Professor Elegant healed the wounds of my adoptive home, only to kick me into another abyss

"Abby, I'm 47 years old. What makes you think I don't have a family?"

"Gasped the uncle in a moment of confusion.

The tone was flirtatious and cold.

I pressed my lips together, my eyes and tail red like a wronged beast, and cried and clasped him round the waist.

I knew that I had nothing left, and that even the pink forbidden fruit I had planted would have to be extinguished by a moth.

I was adopted and abandoned from an orphanage.

After a fire killed my biological parents when I was two, I was placed in a suburban orphanage and adopted by a family that had been infertile for years.

My birth father's name was Lu, and my grandmother, the director of the orphanage, named me Abby.

She says birds moving further north also remember their home.

Until I was three years old, when my adoptive parents had their own daughter, in order to prevent the inheritance, I secretly adopted to the deceased uncle.

I heard that day that they wanted to abandon me directly, but they also heard that it would be a handicap to their own children.

So I decided to settle for it.

I said nothing and chose not to Sue them for breach of adoption after all the years they had raised me.

I'm not a white eyed Wolf.

My adoptive parents tacitly agreed that I would continue to live at home, but with much less pay than before, the equivalent of a good nanny with no inheritance rights and a loyal bodyguard for my sister.

My sister Lane was born with a silver spoon in her mouth and grew up in a honey pot.

The year she was born, the family's stock market was booming, her adoptive father's company was growing, and the family moved to a villa.

It was only the small bedroom next to the bathroom that always awaited me in the big house and the small house.

Not allowed to serve, eat all leftovers, the reason is to exercise my independence, remember the sweet.

The bedroom is at the bottom of a double staircase, with a pitched ceiling, and the sound of the family descending to the toilet can be heard clearly every night.

I did what they wanted me to do. I got into the habit of hard work and plain living, and every day I saved some money in a glass jar under my bed.

I was full of hope that going to college would take me away from the city and look forward to the future cautiously.

Lane was sixteen this year. I'm 19 years old and studying for the college entrance exam.

I stayed out of school for a year because of my foster parents, just to babysit my sister.

Just before going to bed, Lane suddenly opened the door and got into my bed.

"Sister, it's so warm in your bed! It's so sweet."

She gave me a mischievous wink.

I knew she might not have any good intentions, because she was used to her usual tricks, and then crying to the wicked first complain.

Yes, but a little bored, got up and said to her:

"You have morning study tomorrow, don't you? Go back to your room and sleep, this one meter two small bed can not accommodate us.

She threw her back on the bed and quickly turned off the lamp.

In the middle of the night the bedroom turned dark. She shushed at me and said cheerfully:

"Abby, stop pretending. Let me ask you something!"

She slipped out of bed and pulled out a cell phone with a little video that made her blush.

She pointed to the actress's belly and asked earnestly:

"Do you think such things are true?"

I frowned. "Where did you get the phone? And who sent you the video?"

Lane snorted with an unmistakable curl of his mouth:

"Don't pretend to be pure. You are so old, have you never had a boyfriend?"

You're right. I've never been in a relationship.

The family of origin created my solitary and indifferent, catalyzed my maturity. So with my peers, I always seemed boring and old.

There will be no peach blossoms of course.

"Oh, I see. Can't a mule or a horse just take a walk?"

Just as I was wondering about this, she gave me a wicked smile and I saw her shiny braces in the gloom.

Then I felt a sudden pain in my chest.

'What are you doing? I angrily shook her hand off, nearly screamed, and snapped on the lamp.

She said dully:

"So you really haven't! I was going to learn from you, but now it seems that you are even worse than me."

My brain is bursting. What? She's only fourteen and she's already...

At this moment, the door came a slippers Shuffling sound, adoptive mother yawning push door in.

Too soon for my sister to turn off those ridiculous videos.

"Abby, what are you doing, putting someone to sleep --"

My adoptive mother's voice suddenly stopped in front of my eyes, and even when I quickly closed the phone screen, I was still in her eyes.

She choked, trembling to look at her sister, "you, you don't learn better, what are looking at!"

Adoptive father heard noise from upstairs 鞺 鞺 鞳 鞳 down and listened to the description of the adoptive mother, eyes a moment around you.

I was about to explain, and I wanted to excuse my sister by saying that she was getting older and that puberty might be a little curious.

But Lane jumped out of bed first, pointed at my nose and said,

"It was my sister Phillis who dragged me to see it, and said she would teach me some wisdom about life."

She had an innocent look on her face, and turned up her little face like a sheep's calf:

"Where did I get the phone, and no one bought it for me. My sister always steals family money and saves a lot of private money!"

I was shocked to see Lane pull the suitcase out from under my bed.

And, knowing the way, "clang" my can full of paper money on the desk.

"Well, it was stolen and caught." "She said triumphantly.

She had been in and out of my room, and knew all my secrets by heart.

My adoptive father flew into a rage, grabbed the phone and the cans and bottles on the table and threw them at me, no scruples.

I didn't have time to avoid it, but I felt a sharp pain in my forehead, and then I saw the whole mess.

All over the sky broken glass ballast, five hair a piece, a piece of wrinkled, but I folded neatly.

With my cheap dignity pouring down.

I saw a blood rush before my eyes and fell to my knees in agony, shaking and covering my face.

When I was shot in the eye by glass, I have a reddish fish-like scar on the white of my left eye.

It never occurred to me that a man would take my cheek and look at it like a treasure.

I didn't tell him about my pain. When asked, I only said it was a childhood injury and I couldn't remember.

He seemed very distressed, and said affectionately:

"Abby, like the Koi Around the beads, it was a gift to you. And you were a gift to me."

He said my shame was a gift from heaven.

