Chapter 64

Ever since he could remember, An Jing had participated in all of An Xingmin's social activities. In his eyes, his father was omnipotent. As long as his father wanted to, there was nothing he couldn't do.

He couldn't remember what his grandparents looked like. They were said to be veterans who later did business for a few years. An Xingmin grew up in such an environment. By the time of An Jing's generation, his family could already be considered luxurious.

After running the business for a few years, Xia Guo moved to Lanzhou. Their house was bigger, with two floors and a spiral staircase against the wall. Especially on the second floor, there was a large study. Tao Yunzhou used to always lift up her skirt to bring the meals up.

She walked carefully, wearing high heels, so as not to make any noise and disturb her husband who was reading at home. She had to dress elegantly, because her home often had guests, or perhaps it was just to distinguish herself from the housework, and as the hostess, she had to play the role of a mother at all times.

Even knocking on the door requires caution, otherwise it would not be like a lady.

An Jing likes such a mother very much, while An Xingmin is very satisfied with such a vase.

"You're so ungrateful." An Xingmin ate his ramen, indignant, tears welling in his eyes. He said, "Tell me, isn't your mother's life good? She's got absolutely no talent, and we don't often ask her to do chores in this house."

An Jing ate the lunch his father had bought, and it tasted like chewing wax. Thinking of his mother's resoluteness that day, his nose felt sore. He said, "Why don't you let her go back to the drama troupe to dance?"

"I didn't stop her!" An Xingmin put down his chopsticks, paced back and forth, his hands behind his back, and spoke in a rhythmic manner as if to vent: "There is such a big study room at home. I asked her to look around more so that she could have something to talk about with me, but she didn't want to. Besides, who are those people dancing? In ancient times, they were called prostitutes! I really am..."

At this point, he rushed towards An Jing again, as if scolding her, "Put yourself in her shoes. Think about it, would you want your wife to wear so little and revealing clothes on stage... and be criticized by others? Oh, forget it, you're still young, you don't understand."

An Jing wasn't stupid, and could even be considered precocious. He slurped his noodles and muttered, "Didn't you get to know my mother because of her dancing?"

"I..." An Xingmin choked for half a second, then explained: "The problem is, didn't she marry me?"

As he spoke, An Xingmin's eyes welled up. He subconsciously reached into his pocket and pulled out a cigarette, as if using nicotine to numb his emotions. He said, "I called her but she didn't answer. I sent her a text message but she didn't reply. She's completely forgotten about us..."

After An Jing finished eating, he seemed tired of dealing with his father's expression, so he went to the kitchen to wash his own dishes.

His father might be smoking because the house was so quiet that he couldn't even hear his mother's voice, but the pink sponge dish towel she used was still at hand.

For some reason, sadness overwhelmed his heart, as if it had come too late. An Jing could no longer conceal his longing for the familiar. His shoulders trembled and he broke down in tears.

An Xingmin heard it. He walked over, his expression moved. He seemed to be about to say something, but stopped himself. Instead, he patted his son on the shoulder and said, "An Jing, Dad is a man of his words. I promise I won't give you another stepmother or anything like that."

An Jing nodded, wiped away her tears, and asked, "Dad, are you done eating? I'll wash the dishes."

"Not yet. It's okay. I'll wash it myself." An Xingmin went out, and within two seconds, he came back and reminded him, "Do you want to learn horseback riding? Or other hobbies? But I think you should read more. The door to the study on the second floor is always open. It's not about saving money, but there is a treasure trove of gold in books."

"Okay, thanks, Dad." An Jing replied, then added cautiously, "I want to learn painting..."

An Xingmin frowned, then pursed his lips, nodded, and said, "Okay, I'll hire a private teacher for you."

-

As spring went and autumn came, An Jing followed several teachers. He didn't know whether he had talent. He started with sketching, then learned quick sketching, and then gouache, but he was having trouble with digital painting.

"You are very talented to be able to draw like this, An Jing," said his teacher.

An Jing, who is already fifteen years old, nodded. He has been learning painting for seven years since he was eight years old. His current worry is that he wants to buy a drawing tablet, a computer, and the corresponding software.

"I know..." An Jing put his head on the drawing board, looking irritated. "Actually, I can clearly sense that my dad doesn't want me to continue drawing. The problem is, I really want to go further, but I have to spend money to buy a drawing tablet, a stylus, software, brushes, and even an animated mannequin made of wood."

"Art is such a money-burning business." An Jing sighed and looked at the various paint palettes in his room. He also knew that his father had supported his hobby for a long time.

His teacher laughed and looked at An Jing, this handsome boy with a deep nose and bright eyes. Although he didn't have long hair, his hairstyle was very neatly groomed. Most importantly, An Jing inherited half of his mother's beauty.

The male teacher, who was not much older than him, narrowed his eyes and said, "Do you want to be a print model? I have a friend who is planning to launch a fashion brand. Just do me a favor and try on a few clothes and then take pictures."

"Teacher, are you introducing a summer job to me?" An Jing looked up at the teacher. He was wearing light makeup, holding an e-cigarette, and looked to be about 27 or 28 years old. He had curly hair and was wearing a gray T-shirt, black sweatpants, and a pair of thick-soled sneakers.

