The door was closed, blocking the transmission of light.

Jing Xun stood still for a while, he unconsciously closed his eyes, and his eyelashes fell on his cheeks.

He sketched in his mind the picture he had just seen, along with the color and temperature, which he couldn't feel through the screen, and he was a little reluctant to leave.

He had just arrived and the painting was not finished, Jing Xun took out the tablet from the bedroom, walked to the paint cabinet, took the color he needed, took out the medicine from the medicine cabinet, drank water and swallowed a few at random, and went upstairs with some absent-mindedness.

He opened the tablet, unable to distract himself from the painting next to him.

Lin Zhi was making the bed, listening to 01 report on Jing Xun's movements.

He didn't stop moving, and after making the bed, he sat on the soft bed and kneaded himself with medicinal wine.

The bruises on his body were not only on his legs, but when he fought with the man who took the black box and his companions that day, there were several marks on his body, and there was no mercy on both sides, but his skin was white, and it seemed that the subcutaneous bruises were more serious.

The wound on his back had already scabbed, and he didn't feel much of it, so Lin Zhi didn't look at it.

There was an art decoration on the table in the guest room, which was originally placed on the windowsill, but it was shifted by Lin Weaving, which happened to be facing Lin Weaving's current direction.

The medicinal liquor was slightly warmed by the temperature of the palm, and it was attached to the left side of the abdomen, and the jade-white and firm skin diffused red from the kneading action.

Jing Xun looked at the screen very boredly, perhaps because of the dust or maybe it was wiped by someone and left water stains, which looked a little blurry.

His fingers wiped across the screen, which was in vain, of course.

The fingers pressed on the screen unconsciously forced, and the fingertips were slightly white, but nothing changed by any of his emotions or movements.

He wanted to wipe off what was far away from the other end, and if he could do that, he might as well see it with his own eyes and remember it with his eyes and brain.

It's a pity that he can't, which makes him sincerely have an idea, why is it his brother's lover inside, if it's his, then everything will be logical.

Jing Xun lowered his eyes, with some regret and regret in his eyes.

He placed the tablet on the ground next to him and looked at the unfinished painting in front of him.

Feeling interrupted, he looked at the young man in the portrait who had not yet been refined, trying to immerse himself again.

But his thoughts are chaotic, and other pictures about Lin Weaving arise in his mind from time to time.

Bruises appear on fair skin, bend over the waist on the legs and in more masked places.

Jing Xun put down the paintbrush, picked up the pencil on the side, took a new white paper, and sketched the picture in his mind.

It's not smooth either, because he can't imagine it all smoothly in his head.

The beginner painter paints the shape, and the advanced painter paints the god, and has long practiced the kung fu of getting a glimpse of the whole picture.

Jing Xun has been skillful at drawing human bodies for a long time, whether it is a static skeleton or a variety of mannequins, he can even clearly outline the appearance of his body from the direction of Lin Weaving's back muscles.

It should have been so, it should have been so, but ...... Jing Xun found that he couldn't imagine all of Lin Weaving in his mind, he could clearly draw his face, his back, his arms, his waist, his legs, he could clearly put it together, he could obviously do it!

But this painting can't be done, and even the picture in my mind becomes blurred, just like the most clumsy painter, who can't even reproduce it, let alone lose the soul of painting, it is not worthy of being a painting that is not a work.

I can't draw it, I don't feel it.

The things that he was proud of seemed to disappear in an instant, his brain went blank, and his temples ached.

Jing Xun put down the pencil and looked gloomy.

This is even more embarrassing than when he first painted, and even if he begins to learn to use his pen to describe the world he sees, he can still draw his feelings with immature brushwork.

The first time he painted a still life, even if the teacher changed the placement of the still life, he could still reproduce the details of the previous still life.

Now, like a beginner, he needs to look at his "still life" to depict, and he can't draw what he hasn't seen, which is a big blow to him.

What is this...... Jing Xun pressed his forehead, his eyes were bloodshot.

He thought he had caught the perfect tail, only to find that he seemed to be on the other side again.

Is it because what he imagines is a muse that does not belong to him?

Jing Xun stood up a little shaky, he involuntarily walked down, looked in the direction of the guest room, and looked at the watch habitually.

Nine thirty-six.

Halfway through, he pauses slightly, habitually looking at his watch again.

Nine thirty-seven.

Why do you suddenly have to go downstairs...... Jing Xun pressed his temples, glanced upstairs, and thought back to what happened before.

It should be to get paint, otherwise he wouldn't have gone downstairs on the way to paint, and where he painted, there seemed to be some emotional disconnect.

Jing Xun took the commonly used pigments, subconsciously opened the medicine cabinet next to him, and saw the drugs about nerves that he had placed there.

"It's actually here."

Jing Xun muttered, but he didn't care too much about the bottle being opened, maybe when he had eaten it before.

He poured a few and swallowed them in his stomach, put the medicine back in his hand, and went upstairs with the paint.

The white paper that fell to the ground was blurred, and many black lines were drawn to indicate negation, and the pencil was thrown aside.