From then on, I applied to go to the school to live, living expenses on their own work study, temporarily quiet.

I didn't mess with Lane again, and carefully put away her cell phone, which her foster father had broken.

Locked lockers in school dorms.

Every time I see it, it reminds me never to fight against the loved one.

Because unloved people not only fail, they have no way out.

After the college entrance examination, I gave full play to my normal performance. I specially applied for a remote 211 university and chose an obscure philosophy major.

With no place to put the psychological trauma, I hope to get salvation in literature and philosophy.

I was born with a good face, leaving the suffocating home, naturally blooming.

I am the host of the school's singing competition and debate competition, and the welcoming club.

My family did not give me any money, but I actively participated in these activities only to win the first prize and get various bonuses.

During the holidays, I earned my tuition by serving dishes. Even if I slept in a warehouse, I didn't want to go home.

I gradually became busy and full, also secretly rated as a flower.

I've been in libraries where I've seen confessions.

But I wasn't interested in a relationship, and those guys weren't giving me any heart.

Until one day in my junior year, I was selected as the foreign guest reception of the club and was told to pick up a Chinese philosophy professor from Europe.

...

His name is Burt, and he teaches in a well-known university in Spain. He comes to our school this time to complete the teaching task of international exchange.

The day he got off the plane, I was dressed appropriately in a dress and politely shook his hand.

He seemed stunned for a moment and then smiled:

"I'm Chinese. I just immigrated to Spain two years ago. I speak Mandarin."

I was embarrassed and blamed myself for not doing a good job of getting to know him.

You know, I spent a month in the library cramming for Spanish in preparation for him coming to this school.

Burt was handsome, with a clear brow, and wore gold-rimmed glasses pinned to the front in class and at great distances.

The standard uncle man figure, short inch stubble also does not hide only belongs to the scholar's calm temperament.

Looks like he's in his 30s.

He stared at me for a long time, and his eyes seemed to sparkle, and then he said,

"Do you like literature very much?"

I don't know why, slightly startled nodded.

"Your eyes are beautiful, like literature." "Burt said gracefully and politely.

As a representative of the school, I introduced various school projects to him with ease. In those days, I accompanied him through the whole activity.

As he listened intently, his gentle eyes poured over me.

After the event that day, he added my wechat account on the pretext that he wanted to know more about the life of Chinese students.

I looked down at his personal information. He used his real name "Burt" as his wechat name. His profile picture was not a landscape of flowers and birds favored by middle-aged people, but a medieval oil painting.

It's Lady with a Parasol by Monet.

It shows a beautiful woman with an umbrella and a child wearing a straw hat.

Curious about my teacher, I opened Jane's circle of friends, all of which were public.

"It's another New Year's Day alone, thinking of my wife. New Year's Eve in Madrid, Spain."

The other is the Qigong calligraphy, "this in Si book, read the words of deep pain in the past, happy comfort, do not feel the Yin of tears." I can see that he likes Chinese poetry very much.

However, what attracted my attention was the theme of most of his writings, which were mostly mourning works such as "Eternal Huai Fu" and "Ode to Sorrow".

The latest was a photo of him with his son, with the caption:

"Ten years of life and death two boundless, do not think, since unforgettable."

After reading it for a long time, I suddenly saw the light and pieced together an image like this:

His actual age is over forty, and his son must be about my age.

He had been a vegetarian for many years, and had once had a beloved wife, who had died. Now I'm all alone.

I was working in a small noodle shop near my school when my sister Lane called me for the first time.

They had never reached out to me since college, so distant that they had almost forgotten each other's existence.

"Abby, Dean Wu is dead. You're sorry."

Lane said nonchalantly, in a tone that spoke of someone who had nothing to do with him.

My trembling hands lost hold of the phone and I dropped it to the floor almost as soon as I heard it.

The slotted spoon also fell into the hot soup. The splashing soup scalded my arm. Several big blisters soon appeared, but I did not feel them.

My heart ached from crying.

Grandma Dean was the only one who really loved me, and she was the one who took me in when I was young, and she gave me my name.

She said, Huma according to the north wind, the bird's nest Abby, no matter what people outside, see many colorful world, the heart is the most miss home.

"If you get into trouble in the future, come to Grandma. This will always be your safe haven."

Every New Year's Day I will bring gifts back to the orphanage to visit, like the most dear elders, not to report good news.

And now she's gone, and I can't even afford a plane ticket home.

"What are you doing? Serve Yangchun noodles at table 17!"

Behind is the boss roar, I ignore to wipe tears, busy will soup noodles sheng good.

When I brought him to table No. 17, he recognized me under the mask and was somewhat surprised:

"Classmates?"

I raised my scarlet eyes and stared at the visitor. Even the most beautiful face could not resist the haggard appearance of the banana washed by the rain.

I happened to meet Jane's eyes.

I was still in the mood. I sniffed and forced a smile.

He pushed the Yangchun noodles in front of me and pushed the golden rimmed glasses with a warm and benevolent look on his face.

"No, I'm not hungry. Please eat, teacher." I declined his offer.

After dinner, he invited me to a nearby cafe with few customers.

At that time, perhaps too lonely, because there are no friends to talk to, in front of Burt actually shed tears.

I said nothing more than that my family was poor and had to work and study.

"Why not apply for a loan for needy families?" 'he asked quietly.

Family difficulties... I shook my head sarcastically, adoptive parents are business managers, family is really good.

Such families certainly do not qualify for student loans.

"You can't make much money working in a restaurant like that. How much more?"

"Eight thousand for tuition, twelve thousand a month for the restaurant."

I pressed my lower lip together. The truth was, I was struggling to live on $500 a month, and there was no way I could cover my tuition.