Chapter 1418
Words:893Update:22/10/13 01:31:21
The driver was also fine. When he climbed out of the car and saw the unscathed Qiao Zhihe, his expression was as if he was about to cry.
He was scared half to death just now. If he ran the red light and killed someone, he would have no hope in this life. Fortunately, God protected him.
He ignored Qiao Zhihe's refusal and stuffed a large sum of money into his mouth, saying that if Qiao Zhihe didn't accept it, his heart would feel uneasy.
Qiao Zhihe finally accepted the money and put this matter to the back of his mind.
… …
Many years later, Qiao Zhihe became a very famous painter.
He was very young, didn't have any bad habits, and kept himself clean. He also had a face that could be called a male god.
Most importantly, he didn't have a girlfriend.
Such a man was simply the dream lover of countless women.
His paintings could be sold for a very high price, but still, no one had ever seen him paint any portraits.
His competitors attacked him, and his admirers offered him tens of millions of dollars to paint his portrait, but he never paid any attention to them.
No one knew that in his villa, there was a room that only he could open.
When the light was turned on, one could see a full easel.
The contents of these easels, at a glance, could be seen to be the same person.
Black cloak, black scythe, unable to see the face clearly.
This image was the majority.
And a few of the portraits had a delicate beauty, but her hair and pupil color were somewhat different from humans. In a few of the portraits, this person even had a pair of gorgeous black wings on her body.
These portraits were vivid and lifelike. The movements and expressions of the people in the portraits, and even the eyes, seemed to be transmitted through the painting paper.
As long as one saw these paintings, one would know that the famous painter Qiao Zhihe was not good at painting people. It was absolutely nonsense.
The level of these paintings even surpassed several of his works that were sold for sky-high prices.
Qiao Zhihe stretched out his hand and gently stroked a painting.
His movements were very gentle, so gentle that it was as if he wasn't stroking a painting at all, but the owner of the painting.
"Death sister." Qiao Zhihe, who had grown into a mature man, softly called her.
"11 years, 3 months, and 13 days. You said that you had things to do and wouldn't come for a long time. But that's really too long. "
He looked at the paintings with a gentle gaze. "Actually, I decided to draw because of you. I want to draw your appearance, your appearance, and your movements. Everything is on the drawing board. Of course, only I could see it.
"The first person I want to draw is you. That's why before I have absolute confidence, I've never drawn a portrait because I'm afraid that the work I draw will tarnish your image."
"Now, I'm able to draw something that satisfies me. I want to show you my work. But … "
But, Sister Death, why don't you come back and see me?
Since eleven years ago, no, since before that.
In his heart, he had been thinking that when he could draw her perfectly, he would bring his work to confess to her.
He was a painter, so he confessed in the form of a painter.
He infused all his emotions and desires into these paintings.
One only needed to take a look to know how much affection he had for the people on it.
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