Just like dust

Chapter 1242 Su Mian VS Su Qingyan (44)

How could Su Qingyan be willing to sleep like this?
She went to the study room in the bedroom, took out a locked book about the size of an A4 paper from a drawer, then held a pencil, and carefully scribbled on the book.

Half an hour later, a vivid sketch of a character appeared on the paper.

Su Qingyan looked at Su Mian in her painting, the corners of her lips involuntarily curved into a warm and satisfied arc.

After finishing the drawing, Su Qingyan locked the notebook again.

The cover of the book is a snow-white thorn bird.

Nobody knows.

The thorn bird has gone through thousands of mountains and rivers, just to run to you...

…………

When Su Mian woke up, it was already past 7 o'clock in the morning. She stretched her arms lazily, but found nothing.

In fact, Su Mian had already woken up when Su Qingyan touched his eyelashes at night, but he was just pretending to sleep, wanting to see what this little woman was up to in the middle of the night.

Then, he squinted his eyes secretly, and saw that she came back with a notebook in her arms, and then she was lying on the table next to her, drawing something with a pencil concentratedly...

Su Mian grabbed the bathrobe, put it on her body, went to the study room, and took out the notebook from the drawer.

Oh, and a small lock...it's quite secretive...

He casually found a black hair clip from the dressing table, simply flipped it upside down in the keyhole for a few seconds, and with a bang, the book opened automatically.

Su Mian originally thought that this would be Su Qingyan's diary.

In the diary, he counted how he bullied her, how he humiliated her, how she wanted to escape from Sandalwood Bay, escape from his control...

Unexpectedly, there are hundreds of sheets in this diary, all of which are sketches.

And, like a narrative sketch.

Judging from the paper and pencil marks, this picture book seems to have existed for many years.

Some are at the entrance of an alley, a little boy is leaning against the fence and taking a nap, wearing sportswear, with the warm sunshine shining on his side face, looking extraordinarily soft and quiet.

Some were in a villa, the little boy sat quietly at the dining table, throwing all the vegetables and green peppers that he didn't like on his plate into the dinner plate next to him, with a schadenfreude on his face.

Some are leaning on a sports car and smoking a cigarette, his downcast eyes seem to be worried; some are standing on the balcony in a daze, seemingly deep in thought.

On the last page, he was drawn when he was asleep.

From the very first glance, Su Mian could tell that each of the portraits on these papers was herself.

From the beginning when he was thirteen or fourteen years old in the alley, to the man who threw all the things he hated on Su Qingyan's dinner plate in the villa, to the man who was in his early years, until his mother ran back to her mother's house, he did it more than once. Standing alone in the yard, smoking in a daze, and last night, sleeping next to her, shed his coldness, just like an ordinary man, holding the woman he likes, contented and peaceful appearance.

Although the lines of these sketches are very simple and there is no embellishment of color, in his opinion, they are so vivid and serious, and from the angle of view, they are all drawn secretly.

But even so, it is not difficult to see her concentration from every stroke of writing.

(End of this chapter)