The room was filled with many photographs of Yang Fan from his childhood and various things he had collected.
Slingshots, various small knives, oddly-shaped stones.
Murong Yan also discovered many small trinkets, and surprisingly, there was calligraphy he had written.
"Not bad, vigorous and powerful, a style of his own." Opening the calligraphy, Murong Yan never expected that this guy definitely had some skills, the proficiency in the calligraphy was quite deep.
"Darling, I don't mind you admiring me, go ahead."
"Tsk tsk, you think I can't write? Your wife is also proficient in musical instruments, Go, calligraphy, and painting."
"Really, show me a piece." There happened to be ink at home, brushes and rice paper were readily available. Yang Fan opened the rice paper and handed the brush to Murong Yan.
Murong Yan didn't hesitate, took the brush, dipped it in ink, and swiftly wrote on the rice paper.
