You have a bamboo horse waiting to be checked

When Xu Li came to pick up Qi Zhongshan after get off work, she was a little surprised. Her son was not immersed in his own business but was chatting with other children. This kind of thing is rare.

Wait for her to take a closer look—isn't this kid the little mushroom head?

It seems that the two children are quite eye-catching?

When he was thinking about this, Qi Zhongshan turned his head and saw her, and he didn't make a sound, but just started to pack his things on his own.

Ling Yifeng has always been a good hand in remembering people since he was a child. Although he only met once, he recognized Xu Li immediately: "Hello, Auntie!"

"Hey, hello. When I have time, I will go to my aunt's house to find Chongshan to play with." Xu Li smiled and touched his head, then helped Qi Chongshan put the packed schoolbag on his back, and reached out to hold her son's little hand, "Go home, say goodbye to my friends."

Qi Zhongshan turned his head and glanced at him, but still didn't make a sound, just waved his hand.

After Ling Yifeng said goodbye, he kept watching the two disappear from sight.

He thought of Xu Li holding Qi Zhongshan's hand, and he sniffed for some reason.

Ling Yifeng is also different from other children, he doesn't play with toys, he draws pictures.

He didn't feel that the toys he received were not good enough, but he didn't seem to be born with the talent to play with things like assembling models, so he put them aside after tossing for a while.Many years later, this evolved into something called logical thinking, which made him be tortured to death by various mathematical and physical problems that required abstract reasoning after entering high school.

When Ling Yifeng was painting, he was quiet and tidy up. Naturally, no one cared about him. When it was time to paint, he followed Qi Ming's example and put the scrolls into the side pocket of his small schoolbag, and consciously ran to eat.

It's just that Ling Yifeng's eating speed is surprisingly slow, as if his throat is extremely thin, and he can't swallow a mouthful of food for a long time.But he was a boy, and his appetite was not too small, so he kept eating until the children were almost gone, and he was still eating.He ate until it was dusk and he was the only one left. The aunt who was in charge of cooking couldn’t bear it, so she put together the rest of the dishes and warmed them up for him again. She couldn’t help asking: "Yifeng, Auntie Hello, okay?"

Hearing this, Ling Yifeng quickly took a few mouthfuls of rice, blushed and swallowed desperately: "Auntie, I'm sorry."

The aunt was afraid that he would choke, so she brought another cup of hot water and put it on the table: "Oh, Auntie is not blaming you, you take your time, Auntie thinks the food is cold, isn't it uncomfortable to eat?"

Ling Yifeng's cheeks were full, he just shook his head, the auntie sighed, and patted him on the back to let him breathe.

"It's okay, don't worry, Auntie will accompany you."

Ling Yifeng's movements gradually slowed down again.

He suddenly missed his brother again.

A guy who reheats his meals over and over during the winter while seemingly impatiently saying can you please hurry up.

By the time Ling Yifeng returned home after eating, the hands of the clock had passed six o'clock.But the room was very quiet, and he didn't even answer "Brother" two or three times.When he came out after taking a shower, there was still no one at home, and the cubicle and bedroom where Qi Ming painted were specially ordered not to enter on the first day. Paper, continue to draw on my own.

In fact, Ling Yichen, who is closest to him, can't draw, and no one has taught him to draw. To be precise, Ling Yifeng discovered that he was the only one in the whole family when he was very young, and he always liked to draw alone.After he came here, he saw Qi Ming who was always drawing on the board or setting up a canvas and painting with a palette, and felt an involuntary sense of intimacy.

Moreover, painting here is relaxing. Qi Ming will look at his paintings when he has nothing to do, and while praising him for his good paintings, he will add a few strokes to him and teach him how to draw, but At home, he always felt that painting by himself always seemed to make the atmosphere less harmonious.

Especially when he draws well, his mother often can't help but sigh after boasting, which makes him panic for no reason.

As if drawing is not a form of entertainment, but a crime.

Ling Yifeng put down his pen, lying on the coffee table in a daze.