don't make me wear a skirt

"An ordinary letter." Hecha spread it out, and it was covered with traces of various visible potions.

John Bar commented: "The more common the more strange."

Hecha put the letter back in the envelope, glued the seal back on, and handed it to John Bar.

John Bar seemed puzzled: "Are you...?"

He Cha raised his eyebrows and looked at him: "If there is an inside story, it must be shared with someone who can understand it."

"Do you think Miss Lanny can understand?" John Bar didn't quite agree: "But didn't you always suspect that she was fake?"

"Not her."

He Cha tapped his ring finger on the table and replied after a while, "I'm talking about the manservant you brought back."

Kerry was indeed extremely suspicious. He said that he was Miss Laney's personal servant, but he did not expose her false identity. Most importantly, he was still a survivor.

John Bar was lost in memory, and pondered: "If he and Lanny Omans are in the same group, it would be easy to understand."

Hecha raised his eyebrows: "At first I thought so too, but a few days ago when I saw him staring at Lanny with cold eyes, I realized that his identity seemed to run counter to our thinking."

"If Lanny is not with him..." John Ba hypothesized, "Then why do you want to help her hide her identity?"

Hecha sighed: "This is another doubtful point."

John Bar was silent. In fact, he couldn't think of a reason for Kerry to help Lanny keep the secret. No matter what capacity he entered the castle, doing any cover-up that could be exposed at any time would do harm but no benefit.

Racking his brains was not as accurate as practice, so he called Kerry.

The valet maintained his usual submissive style, hunched over and rubbed his hands as he walked in.

"This is a letter from Earl Omans to Miss Lanny." John Bar observed his expression: "Go and give it to her."

"Good sir." Kerry put the letter in his pocket and left with his head down.

John Bar gestured to a guard in the corner with his eyes.

After Kerry closed the door, the guard immediately raised his leg and followed.

Halfway through the walk, Keli's eyeballs gradually tilted back, and then with a "plop", he fell to the ground.

The guard hiding around the corner: "..."

Kerry screamed in pain, struggled to get up, patted his pants, got up again, and limped forward.

Lytle is working out diligently.

He aspires to be a man with eight-pack abs, but this grand ambition has not yet been realized.His strong muscles at least prevented him from being unable to resist when Duke Hecha hugged him.

"One, two, three...twelve...ah no..."

Lytle collapsed to the ground.

Tisha showed a gratified expression and applauded him: "You have made great progress, and you have done two more than last year."

"A strong sense of crisis has prompted me to make progress." Lytle panted heavily, raised his eyes and asked, "Do you think that with my current progress, I can take shape in a few days?"

"If you insist on it every day..." Tisha lowered her head and thought, "It will be about 20 years later."

Lytle questioned disbelievingly: "Isn't it 20 days?"

"You need to know." Tisha said slowly, "You do twelve push-ups a day, not 120."

Lytle lay back on the big soft bed: "Then what else should I do, I might as well sleep more when I have this time."

Tisha had a familiar expression on her face: "As long as you can bear being crushed and cried by Duke Hecha in the future, continue to lie down."

Lytle suddenly rolled out of bed in fright.

Terrible, the scariest prodding I've ever heard.

He quickly got up and did a few more, but his sore arms couldn't support his whole body, so he could only stick up his buttocks and squirm a few times.

"Miss Lanny." Kerry's knock sounded from outside the door.

"Not good." Lytle hurriedly got himself into the long skirt: "Tisha—help me put it on!"

Tisha pushed the skirt hard on him, and pinched the flesh around his waist: "You seem to have gained a lot of weight recently?"

"Aw!" Lytle wailed, almost falling down: "How many times have I told you, don't touch my waist!"

"But this skirt has been torn by you." Tisha pointed to a row of torn holes and sighed.

Lytle snorted coldly: "Inferior fabrics, He Zhan's stingy stuff will really save money."

Tisha: "..."

Ke Li looked at the girl with messy hair, disheveled clothes, and two little feet in front of her, and lost her voice instantly.

"Are you...?"

"Clean up."

Lytle snatched the broom in Tisha's hand and stood it upside down on the floor, wiping the unnecessary dirt on his face: "There are too many fleas this year."

Carey immediately slapped his horse and said, "God, you actually cleaned it yourself, no nobleman can do it better than you..."

"So what's the matter with you?" Lytle shook the ashes on the broom and interrupted him with a fierce face.

"Actually, I'm here to deliver the letter that Earl Omans sent you home." Kerry stuffed the letter into Lytle's arms, and slipped away like a whirlwind in a very sensible manner in order not to be buried.

In an instant, his short figure shrank into a small dot.

"It's running pretty fast." Lytle uncomfortably tugged at the air-leaking skirt, and closed the door with a "slap".

He opened the envelope and read aloud word by word: "Oh, dear Mud, my favorite daughter, you must have arrived in Moyeweiya City, right? How are you getting along with Duke Drinking Tea? Without the company of the doll I don't know if I'm used to sleeping at night..."

Lytle couldn't read halfway through.

"I didn't expect Omans to be illiterate."

He threw the letter paper on the low coffee table in disgust: "Even my daughter's name is wrong."

He also wrote Hecha as drinking tea, which is a good job.

"You can't require every nobleman to be an intellectual, and they don't need to go to school before they inherit the title." Tisha sewed up the torn long dress one by one, her eyes subconsciously glanced at the letter paper, but she soon became unbearable. moved away.

"Makes sense."

Lytle put one arm on the seat, swayed for a while, suddenly thought of something, took out a bottle of colorless medicine from the interspatial bag, put on gloves, and poured it on the letter paper.

No writing appeared.

"I thought Omans would do something." He flipped the letter over and over to check: "Writing such an ordinary letter home doesn't seem to fit his style."

"Don't you want to get involved in disputes?" Tisha was surprised by the host's change of attitude every day: "A few days ago, you didn't even have the slightest interest in it."

Lytle crossed his legs and narrowed his eyes: "Because I suddenly want to understand something."