She stretched out her hand, as if trying to grasp the wind.
Lin Zhenxin widened her eyes in disbelief, slowly walked forward, and gently stroked the picture frame.
Soon, she found a unique signature at the very bottom of the painting.
It was very blurry, and if she hadn't already known what it was, she probably wouldn't have been able to discern it.
The author of this painting was her father, Lin Jusheng.
He was an unknown artist who died in poverty and obscurity.
And this painting of the girl in the red dress was...
A long creak sounded, and Lin Zhenxin turned around instinctively, frowning slightly when she saw who had come.
It was He Bainian.
The room felt even more cramped because of his presence.
The sound earlier was the noise he accidentally made when he bumped into the old door panel.
Lin Zhenxin didn't notice that when she turned away from the painting, He Bainian's narrow eyes squinted slightly.
