Zhu Yourong nonchalantly took Zhao Rong's hand and pulled it towards her. Then she flattened his slightly stiff fingers and looked carefully at his palm.
After regaining his senses, Zhao Rong reacted and tried to withdraw his hand, but to no avail.
"If you want my help explaining, then don't move."
Help? Zhao Rong's forehead creased with black lines. Why did he feel like she was deliberately making things worse for him, as if to hurry along his demise by adding fuel to the fire?
Zhu Yourong bit her lip in concentration and extended a jade-like finger, starting to write on Zhao Rong's palm.
Zhao Rong, realizing her intention, said helplessly, "Zhu Yourong, Teacher Zhu! I know you write well, but please stop writing on my hand."
Zhu Yourong ignored him, leisurely finishing the character on his palm: 正 (Zheng/Right).