His previous Chinese painting teacher, Mr. Li, was old and had a sprained waist, so he had to put the teaching aside for a few months. He was temporarily replaced by Zhang Zhimin, who graduated from graduate school and worked part-time to become a tutor. He learned a more mixed culture, so he looked very stylish.

He knew that An Jing didn't mind him smoking in front of him, so he stood up, leaned over, and while exhaling, he sprayed the charming peach scent on the side of An Jing's neck.

Zhang Zhimin asked, "It's very simple. It's like making some extra money. My friend is also very generous. Do you want to go?"

"I need to make up for my lessons. I don't know if I will have time then. My dad..." An Jing always felt something was wrong.

Zhang Zhimin picked up a brush and tapped the green carnations he had painted. He smiled slightly and said, "How old are you? Why do you still have to report everything to your dad? You're such a good boy."

An Jing: "Okay, then, I'll wait for Teacher Zhang to contact me."

-

When the appointed time came, An Jing was nervous, but still a little excited. To this end, he got up early in the morning, changed into what he thought was the most handsome outfit, and went downstairs to wash his hair at a newly opened barber shop nearby.

It was a wonderful thing to think about a little boy being a model, wearing trendy brands and shooting for magazines. An Jing was very happy about it from the bottom of his heart, and even subconsciously feared that he would not be chosen.

He didn't even dare to tell his dad why he was going there, and just said that a friend asked him out.

Dong Shangqing has become a well-known writer. With An Xingmin's investment, Guangliang Daily has to call him Mr. Dong. But anyone with a discerning eye knows that all this is the deliberate instigation of An Xingmin, the mastermind behind the scenes.

It is obvious that Mr. An is interested in politics.

Their family life also began to change quietly. An Xingmin often gave An Jing money and let him take care of himself. He let him make his own decisions about food, clothing, and transportation. However, when it came to school, large expenses, and life choices, he had to discuss them with his father.

The relationship between father and son is not close, and can even be said to be distant. An Jing always feels lonely, but An Xingmin always goes home during the holidays to make his presence felt.

Speaking of which, An Jing got into the same ride-hailing car as Zhang Zhimin, feeling a surge of anticipation. Didn't Teacher Zhang mention that he was a top graduate of Anguo Hallelujah University of the Arts? It was said that this university was packed with wealthy and powerful people, even those who could create trendy brands. Presumably, his network was impressive.

He didn't think much about it, because when they arrived at the so-called trendy clothing store, An Jing got off the car and followed Zhang Zhimin. From a distance, he saw two people, a man and a woman, standing in front of the door of the clothing store called "Aishang".

But the name sounded very ordinary, and An Jing was a little confused. He even began to doubt whether there was really a studio here...

"It's just right." The man at the door was a little fat, wearing black framed clothes, and dressed simply, in basketball shorts, long white socks and sneakers.

Zhang Zhimin patted An Jing on the back of the head and said with a smile, "What are you standing there for? Call me Brother Xu, I promise to make you so handsome that your dad won't recognize you."

An Jing said "oh" twice and went in. It was indeed a clothing store. There was no one else there. A woman followed him. She was tall and thin with poor taste. She wore leopard-print jeans, had messy golden hair, and covered her eyes with gray eyeliner. She looked very fierce.

"Come on." An Jing was pulled by her. She took out a leather ruler from somewhere and touched him all over. An Jing felt very uncomfortable and felt that his whole body was touched.

The art teacher he had just changed was eating melon seeds with a smile and chatting with the fat man next to him. There was no strange look in his eyes, and he said something like An Jing was a very talented boy in painting.

"Let's go, the studio is in the back." The woman finished measuring, but An Jing didn't think she'd done anything. Alarm bells were ringing in his heart, and he had a vague sense of foreboding.

He followed the fat man to the fitting room. Even at this moment, he was still imagining that when he opened the curtain, there would be a corridor leading to the studio.

Anjing opened it up and it was just a fitting room.

He turned back with difficulty and wanted to run immediately, but he saw the tall and thin woman locking the door, and he was slapped hard by the fat man. An Jing fell to the ground, his mind was confused, and he had no idea what they were going to do next.

Zhang Zhimin rushed up, grabbed him and kissed him fiercely, shocking An Jing's mind. He struggled hard, kicking and kicking, but the fat man held his legs down.

An Jing will never forget that afternoon. It was extremely quiet, with only the sound of his shattered values ​​and morals. He was covered in bruises, but he had fun as before.

He was assaulted by his art teacher.

Afterwards, Zhang Zhimin hugged An Jing, whose eyes were hollow, and took his hand, gently squeezing it as if to please him. He asked, "Little An Jing, is it okay to have a relationship with your teacher? By the way, will you tell your dad?"

Tell his dad...

When An Jing thought of this, he felt a chill down his spine and couldn't help trembling all over.

Yes, Zhang Zhimin knew that with An Jing's family, An Jing's personality, and even his father who always had his way - An Jing would rather keep it to himself than tell anyone about this.