Not only can he draw, he is also good at it.
But she usually doesn't draw because there's no need, she can just compose the picture in her mind.
Drawing and proofing were quite redundant for her, but she was willing to draw today just because the hero deserved it.
Lin Qingyuan suddenly realized, "Wait a moment, I'll go prepare the painting tools."
"good."
Five minutes later, Lin Qingyuan took his painting tools and Jian Yuelan to the provincial government staff housing complex.
The man of the house is not at home, but the woman of the house is.
The old lady was in her sixties, wearing a simple blue work suit, with white hair and a bookish air. She spoke softly, giving people a refreshing feeling.
When she learned the purpose of Jian Yuelan's visit, her eyes immediately turned red.
"Can you embroider colorful ones?"
"able."
Jian Yuelan nodded and looked at the old lady and said, "Can you tell me about your son and daughter-in-law? I want to know more about their personalities and so on. This will help the embroidery be more vivid."
The old lady couldn't believe it, "Really?"
She nodded and said, "How about this? You can draw while I'm talking. When I'm done, you'll know whether what I said is true or not."
"good."
The old lady's eyes instantly filled with tears. For her, the most painful thing was not the separation from her grandchildren and granddaughters-in-law. People who had lived through war-torn times were not afraid of death, not to mention that her children sacrificed themselves for the country.
But the memories of separation and death are deeply rooted, and every time she thinks of them, she feels unbearable pain.
"I, I'll find you some paper and pen."
She turned around to look for paper and pen, but was stopped by Lin Qingyuan.
"Don't worry, I've brought everything."
He opened the bag, took out the paper and pen inside and placed them on the table, then looked at Jian Yuelan.
She took the drawing pen and said to the old lady, "You can start now."
"good."
Then the old lady told the story with a voice full of pain and nostalgia.
The afternoon sun was scorching, but the room was a little cool.
While listening to the old lady's recollections, Jian Yuelan composed a picture in her mind based on her description.
Ten minutes later, she started writing.
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