"When our Young Master was designing the 'Golden-Threaded Robe', he composed a poem for it."
"Oh?" Feng Cang showed a strong interest in the poem. Seeing this, Fang Tong, following Murong Qiqi's instructions, wrote the poem and handed it to Feng Cang with both hands.
"Do not cherish the robe of golden threads, cherish the days of youth instead. Flowers bloom to be plucked, seize the opportunity before their beauty fades."
Feng Cang's voice was very pleasant to listen to. Even Fang Tong, a man, felt at ease. He just didn't know what kind of temperament his future son-in-law would have -
"Young Master Guanghua is indeed interesting! This robe, I - "
Before Feng Cang could finish speaking, a willful voice interrupted, "This robe belongs to me now!"
