like a sharp ax. As he hired himself out as a tutor in the Tang Manor, and the host, for a little segments of time, was under his tutelage, he just knew her calligraphy well. She sneakily dragged a long intake of cool air, disposing of her nervousness. She had tackled many such tricky situations before, yet it was his gaze that had been challenging her equanimity time and again. She ran her fingers on the tableside made out of wood with a black finish. It was coated with varnish well enough to produce a smooth surface.
