“Jintang, what are you writing?” After a few days of intensive training, Ethan Li hurriedly returned to Wesley Ling to comfort his “young mind” who was hurt by the soft soldiers, but he saw that Wesley Ling ignored him at all. On the contrary, he was struggling to write quickly, “hasn’t the table for the emperor brother already been written?”
After speaking, Ivan Li lay on Wesley Ling’s back.
Wesley Ling was squeezed, and the brush immediately poked a **** ball on the letter paper, and suddenly became angry: “Ivanfei!”
Ethan Li hugged Wesley Ling from behind, rubbing his chin on Wesley Ling’s shoulder: “Tired.”
When Wesley Ling turned around, he saw Ivan Li’s dark circles under his eyes, and his anger disappeared in half.
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