"Your husband is back."
Sister Xiao Qian turned toward him with a smile. Her hands deftly pulled a fine needle upward, drawing out a vivid red thread. She had casually tied her hair into a bun at the back of her head, securing it with only a chopstick. For a moment, she had a uniquely beautiful air about her.
Huang Lan merely wrinkled her nose without reacting, focusing intently on the white handkerchief in her hands.
"I'm back." An Yang walked through the door.
He leaned over to glance at what they were holding, and was instantly surprised again.
He had thought they were doing cross-stitch. After all, cross-stitch was simple and easy to learn. As long as one was careful and patient, anyone could embroider a splendid landscape. But he had never expected that what they were holding was actually just a piece of white cloth, without any little squares or precise coordinates, nor any pre-numbered threads of different colors. They were embroidering purely by feel, just like in ancient costume dramas.
This... doesn't fit Huang Lan's character setting, does it?
An Yang twitched the corner of his mouth and walked over to sit on the sofa. Sure enough, he saw Huang Lan holding a fine needle threaded with yellow thread, unable to bring it down for quite some time. She stared at the white cloth, hesitant and distressed.
He immediately burst out laughing!
"How did you suddenly think of playing with this thing? Isn't this something girls do?"
Huang Lan continued holding up the needle, but at his words, she finally glanced at him and said flatly, "Fellow Daoist An Yang, you're mistaken. Am I not a girl?"
"Uh..."
An Yang's expression stiffened, but he continued, "I mean ordinary girls. Ordinary girls. How could you possibly count as