"Everything?" The man repeated Qian Jiangyue's words, "I am not omniscient, so I can't answer your question."
The amiable tone made him sound very approachable.
Qian Jiangyue looked at the man's painting, he realized that he didn't know why he hadn't paid attention to the canvas earlier. But when he did, he instantly understood.
Because the canvas was pristine white, without any other color, even more baffling was the paintbrush in the man's hand—equally white as the canvas.
"So tell me, why am I here?" Qian Jiangyue changed the question.
"What do you think?" The man in the wheelchair asked.
Qian Jiangyue frowned; he hated when others answered his question with another question, even though he was fond of doing the same.
"What I need is an answer, not guidance," Qian Jiangyue raised an eyebrow.
"Hmm...It seems we can't communicate effectively." The man in the wheelchair lifted the paintbrush and began to sketch on the canvas, the strokes were subtle.