Hao Jing handed a thick stack of printed manuscripts to Jasper Zhou. Staying up late for several days made her a little depressed. Her face was dirty, her lips were chapped, and her braids were hanging loosely on her shoulders.
But compared to the person in front of me, this is actually much better.
The person holding the manuscript looked through it carefully, and his chaotic eyes were rarely clear for once. There was a light layer of green stubble around his mouth, and his hair was full of fallen dust, messy and raised. Her silky and shiny hair has turned back to dry and even dull with split ends. She is wearing all black, which actually makes her sallow face look a bit whiter.
The room is much emptier, and there is a lot more white. On the golden wall, there is a photo frame hanging. Under the black and white color, you can still see the old man's white hair, smiling face, and smooth blue cloth in the photo frame.
Wisps of white smoke floated up from below, and then gradually dispersed to every corner.
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