Chapter 110 Stealing Sweet Cakes
But all of this was Lu Tinglan's fantasy; Cong Chun did not shed a tear.
Cong Chun just frowned, like the folds of a steamed bun. The boy was a little puzzled, because there are no two identical leaves in the world.
Cong Chun's slender fingers involuntarily clenched the design draft in his hand, while his mentor was called away to a meeting by another teacher the next second.
The office was emptied of teachers in no time.
Cong Chun turned his head and looked up at Lu Tinglan beside him.
"Don't you... have a meeting to attend?"
Lu Tinglan was stunned for a moment. Why did this person have the leisure to ask about other people's affairs?
Furthermore, Cong Chun's expression was unusually calm, and he even apologized to Lu Tinglan in a sincere tone.
He did lose control of his emotions just now; Grandma said he shouldn't take his temper out on others.
Cong Chun had just accidentally lost his temper with the person next to him.
Cong Chun felt that he must have been spending too much time with the young master. He had never acted like this before. The boy sighed with some annoyance.
Lu Tinglan stared at Cong Chun's face, but the boy's face showed no sign of disappointment.
However, a hint of obvious disappointment flashed in Lu Tinglan's eyes. The man was a little irritated; he was now craving a cigarette.
It's not what I imagined.
Cong Chun picked up the file bag containing her design drafts and left the office. Outside in the corridor, the boy took out his phone from his pocket.
The next second, Cong Chun's long eyelashes fluttered slightly, like the wings of a butterfly. The boy's profile was smooth and beautiful, but his small face showed some worry.
Cong Chun's gaze fell on the pinned contact at the top, and after hesitating for a moment, he still didn't send a message.
The boy nodded affirmatively, saying he could handle it by himself.
The next second, Cong Chun's slender fingers slid across the screen, revealing the notification text messages in his inbox.
Two weeks ago, Cong Chun received a text message from a student who had filled out a personal information collection form online. Cong Chun had left his phone number on the form.
Immediately afterwards, Cong Chun picked up his phone and dialed the number of the contact who had sent him the notification message.
The boy raised his hand and put the phone to his ear. After a few beeps, Cong Chun was about to answer.
The corridor was completely silent; even the wind seemed to have frozen, not moving.
The next second, the phone rang behind Cong Chun.
At this moment, there was only one person behind Cong Chun.
Lu Tinglan's pale, jade-like fingers were slightly bent, holding a dark cigarette between his fingers, the smoke spreading around his thin lips.
The man squinted, looking somewhat pleased, his eyes unfathomable, giving off a half-smile.
Seeing Cong Chun turn around, her gaze fell on him.
Immediately afterwards, Lu Tinglan lazily held the cigarette between his fingers, letting it hang loosely at his side, looking unhurried and unhurried.
The phone rang from the man behind me.
Lu Tinglan also stood still, his quiet and deep gaze meeting Cong Chun's.
The next second, the man picked up his phone and extended his index finger to make a shushing gesture towards Cong Chun.
Someone called him.
It's a pity it wasn't Cong Chun.
The phone ringing was purely coincidental.
Cong Chun pursed her lips, her gaze falling on the unanswered calls on her phone.
...It turns out it was a disconnected number; it seems it was cancelled some time ago.
Cong Chun took the design drafts and returned to his dormitory.
He doesn't seem particularly heartbroken right now, but he's certain that his design drafts have been stolen.
Grandma had told Cong Chun that it was impossible for two vegetables to grow exactly alike in a vegetable garden, and the same applied to design drafts.
Cong Chun's current priority is to find the thief who stole the manuscript.
The "manuscript thief" is as hateful as a weasel in the field. He stole Grandma's baby chickens, causing Cong Chun to miss out on a bowl of chicken soup.
Actually, Cong Chun didn't really care about winning an award. He would probably feel more accomplished if the crops in his field grew taller and stronger.
However, Cong Chun also dislikes being wronged.
Cong Chun never steals food unless he really can't resist, in which case he will sneak a little bit.
When I was a child, my family was poor, but my grandmother would still prepare some offerings for the New Year.
Cong Chun still remembers it clearly: a red plastic plate with some beautiful large peony flowers printed on it was placed on the edge of the offering table, with a brown sweet cake on it and white sesame seeds sprinkled on top.
At that time, Xiao Congchun was small, and when he raised his hand, he could only reach the edge of the offering table.
Grandma said those three or four things could only be eaten on the first day of the Lunar New Year.
Xiao Congchun stared at the offerings on the altar for a long time because his grandfather, being soft-hearted, had secretly cut off a piece of sweet cake about the thickness of a finger for him to eat behind his grandmother's back.
Xiao Congchun carefully used his index finger and thumb to gently pinch the sweet cake that his grandfather had given him and put it in his mouth. He immediately remembered the sweet taste. After eating it, his fingers were still a little sticky.
At that time, Xiao Congchun would stare longingly at the sweet cakes placed on the red plastic plate on the offering table.
He was so eager to see her that tears almost streamed down his face.
The next second, he made up his mind, reached out and grabbed the red plastic plate next to the offering table, secretly tore off a piece for himself, and ate it.
Smacking his lips, Xiao Congchun tore off another piece.
Then, another piece was torn off.
Finally, after making up my mind, I tore off another piece.
It's so delicious!
Xiao Congchun thought he had done a good job of hiding it, but in fact, his grandmother discovered it a few hours later.
Fortunately, it was New Year's Eve, otherwise Cong Chun felt he would definitely have been punished. Every time he thought about it, Cong Chun felt lingering fear.
Grandma's slaps on his hands hurt terribly; they left his palms bright red.
However, thinking about these things made Cong Chun feel a little better.
The most urgent task is to find the thief who stole the manuscript.
However, Cong Chun couldn't think of who stole his manuscript for the time being. There shouldn't be any bad people around him at the moment, and Du Zelong in the dormitory had recently reformed and showed no signs of going astray.
However, like a small animal's keen intuition, Cong Chun felt that something was wrong with a certain person.
After all, he's not stupid.
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