In the study of the East Wing, the double rows of bookshelves against the wall were densely packed with all kinds of magazines and books, and there were some piles of yellowed newspapers on the bed.
The large desk was inundated with stacks of manuscript paper and rulers, with one black and one blue ink bottle isolated in a corner; the amount of ink inside appeared to be running low from looking at the bottles.
Zhang Guoqing pushed the door and suddenly remembered that his wife had blocked it since the day before yesterday. He shook his head and smiled wryly, then went to the bedroom side to enter.
In front of the bookshelf, Zhou Jiao was standing with her lips pursed, furrowing her brows and quickly flipping through the English magazine in her hand, oblivious to another person entering the room.
