Wang Jian glanced at Gongsun Xing and replied, "All you do all day is use words to needle me. What else are you capable of?"
Gongsun Xing laughed as he unfolded the paper in his hand. "Without me, you'd have been buried long ago. Tell me, what do you think I'm capable of?"
As he spoke, he casually swept his eyes over the paper.
It had been several years now, whether in the martial world, among common folk, or within the imperial court, no one had been able to solve this problem.
He had nearly begun to suspect that the question was nothing more than a joke his father had left behind. Yet his father's handwritten notes clearly recorded the answer to the problem.
Over the years, countless people had attempted to answer these two questions, producing responses that were bizarre, varied, and utterly strange.
