Wenhao was slightly surprised, and he didn't know why his mother suddenly said that she no longer regarded Xiao Yan as his lucky star.

"Her act of kindness changes your destiny. However, you have already repaid her.

In the past four or five years, you have treated her wholeheartedly, cultivated her, and sent her company. Protect her and go to Shanghai whenever you have time. In both public and private, they have done their best to be benevolent and righteous. What about her? I'm afraid that I will only treat you as a brother. ”

Hearing that his mother said that Xiao Yan could only be his brother, Wenhao quickly looked away and avoided him.

Can't let Mo Yan fall in love with him, he has always had frustration.

Seeing that her son refused to look at her, Mrs. Wen simply stopped and forced her son to look at her: "Two clear!" You have repaid the blessings she has brought you. In the future, the bridge will return to the bridge, the road will return to the road, and I will break my mind about her. ”

Seeing her son's dark face, Mrs. Wen unconsciously took a step back: "If you can treat her as your sister as she did to you, you can still have a relationship." If you can't, just cut it in two, and don't have a good relationship.

I saw that she answered the phone just now, as if she had a sweetheart. Mom is afraid of you, afraid that one day you won't be able to control yourself and do something that you regret. At that point, it is too late to repent. ”

Mom's words were like a bolt from the blue. The writer was simply embarrassed: "Mom, I remember." ”

After sending Mrs. Wen into the bedroom, Wenhao's heart was extremely complicated and he had no sleep.

Mom was reasonable, although Mom never inquired about him and Mo Yan, and never knew about Wang Chengyou, but she accurately judged the situation, and the most terrifying thing was that Mom also saw his secret nature.

Because he felt a lot of emotion, he couldn't sleep at night, and when he got up in the middle of the night, the writer unknowingly came to Mo Yan's bedroom door.

Facing the heavy wooden door, he seemed to have a perspective function, and saw Mo Yan sleeping peacefully on the white sheets.

Mo Yan has always had long eyelashes, and when she sleeps, her eyes are closed, and her eyelashes should appear longer, right?

For more than three years, Mo Yan has kept her hair short. Seeing Mo Yan today, Mo Yan's short hair has passed his ears. That thick hair once made him fall in love at first sight. Now, he seemed to see a hair scattered on a white pillow, messy with an unusual beauty.

Messy, that is, feminine.

The writer closed his eyes and felt it carefully.

In his imagination, he slowly opened his eyes, the door opened little by little, and following the faint light, he really saw Mo Yan lying on the white bedding. Her eyelashes, as he had imagined, grew amazingly.

On the pillow with loose hair, it is indescribably tempting.

Mo Yan's breathing was very calm, and the light of the moon was cast into the gap of the curtains that had not been tightened.

The moonlight is as clean as a wash. Starry in twilight.

Mo Yan lay down like an angel and fell asleep quietly.

Maybe it's because the quilt is thicker, or maybe the indoor heating is more sufficient. Mo Yan rolled over and kicked the quilt. The back was exposed.

Long, fluffy spine lines peek out from the satin nightdress.

The graceful lines extend downward, suddenly concave in an arc, and suddenly rise out full.

The writer raised his hand slightly, and his fingers stroked the graceful lines like paintings. The touch is slightly warm and extremely elastic. is so real that the writer is intoxicated and can't help himself.

Mo Yan let out a nightmarish murmur, waking up the writer. Wen Hao was surprised to find that he was actually standing in front of Mo Yan's bed.

Mo Yan writhed uneasily.

The writer looked around in panic.

Mo Yan propped his hands on the bed and sat up.

The feeling of waking up from a nightmare in the middle of the night...... Some mourning.

Mo Yan turned his head slowly and saw the curtains that had not been tightened. In a daze, the curtains seemed to be blown by the wind.

Mo Yan raised his hand to feel the soft air supply of the central air conditioner.

The tension of the nightmare slowly relaxes in the warm breeze. She sat on the edge of the bed and searched for slippers with her feet. Once found, put on your slippers and pour a glass of water on the high table at the door to soothe your throat, which has been dried by the artificial hot air.

Holding a glass of water, Mo Yan walked to the window.

Outside the window, the moonlight is like washing, and the stars are shining in the twilight.

After taking a few sips of water, he pressed the charging mobile phone on the bedside table, and found that it was only one o'clock at night, Mo Yan put the remaining water cup on the wide bay window. I got into the quilt again, pulled the quilt under my chin, tossed and turned a few times, and finally fell asleep.

The writer who stood behind the hanging curtains, the atmosphere did not dare to come out, and he kept waiting with bated breath. He waited until the voices around him fell silent, and then he quietly poked his head out. found that Mo Yan was motionless and asleep. He wanted to leave, but his feet were like nails, and he would not obey him.

His eyes fell on the crystal cup that Mo Yan had used, and Wen Hao leaned over and reached out, held the crystal cup in his hand, and took a sip of the water that Mo Yan had drunk. Sweet as liquid. Unknowingly, the writer drank it to the bottom.

Cold water poured into the stomach, and the consciousness was awake.

The writer made up his mind and crept out. He didn't dare to stay longer, and retreated from Mo Yan's room.

It was so thrilling just now. Unconsciously, my back was covered in a cold sweat.

When I walked out of the house, there was no heating, and my back was wet and cold. Unpleasant childhood memories came to mind, and his mother's words also came to mind, and the writer staggered under the blow of two forces, walked to the door of his bedroom on the first floor, and pushed the door to enter.

The door closed behind him.

Entering the bedroom, still not sleepy, he began to smoke. One by one, before you know it, the room is already filled with smoke. He remembered what his mother had said: I sat there looking at the sunflowers, and sometimes I couldn't tell if I was me or the sunflowers. He sat there, unable to tell if he was awake or awake in a dream.

Before you know it, it's early in the morning.

Mrs. Wen silently pushed open her son's bedroom door according to her own custom. When the writer heard this, he panicked and wanted to cover up his ashtray full of cigarette butts, but it was self-defeating, and the cigarette butts were scattered all over the ground, and Mrs. Wen looked at them squarely.

Mrs. Wen's gaze wandered on the cigarette butt: "My poor son." ”

"Mom, please don't tell Mo Yan."

The writer cleaned up in embarrassment, and Mrs. Wen opened the window for him to ventilate. After staying up all night last night, her eyes were a little red, and Mrs. Wen took out a mask from the drawer, opened it and put it on her son's face. Although she is nothing, Wenhao has already followed her mind and lay quietly on the bed.

Mrs. Wen sat next to Wenhao, holding Wenhao's hand, and Wenhao gradually fell asleep.

After Mrs. Wen and Wenhao left the room yesterday, Mo Yan called Wang Chengyou as promised. On the phone, Mo Yan smiled and Yan Yan told Wang Chengyou about the day's itinerary, the relationship between the plot and the writer, and when she stood by the river, stood in the old and dilapidated dock, and felt the coldness of the river breeze...... The details of tying the scarf flashed through Mo Yan's mind.

She didn't mention it, on the one hand, she felt that there was no need to mention it, and on the other hand, she felt that she could not accurately describe the mood at that time.

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