Seduce a shy loyal dog

don't refuse again

However, when everything was silent and the news didn't sound any more, Song Yirong lay on the bed with his eyes closed, but he didn't feel sleepy in his mind.

"He's such a mother," the boy's immature voice echoed in his ears like a curse, "Let's stop playing with him."

"Quick, the teacher is out, pinch his hand!"

"Hahaha he cried."

"Hey, Song Yirong, you deserve to play alone."

"Your parents spoil you like a little princess, you are so delicate, the teacher doesn't like you, no one likes you, slightly slightly."

My head hurts like a buzzing helicopter, buzzing in my head.

"Yi Rong, you have a younger brother." Xin Manxiang's voice was still gentle, but it hurt more than a cold sword, "From now on, you can rest assured to do what you want to do."

why?

No one gave him an answer.

"Mom, what's your brother's name?" Song Yirong's eyes were extremely innocent.

"It's called Song Zicheng, your younger brother." Xin Manxiang stopped looking at him, and instead called softly to the cradle, "Come on, Zicheng, mommy."

Drowsiness ran away, Song Yirong couldn't sleep anymore, so he just got up and put on his coat, dazed, but he walked into the kitchen skillfully, opened the refrigerator, and took out an egg from it.

When frying the eggs, Song Yirong didn't think about anything, but silently sprinkled more salt.

The eggs sizzled in the frying pan, and fine salt was evenly sprinkled on the surface of the eggs.

The fried eggs are golden in color and exude a tempting aroma.

The taste of salt lingers in his mouth, reaching his nerves and possessing magical powers, calming his emotions down.

Very salty.

No wonder it made him want to cry a little.

The eggs his grandfather fried for him were always very salty, but Song Yirong would obediently eat up the fried eggs with rice.

Many times, the taste of fried eggs is already forgotten, but only the salty memory remains in Song Yirong's taste buds, and in a strange way, it comforted him again during the years of his grandfather's death.

He washed the finished dishes with warm water and put them back in the cupboard. Song Yirong washed again and lay down on the bed.

His mind was much more peaceful, and when the moon quietly hid behind the clouds, Song Yirong finally fell asleep with his eyes closed.

When I woke up, I turned on my phone, it was still early, and it was still dark, only a few rooster crows.

Pulling on his slippers, he slowly moved to the balcony, yawned, his hair was messy, but looked extraordinarily fluffy.

A rattan chair was placed on the balcony against the wall. Song Yirong came over with the computer in his arms, played the old movie, and put a glass of milk by his hand.

The sun was just right at this time, not too bright.

The black and white movie was playing slowly, and the flickering lights and shadows reflected Song Yirong's face, gloomy and uneven.

"Song Yirong?" It was like throwing a pebble on a calm lake.

A voice with temptation fell into the ear.

Song Yirong tilted his head, and through the carved white railings, he saw a man in a black jacket with straight shoulders, tall and long legs, slightly raised his head, and was looking at the balcony calmly.

"Awake." Song Yirong withdrew his gaze, stroked the hem of his clothes, stood up, leaned on the railing and answered absent-mindedly, "You come in through the main entrance."

Zhou Lang: "Okay."

He still took off his shoes before entering. The black socks were clean, and the wide soles of his feet made his feet look quite big.

Song Yirong stood at the door, glanced casually, and asked seriously: "Is it true that people with long feet are tall?"

Zhou Lang raised his head, slapped his eyelashes lightly, and said softly for a while, "I don't know."

Song Yirong was wearing a pair of gray socks, and the half of the ankle outside the slippers was very thin, which made her delicate.

Zhou Lang stared at it for two seconds, and his ears felt hot.

Thinking of Zhou Lang's reason for coming, Song Yirong turned around and went back to the room, "I put it in the living room after finishing writing last night, and it should be under the remote control."

Zhou Lang followed him, his tall figure seemed to cover Song Yirong, but he was used to not saying a word, so when Song Yirong was silent, the house became very quiet.

But Song Yirong sometimes enjoys this kind of quietness, which will give him a feeling that everything is effortless.

The low sense of presence brought by Zhou Lang has well dispelled some of Song Yirong's deep-seated anxiety.

Not showing it on the surface, Song Yirong picked up the flattened paper and said casually, "Have you eaten yet?"

Zhou Lang took it, and replied in a muffled voice, "I've eaten."

"Okay, then I won't keep you for breakfast." Song Yirong shrugged and smiled, "Or, you can have another cup of tea if you want."

"No need." Zhou Lang picked up the paper and waved it, "This troubles you."

Song Yirong blinked at him, "No trouble."

Zhou Lang stood there silent for a while, and then asked, "Do you eat dumplings? My family makes a lot of dumplings."

Song Yirong stretched his waist, but did not refuse, and said directly: "Okay, thank you."

Zhou Lang went home again, made dumplings for him, pulled out a chair, and sat opposite Song Yirong to wait, so that he would take the bowl back by the way. He introduced: "The dumplings are made of corn and pork."

"Corn is very sweet." Afraid that Song Yirong would not like it, Zhou Lang couldn't help but add.

Song Yirong looked at the dumplings in the bowl, all of them were cute in shape, but they were almost piled up into a hill, which made his stomach feel burdened, he pursed his lips, and was rarely entangled: "I may not be able to eat so many."

He raised his eyes and asked innocently, "Are you still eating?"

