When Hugo heard this, his face darkened, and his expression became twisted. If it was not Tyler who said this but someone else, he would have hit him a long time ago. He held back his anger and said in a low voice, “Mr. Brown, look carefully. Is my copybook really an imitation?”
Tyler smiled. “The authentic one can’t be fake, and the fake one can’t be authentic. It is still an imitation no matter how many times I look at it.”
Hugo had nothing left to say. How could he refute the words of the contemporary calligraphy master? The gentleman had more experience than him, so he had more right to speak.
'A fake?!'
These three words stabbed into Hugo’s heart like a steel knife. It was so painful that he almost died. He had spent ten million dollars to buy this copybook.
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