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  Jiang Tanyue bought a series of tools, the small cart and the small stall are all ready, and everything is ready, waiting to go out to sell iron plate tofu tomorrow.

  Lu Jingzhi completely forgot about this incident.

  She stretched out of boredom, then suddenly remembered something and turned her head to look at Jiang Wunian, as expected, she saw a world-weary face with nothing to love in life and nothing but this world.

   Realizing that the second sister was sizing her up, Jiang Wunian covered her face with her hands in an attempt to hide the anxious expression.

   "Xiao Ya is a level ten social phobic patient, are you sure you want to take her to set up a stall?"

  Jiang Tanyue nodded, "She doesn\'t need to talk, just leave the work that needs talking to me."

   "If it\'s not a small stall, but a back kitchen, you only need to face the ingredients, Xiaoya shouldn\'t be so flustered?" Lu Jingzhi touched his chin.

  Social fear, difficult to deal with.

   It is necessary to find a suitable environment for her to live in.

"I\'m looking for a suitable store. I prefer the one with a small yard behind the store." The two yards in front of the yard where their family lives now is the main street, and the store in front is a courtyard for people to live in. "It\'s not very satisfactory for now." Don’t worry, you can find it slowly during this time.”

  Lu Jingzhi listened to Jiang Tanyue\'s series of plans, his eyelids were heavy, and he felt drowsy.

  Before she finally lay down on the stone table in the courtyard, a word flashed through her mind, the word boring never appeared in her sister\'s dictionary.

-

  Lu Jingzhi was practicing calligraphy on the stone table in the yard, and was laughed at by Xu Shulou who passed by.

   "Why are your handwriting so ugly, like caterpillars crawling? My handwriting was prettier than yours when I was three years old." Xu Shulou felt that his eyes would burn if he looked at the handwriting on rough straw paper.

  Lu Jingzhi was not convinced, "You started practicing calligraphy at the age of three and I was three years old... I was playing with mud at the age of three, can this be the same? It is amazing that you still have a sense of superiority compared to the children of the aristocratic family and ordinary people!"

   "..." It\'s amazing that she is so arrogant.

  Xu Shulou was suspiciously silent, "You can\'t read?"

   "It\'s okay, I know a few but not many." Lu Jingzhi replied casually, and began to practice calligraphy diligently.

  Thinking of her, an excellent girl who went to school until the second year of high school, and now she started to learn to read, Lu Jingzhi\'s grief and indignation were also somewhat funny.

  She is not used to using a brush, nor is she used to writing from top to bottom and right to left.

   Those traditional Chinese characters with many strokes make her one head and two big.

   Hairpin lower case is impossible.

  She didn\'t write a single word as Dou Da to save face for this piece of paper.

  Seeing Xu Shulou was looking at her all the time, Lu Jingzhi handed over the pen, "Write two words and let me see if you are really what you say you are."

  Xu Shulou admitted that he was annoyed by this sentence.

  Having been in the imperial capital for many years, his peers respect him not only for his leadership, but also for him.

  When I came to this little girl, I actually had an expression of \'I\'m giving you a chance to prove yourself, don\'t mess it up\'.

   Complicated eyes.

   Reason told Xu Shulou that he should slam the pen aside now, raise his chin and proudly say, "You deserve to ask me like this."

  But emotionally, he took the pen obediently, dipped the pen in the ink and put it down.

   Don’t forget to dislike this inferior pen and inferior paper.

  Lu Jingzhi: "I don\'t have any money, I\'m just waiting for your gratitude fee to be in place."

   Everyone speaks words like a person.

   Lu Jingzhi compared Xu Shulou\'s writing, and it was true.

  Spready and unrestrained, with a self-contained style, the handwriting written by a fourteen-year-old boy is not inferior to that of a famous artist.

   No wonder he dared to brag about himself so much.

  (end of this chapter)