time? Let’s check it for you.”

Zhu Fenfen picked up the exquisite brocade box first.
It looked very modest but eye-catching.
She casually opened it, only to find an abstract painting inside.
It was a portrait of Su Bei.

Zhu Fenfen picked it up with her fingers as though she was holding something disgusting.
Then, she laughed and said, “Look! Su Bei received a portrait.
Hahaha! It’s very abstract and ugly.
What kind of fan would send over the drafts they drew when they were practicing?”

The others also could not help laughing as well because the painting was too ugly.

The portrait was really unbearable to look at.

“It’s such a waste to use an exquisite box to keep such a painting.”

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“I can draw hundreds of such paintings a day!”

Zhu Fenfen casually handed it to someone else and did not think much of it.

Su Bei suddenly knew who sent the painting to her.

Was it not drawn by Feng Ze?

Why had Feng Ze sent the painting to her company so casually?

Just how lightly did he take his own work? Why did he not do things properly?

Feng Ze was born talented and good-looking.
When he was in the United States, several famous painters had called his abstract art a masterpiece.
He was known as the Picasso of the East.

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He seldom drew, but each of his paintings had shocked the Western countries.
The auctioning price for his work reached an astronomical figure.

However, he had a strange personality.
He never opened any art exhibitions, did not accept any interviews, and did not accept any custom orders.
He would never mention anything about painting.

Many rich people would come to him with huge checks, but he would not even bat an eye at them.

The more he did this, the more people sought after him.

The more popular he got, the less Feng Ze wanted to paint.

Feng Ze thought, ‘Isn’t it just money? Do I really need to make money by painting?’

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