Chapter 351: Volume 1_Chapter 351 Guiman (21)

Volume 1_Chapter 351 Guiman (21)

The man couldn't subdue her for a moment, his anger uncontrollable; he thought she was merely a little girl, raised his hand and was about to strike her face.

An arm suddenly reached out, long fingers tightly gripping his wrist.

The man tried to pull back, but couldn't move; the strength of that hand was astonishing, and following it he saw the boy standing behind him.

The boy looked young, his face showing no expression; his overwhelming oppressive aura was shocking, followed by a terrifying pressure no less than that brought by ghosts and gods.

"Get lost."

The man felt a chill down his spine, the cigarette butt at the corner of his mouth slipped and fell to the ground, cold sweat poured out in dense beads on his forehead, as if a poisonous snake coiled around his heart, making it hard to breathe.

He couldn't understand why he would be so afraid of an ordinary boy.

But when his eyes met the boy's, he inexplicably felt a sense of familiarity.

When he was a child, a tragic incident occurred in the village.

At the village entrance there was an idle man who ruthlessly slaughtered an entire family in the east of the village, not sparing even the infant in swaddling clothes; when the police arrived, the pot was still simmering, containing the very child who had never been found.

When he passed by, he unintentionally met that man's gaze, which was exactly the same as the boy's look at him.

The man trembled as he clutched his brother and ran, unwilling to stop for a moment.

Wen Chijin approached the bedside, his gaze falling on the girl clutching a sketchbook and hiding in the corner.

He reached out and tapped her shoulder.

Jiang Zhi reacted intensely, shrinking her constantly trembling shoulders, shaking her head vigorously, and clutched the sketchbook tightly, refusing to let go.

"Sister..." he bent down, knelt before her knees, and grasped her trembling hand.

Beneath the girl's half‑fallen black hair, her small face had lost all color, pale and pitiful; crystal tears trickled from the corners of her eyes, and her lips were bitten white.

When she saw him, Jiang Zhi instinctively flung herself into his embrace, her petite, slender body trembling uncontrollably, terrified to the extreme.

Wen Chijin paused, then reached out and gently patted her back.

He knew she valued the sketchbook greatly, but in that dangerous situation just now, why didn't she hand it over to that person?

Wen Chijin's brows slightly furrowed, a hint of coldness appearing in his eyes.

There was only one possibility.

In the backstage area of the competition he couldn't enter, what did the person named Yu Shian leave in her sketchbook?

From an angle she couldn't see, the boy's pupil color was deep as ink, black and heavy, with murderous intent surging upward.

No one could covet his belongings.

…

After crying, Jiang Zhi lay on the lower bunk, sleeping heavily; overwhelmed by fright, she now needed to sleep well.

Wen Chijin took the sketchbook from her embrace, sat on the bedside, and began to flip through it under the weak light of the carriage.

The sketchbook contained either landscapes or buildings; the first page was the old‑city‑area house where they lived, with tangled old wires, buildings rising from the ground, and long‑neglected streetlights, drawn from her perspective, conveying a different feeling.

What rushed over her was her intense feeling for this house.

Wen Chijin flipped to the last page, and his fingers suddenly stopped.

On the white paper was a portrait of him; perhaps because the carriage light was dim when she drew him, she followed her own memories and bit by bit sketched his face.

This was the final drawing; besides this, there was nothing of what he had imagined.

Wen Chijin stared intently at that drawing for a long time, then closed the sketchbook and placed it back in her embrace.

…

One week after the competition.

The three paintings with which Jiang Zhi won first place in the competition not only appeared in newspapers, but also showed up on the news.

Several platforms wanted to collaborate with her, even hoping to buy the commercial rights to her three paintings.

Jiang Zhi refused them all.

Finally, following Wen Chijin's suggestion, she traded with the national news platform at a decent price and reached an agreement.

In the days that followed she was somewhat busy, and reporters who had come specially from elsewhere visited her for interviews.

Although she had won first place in the grand competition, she was a deaf‑mute; this fact alone gave it strong topical appeal, full of inspiration.

Time arrived at the winter break.

Every morning Jiang Zhi would shoulder her easel and go to the scenic area to sketch from life, returning home only in the afternoon.

Meanwhile Wen Chijin found a winter‑break job, leaving early and returning late.

That day, as she returned from sketching and was about to reach the residential gate, she saw two people walking ahead.

Wen Chijin, and the beautiful female classmate Song Yuwei whom he used to wait for each morning when they went to school.

She wore a full‑face smile, her eyes revealing undisguised affection; every gesture carried a hint of deliberate coyness.

The boy walked beside her, a faint smile playing on his lips, his steps unhurried,

Seeing this, Jiang Zhi deliberately slowed her pace.

Suddenly, several people wielding iron rods blocked their path, looking fierce and menacing.

Jiang Zhi could roughly make out what they were saying.

The gist was that Song Yuwei was the boss's woman, but Wen Chijin had taken the boss's woman, so he naturally deserved some punishment.

They stepped forward and swung the iron rods to strike.

Song Yuwei had never seen such a posture; she cried out in fear.

Wen Chijin dodged their fierce iron rods, appearing somewhat strained.

Those hooligans didn't hit Song Yuwei, so she stumbled away running, leaving Wen Chijin alone.

Jiang Zhi stood rooted to the spot, silently watching the scene.

Wen Chijin could naturally deal with those hooligans, but in front of Song Yuwei he would certainly have to pretend to be an ordinary student.

Jiang Zhi wanted to find a suitable opportunity to go over again.

This is the best opportunity to increase Favorability.

After a moment, seeing Wen Chijin struck in the arm by an iron rod, he retreated a few steps; just as the gangster behind him lifted his rod for a sneak attack, Jiang Zhi grabbed the easel and hurled it at him.

Bang—crack!

The easel shattered completely, broken pieces scattering on the ground.

The gangster who had been hit cried out in pain, immediately turned and glared at her, strode over, intending to take care of her first.

Jiang Zhi stared fixedly at the oncoming gangster, raised the art knife, her wrist trembling uncontrollably.

The art knife was extremely sharp, flashing a cold, metallic sheen in the deep autumn twilight.

The gangster, seeing this, halted his steps, not daring to advance further.

The siren of a patrolling police car sounded from afar; hearing it, the gangsters no longer cared about them and turned to flee.

The taut string in Jiang Zhi's mind snapped, her legs went weak, and she nearly collapsed.

Wen Chijin turned his head; upon seeing her, his eyes darkened.

He ignored the pain in his arm, quickly stepped to her front, grasped the hand tightly holding the art knife, took the sharp blade, and said, "Sis, don't be afraid."

Jiang Zhi's eyes reddened, her brown irises filling with moisture, bewildered and fearful; her pale fingers bore red marks from where she had gripped the art knife too tightly.

Recalling the dangerous scene she had just witnessed, she hurriedly signed: "A Chi, you're hurt; we need to go to the hospital, shall we go?"

Although she herself was terrified, she was especially worried about his body, extending her slender white fingers to clutch a corner of his clothing and refusing to let go.