Fu Jinghen snorted. Before he could retort with "Are you sure you want my critique?", someone prodded him in the lower back.
Fu Jinghen paused, the words on the tip of his tongue turning into "It's not bad."
Lin Luang curled his lips and muttered, "Probably doesn't even know how to start painting, yet so critical."
"..."
Wen Qiao fell silent, recalling the painting she had seen last time in Zheng Chen's studio.
He really did know how to start painting, and his work was even quite impressive.
Just as Fu Jinghen was about to say something, he felt a gentle prod in the same spot on his lower back again.
The words reached his mouth but were swallowed back.
He lowered his head to look at Wen Qiao, raising his eyebrows slightly.
Wen Qiao shook her head at him slightly, signaling him not to dent the young man's confidence.
"What is this inexplicable eye communication that I can't understand?"
