Whose hands are they?

As soon as Lin Hanxing's voice fell, han boming walked out of the crowd with a cold face and an unapproachable posture.

The moment he saw the old man in the Chinese tunic suit, his expression changed!

"Elder Zheng, how did you ..."

Han boming was pleasantly surprised. He was about to chat with him when he heard a thud. The teacup in the old man's hand fell heavily on the table. He suddenly got up and strode in Lin Hanxing's direction, leaving han boming standing in the same place with his hand still stretched out awkwardly.

The crowd burst into laughter to vent their anger.

Only God knew how arrogant han boming was in the past, so much so that the people from Fu Ruixiang also looked down on him.

"Ah Xiao's wife, from what you're saying, you know who made these two paintings?"

The old man in the Chinese tunic suit was obviously very excited.

"I know." Lin Hanxing smiled.

"Who is it? Who is it?"

The old man's eyes lit up when he heard this.

"Me,"