He Xiyan sat in front of the easel, picked up her brush, and carefully observed the man before her eyes. The brush in her hand moved gently and drew deep and shallow lines. In a few moments, she had drawn a rough outline.
“Jiahang, don’t laugh.” When about to depict the expression, He Xiyan reminded him, who would laugh every time he was taken photos or drawn a picture.
Chen Jiahang no longer showed his typical smile obediently. Instead, he sat solemnly on the stool.
“Yanyan, do paint me handsome.”
(He Xiyan)…
He Xiyan went on with her painting, especially when coming to the face part, she was quite careful. Every stroke was just alright.
Usually she would finish a sketch within only 20 minutes. This time, however, it took her almost 40 minutes.
After completing, she put down the brush in her hand and looked at the picture she had drawn.
In the picture, Jiahang was sitting on a wooden chair with a book in his hand. He seemed to be reading the book carefully, with great concentration. Besides, he looked very handsome, with three-dimensional facial features which seemed to be carved out.
In fact, Jiahang had a pair of very deep eyes. Every time he became serious, there was a certain kind of unpredictable calmness.
He Xiyan had painted more than a dozen pictures for Jiahang. She herself couldn’t figure out why she always felt that Jiahang in her paintings was different from him in reality.
The same was true of this one.
Seeing the painting finished, Chen Jiahang came over happily and smiled satisfactorily upon seeing the handsome himself in the painting. He said in lip language.
“Yanyan, you paint so well!”
He Xiyan smiled faintly. She just put the painting away and then put away the easel and everything else. In fact, she was not satisfied with her painting, because it did not look alike.
At this time, at a crossing not far away, Mo Yixuan parked his car in a lawn and got off, along with a black and short man. This man, Wang Zhi, was thirty-eight years old. He could only be described as ugly, especially the scar on his face, looking fierce and terrible.
Such two men stood together, forming a sharp contrast, one tall and handsome, the other short and ugly. The whole scene seemed somewhat funny.
It was already over nine o’clock in the evening. Darkness fell and the wind came. The countryside without street lights looked very dark. Only a few families nearby were still lighted, but the lights were very dim as well.
Mo Yixuan stood in the lawn, the short hair on his forehead wet with dew. He frowned, looking at the dim visible light with some hesitation.
He followed the navigation to this village an hour ago. Since it was at night, he could not see what the village was like, so he could only turn to one household with lights on for his way.
He felt it unbelievable that his Yanyan should come to such a backward place, where there was not even a straight road. Would this Chen Yan not be Yanyan at all, but simply look alike?
The original expectations turned into doubts. The huge gap made Mo Yixuan feel very disappointed for a moment. He took out a cigarette in his pocket, handed one to Wang Zhi, and lit one himself.
“Which household is it?” Mo Yixuan asked Wang Zhi.
Wang Zhi pointed to a lamplight 500 meters away, the house at the foot of the mountain. However, since it was too dark, the appearance of the house could not be seen.
“That house, that house is Chen Jiahang’s.” Wang Zhi said with certainty.
Since he had lived in this village for more than thirty years, he knew whose house it was even with his eyes closed.