Dear Mr. Lu

Chapter 22

From beginning to end, it was too coincidental, and he was too affected. If it weren't for the fact that Luo Wencheng almost died, Lu Chong would have to wonder if this person deliberately approached him.

But as long as he thought of this child who was only in his early twenties and almost lost his life, Lu Chong couldn't raise a trace of doubt in his heart but was overwhelmed with pity.

Lu Chong sat down casually by the flower bed, with the noble aura that almost made people think he was sitting on an expensive leather sofa, and pointed to his side: "Sit down. Are you feeling better?"

Luo Wencheng sat down a little stiffly: "The doctor said I can be discharged from the hospital. Well, Mr. Lu also came the night I was admitted to the hospital. I was not clear-headed at that time and I don't remember what I said. If you are offended, please forgive me, Mr. Lu."

From time to time, the image of himself holding this man for comfort, saying things like "I'm your lost little brother" flashed in his mind, and then he fidgeted, ashamed and embarrassed.

The young man's white and tender face was flushed, full of anxiety, and Lu Chong couldn't help teasing him: "How did you offend me?"

Luo Wencheng was so embarrassed that he stretched out his index finger and scratched his face, not being able to answer.

Lu Chong sighed in his heart. Compared to the depression and desolation of lying on the hospital bed, it was better to be like this. Such a vivid, lively look made people happy when they saw it.

He didn't continue the topic but glanced at the drawing board in Luo Wencheng's hand: "What did you draw?"

"Just some simple scenes." Luo Wencheng handed the drawing board a little hesitantly, "It's not very good."

Lu Chong flipped through the drawings. They were just the scenes from the hospital. There were flowers, grass, trees, buildings and cars. Lu Chong didn't understand art, but he still had a basic appreciation of it. The strokes of these sketches were still a bit tender, but there was a kind of aura between the lines. The drawings were obviously static but seemed to reveal unique tension and charm.

The only drawing of a person was the boy playing with a ball. The one of the family of three was given away, leaving the one with just the little boy. There were few strokes and the boy's features were not very clear, but his smiling look made people feel happy, very happy, very happy, as if the light of the whole world was focused on this little guy. But after looking at it for a long time, Lu Chong felt that there was an extreme sadness emerging from his heart, making it difficult to breathe.

Lu Chong remained silent for a long time, and only after a while did he turn his head to look at Luo Wencheng: "What did you think about when you drew this?"

Luo Wencheng looked at the drawing and said, "This child has a serious congenital heart disease. This time he is hospitalised for surgery, but the risk is very high. He can't run, jump, or laugh since he was little. This is the first time he has played ball. I thought he had a good time and he was happy, but after thinking about it, I knew it was because his parents were worried about the failure of the surgery and couldn't bear not to let him have an experience of playing in his life. Thinking about it, I feel sad again."

When Luo Wencheng talked about his work, he slowly settled down. With the clarity and sense of timelessness that Lu Chong saw in him from a distance just now, he said: "I wanted to draw his happy appearance, but it seems too many of my own emotions were integrated. This drawing looks cheerful, but because it is too deliberate, it has a bit of the opposite feeling. It is not very auspicious, so I abandoned it and drew another one."