God forbids me to fall in love

"Moen Squire will become a world-famous writer in the future."

Moen blushed and looked at the line he had written on the brown paper, and tightly gripped the quill in his hand. After checking his handwriting repeatedly, he hurriedly crossed out the word "world famous".

His dark brown hair was still in the messy look he had when he woke up, and he was still wearing pajamas.

Untidy and unseemly, not what a preparatory gentleman would expect of himself.

Obviously, he climbed to the desk as soon as he woke up, and wrote this line of "dream" that made him embarrassed in the homework book.

Throughout the weekend, he didn't think about the homework assigned by Shanna last Friday.

Fortunately, on Monday morning, he still had time to make amends.

Moen stared quietly at the sentence written by him for five seconds, then sighed and tore off the brown paper from the notebook.

His grades in literature classes have always been poor. Teacher Shanna has commented on his writing many times as "rigid and lacking in inspiration".

Moen picked up the quill and dipped some ink, but chose to write down a line of insignificant words

"In the future, I want to be a doctor who saves lives and heals the wounded."

I am very sorry for his deskmate Dai Su, who "plagiarized" her dream in order to complete the homework.

Daisu often repeated this sentence to him when chatting, so that when he thought of his profession, the word doctor appeared in his mind.

Moen silently apologized to Daisu in his heart, and decided to confess to others at school.

Mr. Butler seemed to be knocking on the door, and Moen answered, and began to quickly pack his luggage.

It is time to start a new week of boarding life. If credits are deducted for being late on the first day, it will be difficult for the next few days.

……

"Did something happen up front?"

Accompanied by the frightened neighing of the horse, Moen's schoolbag rolled down from his arms due to the bumps, but fortunately it did not fall onto the road.

Moen bent down to pick it up, looking slightly sideways at the same time.

There seemed to be a group of people chasing each other back and forth through the alleys. Moen didn't know what the group was doing, but he had heard of them.

They are "street boys", a group of rebellious teenagers born in a poor training center, and their behavior is not very decent.

The Poor Training Center is a charity school specially set up by the church for orphans abandoned by their parents and children who are temporarily unable to live independently.

It is a pity that its establishment seems to have caused some new social problems while solving some social problems.

Everyone basically knows that this special school has a low level of education, and it is a delivery base for future street gangsters and vagrants.

Generally speaking, Moen would not have the opportunity to deal with this kind of person.

"Mr. Moen..." The steward tightened the horse's rope in a panic, "We may have to stop, I think the horse may have spikes on its hooves."

He turned over, led the horse to the side of the road, and glared angrily at the street boys in the distance: "Those scumbags always like to make trouble everywhere."

Moen also noticed that there were some strange debris on the road, many of which were iron wire or wooden branches that had been washed into the horse's hoof.

"It's okay, I'll trouble you to deal with this troublesome matter." Moen got off the carriage with a heavy schoolbag on his back, "This is not far from the school, I'll just walk there."

"Sorry, you must pay attention to safety."

Moen nodded and said goodbye to the butler.

He didn't have time to wait for the carriage to go back on the road, fearing that he would be stopped outside the school's wall, he felt a little anxious, so he started to run with great strides.

The big bag containing countless books and clothes hit his back again and again.

The wind in the early spring was still noisy, and Moen felt as if he was full of air-conditioning while running.

When he arrived at the entrance of an alley, he was about to slow down for a while, but before he could stand still, a swift figure rushed over from a corner in the dark, bumped into him without any reaction, and both of them fell to the ground .

"Ah..." Moen cried out in pain.

His bag flew all over and fell on him, causing secondary damage, and he felt like he was about to throw up.

The instigator dared to get up faster than him and ran forward, and Moen only had time to see his black clothes and unusual ink-black hair.

"Why didn't you even say an apology..."

Moen sat up slowly, and glanced at his left hand, which was scratched and bleeding a little.

He endured the pain and blew the dirt on it, and had no choice but to support the ground with his uninjured hand. Just as he was about to stand up, another figure rushed over from his side and pushed him down to the ground, covering half his upper body. on him.

Tall and thin figure, rare black hair, poor old black clothes... It was clearly the same person who knocked him down just now!

This series of operations did not give Moen time to be surprised, because soon something worse happened

A group of street boys with wooden sticks and iron rods in their hands appeared behind at some point, and one of the iron rods hit the back of the head of the man on Moen involuntarily.

With a bang, heavy objects collided, almost like the sound of bones breaking.

"..."

The man's breathing was heavy, but he didn't even yell "pain".

It took only two seconds for all of this to happen. Moen lay on the spot and was frightened. He saw some crimson liquid start to flow out from the hair of the head on his body, and soon the smell of blood was in the air. spread out.

