Mi Bai didn't know how he was brought back to Qingfeng Bank. Whether drunk or panicked, he staggered back to his room, a narrow space that could only accommodate a bed, a desk, and a wardrobe.
His contract with Qingfeng Bank was not for life, implying he retained considerable freedom. However, due to his non-permanent status, he received the lowest salary among the scribes and enjoyed the poorest living conditions.
But he didn't feel bitter about living in such a shabby shack for three years. For a child who had begun fending for himself at the tender age of ten, this small room with a bed and a desk was practically heaven.
But he knew this might be his last night here because he had already decided to flee tonight.
He planned to take those children to another city to earn a living. Calligraphy and painting were his only means of survival. If he were to become a tool for producing replica artworks, he would rather die.
