"Yicheng, what does this painting mean?" Cheng Hao looked at the picture again—fiery red sun, lively little grass, a tree bursting with fresh buds—didn't seem too special.
The weather was really good, with sunlight pouring in.
Cheng Hao thought about it for a long time and still couldn't figure out what was so romantic or worth celebrating. If it were up to him, he would rather give flowers, jewelry, or a watch.
Or, at the very least, go see a movie together—now that would really bring people closer.
He just couldn't understand what was so exciting about a painting.
"You just don't get it."
Pei Yicheng's voice was gentler than usual. He carefully kept the painting safe, a small smile tugging at his lips, and said, "Hao, help me find someone who can frame paintings, and have them bring their tools."
"Yicheng, just give me the painting and I'll take it to someone to frame for you." Cheng Hao replied instinctively.
Pei Yicheng shot him a look. "I want to do it myself."
