Hope You've Been Well [MTL] (Completed)

Chapter 91 Why Are You So Material? so vulgar?

    Gu Zhuoyan Quickly asked: "Then why did you call?"

    "I'm coming too, can't you?" Xue Manzi said, "If you have time recently, you can arrange it."

    Gu Zhuoyan said: "After a while, he is preparing for a show recently. Exhibition." Turning around and looking through the window, the makeup artist had finished talking and left, Zhuang Fanxin was sitting on the sofa with a tired face, holding a glass of water, not knowing what he was thinking.

    Hearing the sound of footsteps, Zhuang Fanxin raised his head, the sunlight from the floor-to-ceiling windows came in, and he saw Gu Zhuoyan standing against the light like a warm god. He stared at it for a few seconds, his heart felt hot, and he couldn't help stretching out his hand.

    Gu Zhuoyan grasped it and sat down: "It's settled?"

    "Yeah." Zhuang Fanxin took the initiative to say, "If you have something to do at home or in the company, go and do it. I'm fine. I promise I won't cause trouble again."

    Gu Zhuoyan Don't be afraid that he will cause trouble: "Make sure it's individual, go home now and have a good sleep."

    Zhuang Fan's face was troubled, the accessories were uncertain, and he couldn't find a helper in a short time, so he could only face the difficulties and deal with it alone... He held up a smile: "Sleep for a while, and then hurry up to draw the manuscript. "

    Gu Zhuoyan was very helpless, and accompanied Zhuang Fanxin back home. On the way, Pei Zhi called Zhuang Fanxin to inquire about his injuries, and told him that Jiang Hui was temporarily on leave for a week.

    At night, Zhuang Fanxin was locked in the workshop, with paper, pen, ruler, and all the tools needed for drawing in front of him. He stared at the white paper, like snow blindness, and did not write until his vision was blurred.

    He wiped his face, it was full of sweat, cold and salty, dripping down his forehead, suddenly, a hot drop fell, it was the tears he was forced to collapse.

    Zhuang Fanxin wiped it off with his sleeve, and forced himself to pick up the pen, but his hand was shaking, and the tip of the pen poked on the paper and kept shaking, making him dizzy. It’s useless, he crumpled the paper up and threw it away, and then wrote again, the third time, the fourth time, the fifth time... Every failure was like a needle piercing his heart, and the pain was like the palm of his hand.

    Gu Zhuoyan knocked on the door and came in. Under the bright light, Zhuang Fanxin's back sitting on the chair was so thin, and there were scattered balls of paper at his feet. He pretended not to see it, walked aside with a glass of milk, and said, "Drink it while it's hot."

    Zhuang Fanxin threw away the pen and hugged him, ignoring the pain from rubbing, and buried his face in his waist and abdomen. He saw the paper on the table, with a few messy lines on it, obviously invalid again. Zhuang Fan had an idea and tried to design a set by himself, but he couldn't draw it, not even a single stroke.     Zhuang Fanxin didn't confide in half a word, he seemed to be used to swallowing the bitter fruit all by himself, but Gu Zhuoyan knew that it was his dream, he won awards when he was young, but now he can't paint. He steadied his mind, not daring to guess how much pain Zhuang Fan was enduring.     This pain may have been as long as eight or nine years.     After drinking the milk, Zhuang Fanxin went back to the bedroom to rest, and swallowed a sleeping pill while Gu Zhuoyan was taking a bath. He was extremely tired, and the strength of the medicine overwhelmed his chaotic thoughts, curled up beside the bed and fell into a deep sleep.     Gu Zhuoyan walked to the side of the bed, watched Zhuang Fanxin sit quietly for a while, bent down and kissed that forehead, then picked up the phone and walked to the small balcony.