Chapter 192: Competitiveness
Her dressing room was converted from a previous guest room. In addition to the dressing room, there is also a renovated bathroom with an extra-large bathtub.
When Yu Huan saw the bathtub, he had a bad feeling and pulled Meng Han away before he could speak.
She always felt that he had bad intentions.
Coming out of the cloakroom and passing by Meng Han's study, she suddenly stopped and turned to ask Meng Han: "From now on, can I come in and out of this room as I please?"
Meng Han opened the door directly and said, "Since you're here, I guess I won't come in here often in the future."
The implication of these words made Yu Huan's face turn red again.
"Is it just for that reason every time you come in?"
The reason was something only she and Meng Han knew, and it was what Meng Han told her last time in this room.
He writes just to suppress his desires.
"Um."
He answered frankly. In front of Yu Huan, he no longer had any thoughts of hiding his true self.
The two walked into the house. Compared to last time, the house was much cleaner and tidier, and the previous words were gone.
The two times Yu Huan came in, he only took a quick glance and didn't observe carefully. Now he was curious about every item inside and looked at it very carefully.
In addition to countless sets of brushes, ink, paper and inkstones, there are also some calligraphy and paintings by famous artists. Among them, Yu Huan saw a piece of calligraphy with only one "Han" in the writing, and the time was twenty years ago.
Twenty years ago, Meng Han was only 13 years old.
She couldn't help but be curious, pointing at the calligraphy and asking, "Could it be that this is why you started writing as a child? Then you're a bit too precocious."
She was 13 years old. She remembered that she had just entered the first grade of junior high school. A boy in her class liked her, and she was so scared that she never spoke to him again.
At that time, she believed that premature love was a serious crime.
Meng Han knocked her head and said, "What are you thinking about!"
Yu Huan covered his head and curled his lips, "You said it yourself."
Meng Han looked at the calligraphy and said, "Practicing calligraphy is a way to improve concentration and cultivate one's character. I have indeed been using calligraphy practice to suppress my desires, but everyone has different desires at different stages of life, and children have their own desires."
Yu Huan was curious, "What does 13-year-old Meng Han desire?"
It seemed like it was too long ago, and Meng Han himself couldn't remember it. After thinking for a long time without any result, he smiled and said, "It seems that it is not a very important matter."
Yu Huan pondered, "Desire is the desire to possess something. What did you want most at that time?"
Meng Han only thought about this question for a moment before he remembered, "First in the whole school."
Sure enough, this is what a top student thinks, Yu Huan thought to himself, and asked again: "So what place were you in then, second?"
Meng Han shook his head, "No, I'm number one."
Yu Huan: "...Versailles?"
Meng Han smiled and said, "There are always people who are better than you. You should always be prepared for someone to surpass you."
As he spoke, he seemed to recall something anecdotal. "I remember my senior year of high school. There was a girl two years below me who was also very talented and had the potential to surpass me. My only thought at the time was to maintain my position and prevent her from surpassing me. So, I studied very hard for a while, just to improve my record."
"However, during the second semester of my senior year, that schoolgirl suddenly..."
When Meng Han said this, a name suddenly came to his mind.
Yu Wei...
Meng Han was different from all the other grandchildren of the Meng family. He did not go to those expensive aristocratic schools. He was too conceited and disdained to hang out with those playboys. He wanted to prove his excellence. Even in public schools, he could get grades that were beyond the reach of everyone else.
Later, he was admitted to the best public high school in H City with the first place in the city.
H University Affiliated Senior High School.
In that school, the only rival he met was not in the same grade as him, but a junior girl two grades below him.
I heard that she was very talented and was the first one to be admitted in the city. She has maintained the first place in the grade in every exam since then, and even broke his record several times.
At that time, Meng Han regarded her as his opponent. His goal was to work harder to set higher records and block her way to reach the top.
Thinking about it now, this was a very childish idea, but at that time, that school girl did give him a sense of crisis.
It wasn't until the second semester of his senior year that this invisible rivalry finally stopped, when that schoolmate got into trouble and never came to school again.
Because the memory was too old, Meng Han did not connect Yu Huan's sister with the competitor in his memory.
Only now did I realize that they were the same person.
"What's wrong?" Yu Huan looked up at Meng Han. He suddenly stopped talking halfway through his speech.
Meng Han hugged her and said, "It's nothing. It's just that when I think about it now, I feel that I was very naive."
Yu Huan agreed with him. "It's a bit childish, but..." she chuckled. "I thought you were a serious, pedantic type when you were little. I didn't expect you to be so competitive."
Meng Han narrowed his eyes and looked at her, "Do you think I am now a serious old scholar?"
Yu Huan realized that he had said the wrong thing and immediately argued, "No, in my heart, you are the most handsome man!"
Meng Han finally discovered that Yu Huan would only call him "you" when he felt guilty.
Unfortunately, he didn't want to let her go this time.
His eyes swept across the shelf and landed on a set of pens and inkstones, and he smiled.
Yu Huan's back tensed up at his laughter. He turned his head and followed his gaze, feeling that the person looked familiar.
"Isn't that a gift from me for you?"
"Yes." Meng Han took it from the shelf.
Yu Huan took a closer look and saw that it was still brand new, without any signs of use, and curled his lips in dissatisfaction.
"I haven't used it yet. Do you think it's too cheap?"
"No, I just can't bear to use it."
Yu Huan raised the corner of his mouth, "I don't believe it."
Meng Han took out the ink and poured it into the inkstone, explaining, "I couldn't find the right paper, so I didn't use it, but now I have found it."
Yu Huan watched him pour the ink, not taking his words in. She was just curious, "I thought you could grind the ink yourself, like they do on TV."
"Occasionally, but I'm a bit impatient now and don't have the patience to grind the ink."
"What's the hurry?" Yu Huan looked up in confusion.
Meng Han picked up the pen, dipped it in ink, and gestured to Yu Huan, "Turn around."
Yu Huan: "Oh... um? What?"
Meng Han didn't give her a chance to hesitate. He twisted her body with one hand and spread the paper he liked on the table.
That was the paper he had been looking for for a long time, the one that suited him best. He opened the outer packaging of the paper with his own hands, revealing the white surface of the paper without a trace of ink.
The ink was slightly cool and fell on it.
The paper was pressed by his hand, and wrinkles appeared in his palm. As fragile as this thin piece of paper was, there was no chance of resistance. It could only let the tip of the pen move gently and forcefully at times.
One stroke at a time.
Yu Huan's cheeks were flushed, and even her neck and back were stained red.
Meng Han witnessed the changes in color on the paper, his eyes became thicker, and the strokes under his hands became increasingly wild.
Finally, after writing the last stroke of the word "Han" at the end, he took a picture of this work that he was most satisfied with with his mobile phone, leaned over to Yu Huan's ear, and handed the screen to her.
"How's my handwriting?"
Yu Huan did not answer. She had no chance to answer at all. What was waiting for her was an upturned neck, clenched shoulder blades, and handwriting swaying on her skin.
It is ink spread by sweat.
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