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He didn’t know why Sheng Qingtang would ask such a question, but still answered, “Yes, President Sheng, last Saturday I had just delivered this piece of calligraphy to Master Wei Hou. He said it was his practice work.”
“Practice work?” Sheng Qingtang held back, nearly falling in the temptation to slap him, remembering this was not his own son.
He burst into an angry laugh, “With Wei Hou’s crappy handwriting, he has the nerve to say this calligraphy is his practice work? Is ...
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