About fifteen minutes later, Mu Xiangwan suddenly stopped her pen and looked at the painting with knit brows.
Oh, she was not pleased at all.
The lines were not smooth, lacked expressiveness, the shapes seemed stiff and hard from straight lines, and the uniform lines lacked vitality.
On an afternoon winter, the surroundings were silent, and the room was so quiet that you could hear a pin drop. Su Chaoyang noticed that she had stopped drawing, turned his head, and asked her, "What's wrong?"
Mu Xiangwan ripped off the paper abruptly, crumpled it into a ball and threw it to the floor, startling the model, "What's wrong with you? Why are you discarding the perfectly fine work?"
The girl pouted, "If it's not good, of course I'm not going to keep it." She looked up and grumbled scornfully, "What are you doing? Be professional, don't move!" As soon as she finished speaking, her face blushed shyly.
