The King of Cultivation from Sakurasou

Mashiro didn't answer, and instead climbed onto the bed like a cat and huddled in him.

Today's comics are no longer drawn.

Qianliu wrapped her arms around her waist and sighed. Seeing the sullen look of the girl in her arms, she lowered her head and said softly, "Let's go to the airport to see Rita off in two days."

"Hey send Rita"

She was surprised by his words.

"Well, your father has come to take Rita back to Britain."

"Pick up Rita"

Zhenbai's brain went down for a moment, and asked blankly, "Didn't you come to pick me up?"

"I lied to you."

Of course, Qianliu knew that Rita said that on purpose in the afternoon, after all, in his memory, Mashiro's father was quite an enlightened father.

Although he didn't want his daughter to become a cartoonist, at least he knew that the so-called artist shouldn't be forced by someone.

Paintings that are unwilling to draw are indeed unlikely to impress others, because emotions like this are surprisingly easy to show in paintings.

Although anyone who can draw like Shiina would think it would be better to be a painter, her father doesn't deny that he is one of them.

But he only taught Shinshiro to paint, and he unconsciously entrusted the dream that he could not fulfill to his daughter and bound her life.

At some point, at some point, he noticed that as his daughter was growing up, he began to feel guilty in his heart.

When the children of the same age were playing outside, Mashiro was always: painting, and when the other children were talking about dating boys, Mashiro was always: painting.

At that time, Mashiro's father realized that the possibility of happiness varies from person to person. For example, when he was young, he once wanted to be a painter, but he didn't succeed. Even so, he didn't feel that his life was unfortunate.

This may be the so-called way of life.

"real"

Shinji stared at him with anxious eyes.

"What do you think"

After receiving a positive answer, Mashiro was relieved, so he regained his motivation to draw manga, and ran to the computer desk to draw his own serial manga with a drawing board—the manager of Chunyuan Village.

But recently, apart from... this comic, she seems to have the idea of ​​opening a new pit again.

Qianliu didn't give any guidance this time, and let her think for herself and decide what to do.

Mashiro never doubted whether Qianliu lied to her, and while painting seriously, Qianliu and Xia Zhigao fell asleep while sending emails.

When he woke up the next day, he found that the bedside was empty. Usually, at this time, Zhenbai would obediently lie on his side with 987, sleeping like a peaceful cat, but today, unexpectedly, it was empty next to him.

Qianliu glanced at the room and quickly put his eyes under the desk.

The clothes on the floor today are still the same underwear, cluttered to the point of refreshing.

Qianliu got out of bed and moved to the desk, shaking the shoulders of the strange animal curled under the desk: "Mashiro, get up."

"Give it to Qianliu..."

"what are you saying"

Qianliu couldn't help but be stunned.

Then Shinshiro raised his head with a dissatisfied face, changed to a prone position, and wriggled out from under the table.

"It's dawn, good morning."

"Well..., no class today."

Really rubbed his eyes.

"I didn't say I was going to class, I just told you to get up."

"Qianliu, bad-hearted."

Zhenbai pouted and said, "It made me sleep so late last night."

"I didn't do anything last night."

Qianliu went back to the bedside to show his innocence, and prepared to change his clothes at the same time.

Today, I'm going to visit Zizi Sanqianyuan, the innocent and innocent eldest lady, and the arrogant and intractable Sanqianyuan Nagi at the Zi Mansion.

Feilu reminds you: three things to read and collect,

Chapter [-] Departure from Purple Mansion

In order to make Mashiro change into clothes, Qianliu took out a new set of pure white sailor suits that were more eye-catching from the closet.

Well, it looks pretty good in a sailor suit.

While he was changing his clothes, a real white voice came from behind.

"Qianliu, which one do you think is better?"

"Um"

He turned around and saw that for some reason, Shiro was holding a thin piece of fabric in each of his hands.