Zhou Lang froze for a moment, "What?"

"I can take another bowl, let's share it." Song Yirong had an idea, and smiled again, lying silkworms faintly circled in front of his eyes, like a winding stream, "Do you still want to eat?"

The air was quiet for two seconds, and Zhou Lang said, "Well, eat."

Song Yirong brought him a new bowl and chopsticks, took half of it out, squinted his eyes and smiled, "Thank you."

The sleeve slid back smoothly, revealing Song Yirong's wrist. A small mole on it flashed past Zhou Lang's eyes, and then the sleeve slid down again to block it.

Zhou Lang reached out to take the bowl and chopsticks from Song Yirong's hand, regained his senses, and said, "Hurry up, it's getting cold."

There was only the sound of chopsticks clashing silently, Song Yirong only took half of one bite, and chewed for a while after taking a bite, not so well-behaved, but a little more free and undisciplined.

After eating, Song Yirong got up to wash the dishes, and returned the clean dishes to Zhou Lang, "Thank you for the dumplings made by Auntie, they are delicious."

Zhou Lang held the bowl and stood firmly, "You're welcome."

Song Yirong waved at him, "Then go slowly?"

Zhou Lang nodded, bent over to put on his shoes, then turned his head, his earlobes turned red again, and said, "My mother is not at home."

Song Yirong: "Huh?"

Zhou Lang: "I made the dumplings."

Zhou Lang walked for a long time, Song Yirong was still thinking about it, and then couldn't help laughing so hard that he couldn't straighten up.

Big guy.

So cute.

Holding the computer and typing for several hours, Song Yirong finally felt sore eyes and sore back.

The plot of the book has advanced to a very critical point, and Song Yirong couldn't start writing, so he had to put it on hold for the time being.

After going to the kitchen to drink some water, Song Yirong changed into some clothes for going out, took nothing with her, and went out alone.

In the evening, the sunset glow behind the mountain is particularly beautiful. The red sunset is divided into two halves by the clouds and mist, casting half red and half orange colors.

Go out and turn left, and after walking for a distance, it is a very long road. The road in the country is not spacious, but it is enough for cars to pass.

Song Yirong was walking along the side of the road, looking at the rosy clouds in the distance and the rapeseed fields nearby, the smell of the wind seemed to be soft and sweet.

Beautiful things can always easily bring people's mood in a good direction.

On the way back, the sunset had completely set, it was dark, and there was a cool wind blowing.

Passing by Zhou Lang's house, the door was closed and the lights were not on, so he probably wasn't at home.

Song Yirong glanced at it lightly and didn't care.

Two days later, a message suddenly popped up on Bai Yangshu's profile picture.

Zhou Lang: I'm in the city now, do you have anything to bring?

Song Yirong didn't answer, but said: Seeing that there has been no one in your house for the past two days, it turns out that you went to the city.

It took a few minutes for the opposite side to come back with new news.

Zhou Lang: Well, my relative is doing renovations, so I'll come over to help.

Zhou Lang: My parents are also here.

Song Yirong wanted to laugh again, and typed back: I didn't ask you so much.

It was quiet over there, and it seemed that it was a bit inappropriate, and I felt embarrassed belatedly.

Song Yirong: I've been a bit greedy for hot pot recently, if you drop by, please bring me a hot pot.

Song Yirong: Thank you ^^

At noon the next day, Zhou Lang took a few photos in a muffled voice: What kind do you want?

Song Yirong clicked on the picture, looked at it, and circled one.

Song Yirong: I want to eat mandarin duck pot (laughs);

Zhou Lang: Good.

Later, the familiar knock on the door sounded, Song Yirong pulled on the sandals and slippers to open the door, his head was still dripping wet, saw Zhou Lang carrying a box, and asked, "Are you back?"

"Well," Zhou Lang stretched out his arms and handed the box in front of him, "Your pot."

Song Yirong leaned against the door, hugging the box, with a lazy smile on his face, "I'll trouble you again, come to my house to eat hot pot tonight."

Song Yirong held out his index finger, shook it, and said word by word: "Don't refuse again."

Thin white fingers, a mysterious light-colored mole on the wrist, Zhou Lang's eyes seemed to be trapped in the dangling sleeves, his throat rolled, and his eyelids drooped, "I have to be busy tonight..."

Song Yirong didn't speak, just looked at him, his single eyelid didn't blink, and the circles under his eyes were red, as if he had been wiped with Xia.

Zhou Lang had no choice but to say, "Tomorrow night, I'm free."

Song Yirong: "That's fine, we'll see you soon." As he said that, he bent his little finger, motioned for Zhou Lang, and said, "Take a hook."

Zhou Lang: "No need, I"

Song Yirong insisted: "Take a check."

Zhou Lang was silent, and finally gave in, making an agreement that seemed extremely childish.

His skin is dark and dark, and the moment his thumbs are hooked together, they form a contrasting picture of black and white.

A small piece of skin on the finger seemed to bounce suddenly, and the conditioned reflex made him let go of his hand the moment he touched it, and then immediately put his hand into his pocket.

The touch was fleeting, Song Yirong pursed his lips lightly, withdrew his hands, stood up straight, and said, "This way we've made an appointment."

Zhou Lang: "Yes."

Song Yirong: "Let's see my specialty dishes tomorrow."

Zhou Lang: "Okay."