"Your painting?"
Qiao Si looked at Ye Xiao, who was intently focused on the painting.
Her eyes were now filled with more obsession and seriousness than when she first saw him.
She thought the painting was more beautiful than him; she came for the painting, not to see him.
He felt an odd sense of discomfort deep inside.
"Yes, my painting. This painting was done by Zhu Xiang for me. See, the woman in the painting is me,"
Ye Xiao pointed at her own figure in the painting.
She did not understand why Zhu Xiang had only painted her from the back, when she was not even facing away from him at the time.
"What nonsense are you talking about? This is a painting that's more than a thousand years old. If there was such a woman in the painting, she'd be long dead by now."
Qiao Si felt that Ye Xiao was being delusional again.
She truly could immerse herself into anything, even into the character of the woman in the painting.