There is enough paint on it, and some of it has not been opened.

Jing Xun was distracted for a moment, quietly piled the paint together, and picked up the paper on the ground.

He remembered nine o'clock clearly, he remembered nine thirty-seven clearly, and even remembered that he was drawing during this time.

Still forgetting something, even forgetting something that bothered him enough, the smeared lines showed that he was in a bad mood before.

The tablet on the side is blurry, and Lin Zhi can be vaguely seen lying on the bed reading a book.

In a very quiet atmosphere, Jing Xun stared at it for a while, and his eyes returned to the unfinished painting.

He had an idea, and he was eager to try.

He quickly descended the stairs and pulled out a lighter from the drawer with miscellaneous items, and in his pocket was a box that had just been taken down from the second floor.

He did not return to the second floor, where exhibits hung and a thermostat system and smoke alarms were arranged.

The bathroom door was locked, and it was still a little damp inside.

The box contained half a cigarette that had been smoked, wrapped in cloth and stored properly.

Jing Xun carefully cut off the part that could no longer be ignited with a knife, and his movements were a little rusty and he sandwiched between his fingers like Lin Weaving.

The choking sensation made Jing Xun cough in embarrassment, gasping for breath a little uncomfortably.

He gently bit the filter of his cigarette and looked at himself in the mirror.

This kind of taste is not good, what was Lin Zhi thinking when he was doing it.

The bathroom mirror was dripping with cold moisture, blurring his face.

Jing Xun came back to his senses at the knock on the door outside the bedroom, and he hurriedly extinguished the cigarette that was about to burn, rolled it up and put it back in the box, and opened the bedroom door.

"I'll return the medicine."

Lin Zhi handed back the small bottle in his hand, and when he saw Jing Xun's stunned appearance in a very short time, he knew that he had forgotten about it.

It also means that it is a shame that he forgot what he let him see with his own eyes.

Originally, he deliberately wiped the things in the room, just to increase Jing Xun's anxiety, but he didn't expect him to forget.

01 told him that Jing Xun's coordinates changed a little frequently, which was a common thing in other people, but something was wrong with Jing Xun.

"You forgot to take it away after you helped me knead it earlier, it's really bothering you."

Lin Zhi watched Jing Xun take the medicinal wine and said this softly.

It's a real trouble to forget, but who says you can't use it, you can play two tricks with one thing.

Wouldn't it be better if Jing Xun looked back at the surveillance records and found that he was lying to him.

Lin Zhi bent his lips in his heart, but his face was not obvious.

Jing Xun's hand squeezing the bottle of medicinal wine tightened, and his brain went blank for a moment.

He helped Lin Zhi knead the medicinal wine?

Where? Ankle? Or is it somewhere else?

Jing Xun was depressed, he didn't remember.

What was he bothering just now, what did he fail to draw, what did he do?

Jing Xun hurriedly asked himself in his heart, but he couldn't get any answer.

In front of Lin Weaving, he could only nod slightly stiffly.

"Are you smoking?"

Lin Zhi smelled the smoke on Jing Xun's body, and there was a look of disapproval on his face.

He looked at Jing Xun's somewhat reddened eyes, and said with relief: "Even if you are in a hurry, don't be too anxious, smoking too much is not good for your health, go to the place where he lives tomorrow, he may not take the initiative to contact us, maybe it is a bad situation to meet again, but at least I know that he is not missing for no reason." ”

"Actually, I don't know what to do, obviously I'm a few years older than you, and my uncle and aunt are not there, so I should be the main one to deal with this matter, but ...... I don't have enough identity, and I don't seem to be a good name anyway. ”

Lin Weaving's face was a little bitter, and his voice was low when he said the last sentence.

Jing Xun knew that he had misunderstood, but he didn't seem to be able to explain it.

He can't say that he didn't do this because of his brother's accident, but to taste the cigarettes he smoked?

No matter how you think about it, after he said this, Lin Zhi would run away immediately.

Jing Xun said in a low voice: "You can handle it, at least you can handle it for me, even if my mother comes, you can't say anything." ”

The young man raised his head slightly, smiled at him, and said: "Thank you, is this an acknowledgment of my identity, then it seems that I have to fulfill my responsibilities and take good care of you, although I can't say that I am a relative, but I am very happy for your recognition." ”

This is ambiguous and ambiguous rhetoric, instead of processing, whether it is as a sister-in-law or other identity.

Lin Weaving's eyes are slightly bent with pure tenderness, which makes people unconsciously immersed.

Even if he knew that this was an illusion in his disguise, he couldn't help but fall into it.

The more he is like this, the more fascinating the essence hidden under the mask becomes.

Lin Weaving: "See you tomorrow, good night." ”

Jing Xun watched Lin Zhi return to the room, holding the bottle of medicinal wine in his hand, and went to the second floor with a little fast heartbeat.

He had forgotten something so important, and he immediately called back the recording, and most of the blurry footage made him very anxious.

Time is fixed in a range, and Jing Xun is reluctant to fast forward and watch what happened in the past.