There is a group of male and female ballroom dancers. The dance style is modern and the steps for junior high school students are very simple. As long as you follow the beat, you won't make any mistakes.
Gu Shaolun received an elite education since childhood and participated in various banquets and parties of all sizes. He has already mastered ballroom dancing. He dances in a relaxed and languid manner, and has a lazy and indolent feeling.
Wen Tong, on the other hand, seemed a little impatient, his steps were very messy, and he even made several mistakes in the simple dance beats.
Wen Tong stepped on Gu Shaolun's foot again, and he was extremely embarrassed. The tip of his snow-white ear had turned red as if it was about to bleed.
There were already a lot of shouting around, and one boy complained: "You pig, you stepped on me again! It hurts so much."
His partner immediately retorted, "You're dancing wrong, you stinking piece of shit."
The boy was unconvinced: "Are your limbs uncoordinated? How can you be so clumsy that you can't even do such a simple dance? You're so heavy, it hurts so much, your feet are swollen."
These accusatory words fell into Wen Tong's ears, and Wen Tong buried her head even lower, as if she had become the object of accusation.
It looks like a little quail.
Gu Shaolun smiled indifferently, took Wen Tong's hand and spun her around. Wen Tong was skinny and had very little flesh on her body. She looked like a fragile butterfly when she spun around.
"What's wrong with your hand?" Gu Shaolun asked lazily.
The index and middle fingers of Wen Tong's right hand were covered with a white bandage, which was stained with pencil dust and black ink, making it look dirty.
The girl curled her fingers and replied sheepishly, "I'm painting... I'm afraid my fingers will become deformed if I wrap them around this."
"Painting." Gu Shaolun raised an eyebrow at her and said jokingly, "A great painter."
Wen Tong shook his head like a rattle: "No... not a great painter."
"Why are you shy?" Gu Shaolun sighed, then added, "Painters are good. They make a lot of money."
Gu Shaolun took Wen Tong's hand and asked her to dance to his steps. He said lazily, "I have a relative who was not good at anything else, so he turned to painting. Any of his paintings can sell for at least four figures."
"Honestly, the pictures he drew were so ugly, I felt like a three-year-old could have drawn them."
Finally, Gu Shaolun concluded with a smile: "So, being a painter is a highly profitable industry."
The speaker may not have intended it, but the listener may have taken it to heart. Every word of Gu Shaolun's unintentional words cut into Wen Tong's heart like a sharp blade, causing him to bleed and suffer unbearable pain.
Painting is a highly profitable industry, what a ridiculous statement.
Her father has been obsessed with painting for more than ten years. Whenever he picks up a paintbrush, he forgets to eat and sleep and forgets everything else. He believes that a painting he creates with great concentration will become a masterpiece.
In the end, it was only sold for a meager thirty yuan, but the buyer was still reluctant and gave it the thirty yuan as alms.
Gu Shaolun's words were obviously unintentional, but when Wen Tong heard them, he desperately and clearly discovered the gap between people and the insurmountable chasm between the poor and the rich.
He lived in the light, shining brightly; while she struggled in the mud, even having three meals a day became a problem.
Wen Tong felt her cheeks getting hot and wet, and tears seemed to be sliding down silently again. The girl tried hard to suppress her emotions, not daring to let the boy next to her notice anything unusual.
For someone like her, crying uncontrollably is a luxury.
Some are in high-rise buildings, some are in deep ditches, some are shining brightly, and some are covered in rust.
After ballroom dancing, Gu Shaolun would still find hot breakfast in the table hole every morning, but Wen Tong seemed to be avoiding him and refused to communicate with him face to face.
Occasionally, when you see him, he would walk past quickly with his head down.
Gu Shaolun felt something was strange, so he paid more attention to Wen Tong, and then he discovered that Wen Tong seemed to be in love.
The boy was the class monitor, Ye Jiaming. Previously, Ye Jiaming and Wen Tong had only a businesslike relationship, with little contact. But recently, Ye Jiaming had been much more diligent in getting to Wen Tong's place.
This is very unusual.
You know, Ye Jiaming has always been at the top of the class, a typical good student, while Wen Tong's grades have always been mediocre, neither up nor down.
One is a good monitor who is trusted and loved by teachers and classmates, and the other is a little transparent person who is ignored and excluded. No matter what, the two should not have too close contact.
Gu Shaolun raised his eyebrows indifferently. It was none of his business whether Wen Tong was in a relationship or not.
After all, the two of them are just classmates. If she wants to avoid him, then she can avoid him. Young Master Gu is surrounded by many people every day, so he naturally doesn't need her.
About half a semester later, a big event happened in the school.
I don’t know who posted the love letter that Wen Tong wrote to Ye Jiaming on the bulletin board. It was a densely packed piece of paper, and someone was reading the words on it in a very exaggerated manner, laughing heartily while reading.
"I'm dying of laughter. Wen Tong is really like a toad wanting to eat swan meat. He's ugly but has beautiful dreams."
"Yeah, yeah, if that four-eyed girl looked at me, I'd feel sick."
"Team Leader Ye is so unlucky! He didn't check the almanac before going out, and he was actually spotted by that perverted woman."
…
There were sounds of ridicule, mockery, sarcasm, and many other things.
Gu Shaolun was startled and subconsciously looked for Wen Tong in the crowd, but he couldn't find the girl who was as timid as a quail.
He saw Ye Jiaming, who was wearing a clean school uniform and standing among the boys. Listening to the boys of the same age mocking and belittling Wen Tong, his expression remained unchanged, and his smile was as warm as the spring breeze.
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