Xi Rubao was almost petrified!
Eighteen years of life wasted, and it's the first time hearing that dear mom knows how to draw?
"Sis, did you—did you dial the wrong number?"
The "Xiao Sha" you know, there's only one, right? Mom, Gu Qiusha?
"Nope," Zuzi smiled at her and continued talking to Gu Qiusha on the phone, "Xiao Sha, don't you really like drawing gods from ancient myths? I think your drawings of Pangu, Gong Gong, and the young Shennong are quite charming. How about trying to draw Fu Xi?"
"Hmm, the look of Fu Xi... He's dressed in golden thread clothes, holding the Fu Xiqin and the Eight Diagrams, with such a commanding presence. Can you imagine that?"
"You don't know how to draw Nuwa, do you? It's quite simple. Ancestor likes plain white robes, enjoys flower-fermented wine, likes to... casually play with the sun..."
The little crow warming itself on the TV proudly fluffed its feathers.
