Yan Qing couldn't help but burst into laughter.
He looked at Ling Yunyang, stared into his eyes, and slowly said, "Fourth Uncle, do you think I'm blind? Could I not recognize the style of my fiancée's painting? She has been immersed in painting since she was a child and has developed a unique style; soft yet firm, pliable yet strong, seeming illusions that reveal truth, ever-changing—a style that not even the greatest artists of our time could easily mimic. As for Liuli, whom you mentioned, she has no interest in painting. She's a martial fanatic, with only her sword on her mind and in her heart; she absolutely couldn't mimic such style."
Ling Yunyang: "..."
This is bad, he's met his match!
His opponent is too strong, with piercing eyes and a sharp mind, sight not the slightest bit impaired, extremely hard to deceive. What more could he say?
He deflated, accusing Yan Qing, "Can't you just believe me for once?"