"I almost hit the wrong person, I ran so damn fast." The man holding the iron bar spat on the ground on one side.

"Wait, it seems to be bleeding, let's go!" A voice from the crowd behind said.

"Vampires bleed too? Hehe."

"No, it's really unlucky... Anyway, he asked for it, why panic..."

That being said, a group of people disappeared as quickly as they had arrived.

The sound of kicking footsteps completely disappeared, and Moen's hands began to shake uncontrollably.

Almost, he was the one who fell here and his head was blown.

But now, he was afraid that he would witness a death himself.

Moen raised his arm tremblingly, his mind went blank, and he followed Ben Taoguan and stretched his hand towards the man's face.

Fortunately, he didn't need to confirm the other party's breath, and the man showed evidence that he still had vitality in time

"...I'm sorry," he said to Moen.

His voice was low and hoarse, but he could still be heard as a young man about the same age as Moen.

Then he got up from Moen's body, his movements were no longer as agile as before, but he still stood upright.

Only then did Moen see the other party's appearance clearly.

For a moment he forgot to speak, and even for a moment to breathe.

He has never seen such a good-looking person, every inch of his body is perfect, even if the other person's face is full of dirt and blood.

The man's eyes were finally exposed. Although he was still looking down at him, the brown eyes under the pair of slender eyelashes must have a psychedelic charm.

The morning sun came down from behind him, casting a golden light on his whole body.

Two streams of blood flowed from the back of his head to his slender and fair neck, all the way across his distinct collarbone, and hid in the depths of his body covered by his clothes.

This blood color added a lot of dangerous and beautiful beauty to him.

Obviously he should look very embarrassed, but his demeanor is only noble and calm.

Moen blankly handed over the hand that the other party extended to help him stand up, breathing very lightly the whole time.

"You, you, are you okay?"

The cold temperature touched by his hand pulled him out of his trance, and Moen hurriedly stammered and asked questions.

Can't be blanketed

A person's back of the head was hit by a heavy object, bleeding crazily, how can he be naked?

But the other party's performance is just like ordinary people.

"fine."

He said coldly, then let go of his hand, turned away from the sunlight and walked towards the dark and damp alley.

"...Wait, I'll take you to the doctor!"

Moen blushed in anxiety, he didn't know whether to follow.

Reason told him that he should go forward, and it was not a wise move to let a seriously injured person leave alone, but the other party obviously rejected contact with him.

Not to mention, Moen was both unfamiliar and afraid of him and the group behind him, and such ambivalence made him hesitant to move forward.

No answer.

Seeing the back getting farther and farther away, Moen stood there and waited for a few seconds, and asked again unwillingly: "What is your name, please? I will ask someone to deliver the medicine to you later, thank you for helping me just now."

In any case, he had already run away, but came back to take this blow on purpose. This kindness was enough to offset the initial collision.

The other party stopped giving any answer and strode away.

Was he really as unscathed as he appeared?

It does not seem.

Because, at a position about ten steps away from Moen, he fell headlong.

"...!"

Moen no longer hesitated in place, he stepped over the backpack scattered on the ground, and ran towards the fallen figure.

The cowhide book that fell out of the bag was blown wide open by the wind, and the dream that was "stolen" in the morning was directly exposed to the air.

The passing pedestrians stepped on it, and the mottled mud prints just framed the "healing the wounded" as if a striking highlight line was drawn for it.

Moen was a little at a loss when he came to the front. He wiped the sweat from his palms on his coat that was no longer appropriate due to the accident, squatted down and touched the ground on one knee, and with difficulty helped the completely unconscious man onto his lap.

The other party's eyes were closed, and the aura that was thousands of miles away from others was also closed. He looked so defenseless that he seemed a little fragile.

Moen hesitated for two seconds, and turned over the coat that the other party was wearing that was one size smaller than his body.

He wondered if the charity school, the Institution for the Poor, would embroider the names of the students on the inside of the uniforms issued to them like the boarding school he was studying at.

Probably all the bad luck of today has been consumed, he was lucky to see the name on the inside corner of his clothes

Vlad (vlad).

… No wonder that group of people called him a vampire, even the same name as the legendary earl who came from hell.

Moen put his arms around his shoulders, mobilizing all his strength to lift the man up.

The other party was a head taller than him. Although he was very thin, he must have a certain weight.

He had already made such mental preparations, but the weight he actually endured was still many times greater than what he imagined, just like there were countless sandbags or iron blocks hanging on this person.

Moen even had a strange illusion for a moment:

Supporting him is like supporting the whole world.