Li Mu Yang had indeed been far too tense just now, and he had indeed been far too engrossed.
With his mind free of distractions, he had focused all his attention on the brush in his hand.
Before he knew it, the scenery beneath his brush had come alive. The Snow Eagle spread its wings and soared high, its cry cleaving the sky. If Cui Xiaoxin had not helped him cover his lie, Ning Xin Hai would probably have noticed the flaw and seen through his identity.
After this eagle's commotion, Li Mu Yang and Cui Xiaoxin naturally released their clasped hands.
Li Mu Yang glanced at Cui Xiaoxin's slender jade hand and felt too embarrassed to reach over and touch it again, even though he had entertained that thought.
"It's fixed." Li Mu Yang pointed at the spot where the Snow Eagle had flown away and spoke. Because the Snow Eagle had left, it had carried away a patch of ink, revealing a corner of the mountain rocks that matched the artistic conception Li Mu Yang had described earlier.
Holding her brush, Cui Xiaoxin covered her lips and chuckled. "I'll finish this painting."
"Good." Li Mu Yang nodded.
Cui Xiaoxin devoted herself to painting, while Li Mu Yang earnestly admired her work from the side.
He looked at the painting, and he also watched Cui Xiaoxin paint.
The wintersweet's gnarled branches in the painting were fierce and twisted, while its stamens were delicate and vivid. It seemed as if a hidden fragrance drifted over, carrying a profound artistic conception.
The woman in the painting was elegant and refined, independent and guileless. Like an orchid in an empty valley or a crane beside a lake, she drew the viewer into a trance.
Cui Xiaoxin seemed to have found her inspiration.