Host, the villain's corruption level has exploded!

Chapter 764: Metamorphosis - The Transformed Form (6)

Seeing him turn to run, Song Zhishu said coldly, "Stop."

As if by some kind of magic, Chang Qing stopped standing still.

Song Zhishu glanced at him and said, "Stand still and wait for me to come back."

Without even receiving a response from Chang Qing, she took the rats and left. The air fell silent again. Chang Qing stood there, his mind blank, unsure what to do. It wasn't until Song Zhishu returned that he realized: Wait, why was he so obedient to the adults?!

Before he could even begin to think, Song Zhishu stopped in front of him, leaning down to look at him. A cool, ethereal fragrance wafted over him, causing Chang Qing to involuntarily step back. "Little brat, don't stand in front of girls' doors in the middle of the night. It's very impolite."

Chang Qing: ………

His face flushed red: "I didn't come to see you..."

"Ah."

"I've come to see my own room..."

"Ah."

"I have many precious things inside, please don't damage them."

"Ok?"

Song Zhishu stopped being a human and looked around the room. It was empty, and there seemed to be nothing worth treasuring.

She took a step back, gesturing for him to go inside.

Chang Qing understood what she meant, and her face turned even redder: "You, you're a girl! You can't go in!" Song Zhishu smiled slightly: "Little brat, if you don't show me what your treasures are, how am I supposed to protect them?"

Chang Qing agreed, and besides, his treasures were all hidden very well. Song Zhishu was neither familiar with them nor knew them well, and if he accidentally broke them again, he would have nowhere to turn.

So he stammered for a while, fidgeting and twisting his fingers, finally saying in a voice barely audible, "Well... okay... I'll... I'll just go in for a little while..."

He took a deep breath, his gaze becoming particularly firm, and under Song Zhishu's deep gaze, he strode inside.

There was a very faint scent, the same as the one on this adult, cool, completely different from the scent when he lived there.

Chang Qing was as naive as a piece of paper; once inside, he started searching everywhere for his treasure.

Later, Song Zhishu discovered that this kid was really good at hiding things; he could hide things anywhere, just like a mouse. In her opinion, although the room was small, it felt spacious because of the sparse furniture, and there was simply no place to hide anything.

However, human initiative is limitless.

In just five minutes, Chang Qing had carefully placed his treasures on the bed. By this time, he had relaxed a bit, and his brows were filled with joy. He put his hands on his hips, pointed at the treasures on the bed, and began to introduce them to Song Zhishu one by one.

"This, this is a flower wreath that Sister Zhiwei made for me."

Song Zhishu pressed her eyes down as she looked over. The grass and flowers were withered, but only slightly damaged. The withered grass and flowers had a unique charm, a desolate beauty that seemed to be approaching death yet possessed a silent vitality. Under the equally dim light, they looked even more like a withered tree.

"This is a grasshopper that my grandfather made for me."

Lifelike, a beautiful green.

"These paintbrushes were a reward I received from the school."

The colors are simple and monotonous, but **a lot of thought went into it.**

“This, this…” The moonlight was like a wash, silvery and clear, passing through the faint halo of time. Once Chang Qing started introducing things, he went on and on, able to describe the “life story” of every object he saw without hesitation.

Among them, the one that Song Zhishu remembers most clearly is a globe.

It looked old, but it was kept very clean. Some of the small country names on it were even a little hard to read, but Chang Qing could still pronounce them fluently.

Song Zhishu showed no outward expression, but was inwardly somewhat surprised.

In the original work, Chang Qing is an absolute physics genius, but his potential was nipped in the bud by the world before he could fully develop, and there is no mention of his interest in this field.

Chang Qing, who was giving his presentation, suddenly stopped and solemnly turned the globe to show the country that looked like a golden rooster.

His tone became solemn: "This is our country."

He carefully gestured with his hand to show Song Zhishu that it was roughly the same size: "Our country is so big and powerful, but in some aspects, we are still bullied by others."

"I will work hard to grow up and serve my country. Whatever the country needs, I will do."

The silence in the air felt thick and sticky for a moment.

After a while, still no one answered, and Chang Qing finally came to his senses.

He panicked.

He had never told any of these things to anyone. Apart from Yun Zhiwei, there were very few people in this busier and poorer village who could spare the time to listen to his meaningless ramblings.

Yun Zhiwei was always busy and couldn't find a moment to spare. If Chang Qing wanted to say something to her, she would immediately put down what she was doing to listen attentively. But Chang Qing didn't understand anything; he knew that no matter where they were, time was something they couldn't afford to waste.

As for matters involving ideals and knowledge, Chang Qing didn't want to associate with people who didn't understand. It had nothing to do with social class; going to school or working in the fields was neither superior nor inferior—it was simply a matter of different paths leading to different goals. His grandfather would support him, but he wouldn't understand. Few in his class played with him because he came from the poorest village in the poorest of the poorest areas; in their words, "he just looks annoying."

He didn't want to trouble the teacher either.

Therefore, he had long since learned to coax his ideals and aspirations, to let them curl up together, to let them sleep for a while, or to pave a cobblestone path, to let them be quiet for a while, not to hoist the sails, but to wait for the wind to come.

But sometimes, only sometimes, when the night is deep and quiet, when the wind rustles the trees, when he looks at the moon that is so close yet so far away, lying on the hard bed, he will think—if, if there were someone who could understand him without having to go to so much trouble, would he be more motivated?

Perhaps the boy's suppressed feelings had led him to unknowingly reveal his thoughts to this adult.

However, he was extremely afraid—afraid of Song Zhishu's indifference, afraid of her disdain, and even the slightest bit of perfunctory treatment could cause him to crumble.

So, Chang Qing lowered his head, tidied up his treasures, and was about to tell Song Zhishu to take good care of his treasures before fleeing in panic when he looked up and was caught off guard by a deep lake.

Song Zhishu's eyes have been disliked by many: cold, lifeless, like a dead person.

Chang Qing wouldn't think that much, but she still couldn't bring herself to like it.

But now, it feels like a dialogue with one's soul, with those puddles that send shivers down one's spine churning again and again.

He heard—

"Why are not you talking?"

"I really enjoy listening to it."