Chapter 9 Temperature Imbalance
Duan Mingxiao is naturally hot-tempered, and he can go out for a walk in short sleeves even in near-freezing temperatures.
He was as strong as an ox all year round and rarely got sick, so what he considered warm water was equivalent to cold water to others.
Outside the door, Cong Chun stood obediently in the corner of the wall, waiting for Duan Mingxiao to finish his bath, like a little mushroom leaning against the wall.
The boy stood guard at the bathroom door, ready to "rescue" the young master inside should anything happen to him.
Cong Chun observed the room's layout with boredom. The young master's bedroom was very large, several times larger than his classroom. Cong Chun stared at the wallpaper pattern on the wall, mesmerized by its exquisite and well-designed appearance.
After a moment, the bathroom door was opened a crack, and some steam escaped from the gap.
Cong Chun immediately stood up straight, his amber pupils widening slightly, because Duan Mingxiao's skin had turned much redder than it had fifteen minutes ago, making him look like a boiled crab.
The young master walked out with his upper body bare, revealing his muscular physique and sexy, smooth abdominal lines. He wore shorts on his lower body.
Duan Mingxiao was furious when he saw the innocent Cong Chun in the corner.
"Stupid Chun, the water is so hot, are you trying to scald me to death?"
[I almost scalded my other good leg so I could go to heaven to meet the gods.]
Duan Mingxiao stepped forward and pinched Cong Chun's arm. The boy's pinch wasn't strong; it was just a random pinch. He then looked Cong Chun up and down.
"Standing at attention?"
Cong Chun was a little unhappy that he had been pinched. He didn't like people touching him inappropriately, and he couldn't help but think of a phrase that his former teacher often said during class.
A dead pig isn't afraid of boiling water.
Duan Mingxiao felt good after he had done his dirty work.
The boy walked to the sofa and sat down. He ran his long fingers through his hair and casually touched the slightly damp strands. Cong Chun, who was standing next to him, stepped forward and offered him a towel as a reminder.
"Young master, dry your hair, or you'll have headaches later."
Duan Mingxiao stared at his phone screen and raised an eyebrow.
"Stupid Chun, are you cursing me?"
[Tsk, you care about me so much, I'll reluctantly let you wipe it.]
Cong Chun naturally heard Duan Mingxiao's thoughts. This young master always said one thing and meant another, but he was used to it by now.
Cong Chun put the towel away, speaking naturally.
"Then I'll go out first, young master. You should get some rest. If you need anything in the middle of the night, just ring the bell by your bed."
Duan Mingxiao pursed his lips, not even glancing at Cong Chun.
[Tch, who cares if you wipe my hair?]
"I've only temporarily broken my leg, I'm not crippled, hmph."
The next second, Cong Chun left the room, and the bedroom door closed tightly.
Duan Mingxiao put down his phone, turned his head, and stared intently at the closed door.
[Damn! Are they really leaving?]
After returning to his room, Cong Chun took a shower and changed into the pajamas he had brought from home.
The pajamas were already pilling, but Cong Chun cherished them very much. His grandmother had bought them for him in town a few years ago for his birthday. Most of the clothes in town were styles that had been discarded from the city.
Cong Chun's pajamas are light blue striped with a little sheep wearing a bell printed on them.
The design is outdated; if you said it was a product from twenty years ago, some people would probably believe it.
However, the pajamas were bought in a larger size, and the pants were so long they dragged on the ground, so I had to roll them up when I wore them.
However, the pants fit Cong Chun perfectly now, covering his entire calf and only revealing his bony ankles.
Cong Chun thought the place the Duan family provided for the nanny was excellent; it was the best place he had lived in in his twenty years of life. It wasn't a mud house where dust constantly settled on the walls, nor was it a cramped twelve-person dormitory at school.
The room the Duan family provided for the nanny had a brand-new single bed, a matching table and chairs, and a private bathroom, comparable to some mid-range hotels.
Cong Chun took out her sketchbook and a few pencils from her luggage. Originally, Cong Chun planned to continue reading the e-book she had bought, "The Babysitter's Guide to Childcare," tonight.
Unexpectedly, when Cong Chun came out after taking a shower that night, his phone screen was completely black. He patted the back of the phone hard, but it didn't help.
A hint of obvious heartache flashed in the boy's eyes; his phone, which he had spent a fortune of eighty yuan on, was now broken.
At this moment, the boy was already drawing in his notebook with a pencil. Cong Chun was drawing the patch of grass in front of the Duan family's house.
Cong Chun loves to draw, but he has never received systematic training. When he was a child, he would squat in the soft soil and draw with a tree branch.
After starting school, I borrowed some painting books from the school library and explored on my own.
In the countryside, the elderly go to bed early at night, and there is a lack of entertainment. After finishing his homework, Cong Chun often takes out his notebook to draw.
This notebook isn't the kind specifically for drawing. It was a reward Cong Chun received for getting first place in his grade at school. The notebook is dark green overall, made of very good material, and has a leather cover.
This thick notebook, which has been with Cong Chun for nearly three years, is almost finished by Cong Chun.
Cong Chun drew the traditional Chinese-style corridor and pavilion in the front courtyard of the Duan family. He drew it very accurately, not at all like a beginner. He did not simply copy, but added his own ideas to his work. After a moment, the boy gently wiped away the eraser shavings on the paper.
Cong Chun lowered her eyes to the painting in front of her, and recalled the time that afternoon when Duan Mingxiao had wrapped his arms around her from behind while they were playing games in the lobby.
The young master's pleasant perfume had a cool, refreshing scent, like the morning mist in the mountains, which made Cong Chun feel at ease.
A moment later, the pencil started moving again, making a rustling sound as it touched the pale yellow paper.
A bizarrely placed chibi-style pig appears on the original landscape and architectural sketch, riding a toy car. Though its eyes are small, it exudes an air of domineering arrogance that looks down on the world.
Cong Chun couldn't help but stare at the little pig in the picture, pursed his lips, and smiled.
Continue read on readnovelmtl.com
