It's an ordinary day in Provence.

Rousseau, as usual, was reading in the closet - the inner wall of the closet had been specially modified to fit a simple small lamp, which looked quite bright in such a small and dark environment, without affecting it at all.

As for why he curled up in the closet and read a book instead of going somewhere else?

Rousseau thought for a while while turning over a page of the book, and felt that this was probably a matter of security.

This kind of space that is so small that it is close to the body will not give people an empty feeling at least physically, and it can make people calm down inexplicably.

Thinking of this, he changed his position slightly and wanted to touch his mobile phone and check the current time: If he didn't feel wrong, Roland's family should have been cooking at this time. If he didn't go, someone might come.

try to find……

try to find……

Rousseau huddled outside the range of the small lamp, frowned, and fell into serious thinking: By the way, where is the cell phone? You must have forgotten to bring it in.

It's nothing, just go out and look for it.

The superhuman twisted his body again and felt a little pain in his back from the hard inner wall of the closet.

But this kind of pain is not serious, and it is basically to the level that you can ignore it without changing your face.

He exhaled and tried to reach out and push the cabinet open - and then heard the sound of the bedroom door opening before he pushed it open.

And the sound of the incoming call on your cell phone.

"Hey, it turns out she's not in the bedroom either."

The familiar voice of the traveler sounded, and it sounded a little suspicious: "Where did the person go...why did he still leave his mobile phone behind? Could it be to avoid the bombardment of calls?"

Rousseau's hand froze slightly, then he retracted silently, and rolled himself into a ball again, trying not to make any sound.

The snow-white light fell brightly on the young man's purple eyes, like the moon floating in the lake.

Oops.

He buried his face in his legs and wrapped his hands around his calves, as if trying to make himself smaller, preferably so small that he could completely disappear from the cabinet.

He doesn't really want to be found. On the one hand, this is likely to make the other party jump. On the other hand, he is worried that the other party will regard him as a weirdo because of his weird behavior.

Or worse, for example, after this incident, all supernormal people in France will know that "Jean-Jacques Rousseau is a coward who likes to hide in cabinets"... Oh my God, how terrible!

Rousseau lowered his head and let out a subtle sob of grievance in his throat. He felt that just thinking about the scene at that time, he had no courage to face it.

His only hope now is to let the other party leave early, so that he can sneak out quietly and pretend that he is in the house, but he just doesn't happen to be seen.

"Monsieur Rousseau?"

But the other party obviously had no intention of leaving, and even his voice sounded helpless: "Well, your phone has rang several times. The other party should have something urgent to call you."

No, no, no, don't call Rousseau, Rousseau is not in this room at all, and he won't hear you if you call him.

Rousseau lowered his ears and thought in frustration:

Okay, I admit, I'm just a bastard. If you can't find anyone in Beiyuan, you must be worried about me, but for various reasons, I squat in such a place and act like a coward.

But what can be done?

Rousseau knew that he sometimes had an inexplicable fear of embarrassment, and he also knew the trouble and impression this thought brought to him - for this, he could even put all the blame on innocent people.

Of course, he also paid a corresponding price: the pain of conscience tortured his soul all the time, making him almost breathless, and he often saw the confused and confused eyes of that innocent girl again in his dreams.

She was even Rousseau's friend and someone he liked very much.

But driven by "face", he still did this: he imposed all the blame on the other party, and did not waver even if the other party cried and cried.

In the end, she didn't even say a word of reproach, she just looked at... looked at... looked at with her gentle and sad eyes.

Rousseau cut off his thoughts, took a deep breath, closed his eyes hard, and then opened them again.

It seemed that for a moment, he saw those beautiful eyes again under the light, but he knew that it was just an illusion, something prepared by his conscience to torture himself.

The footsteps outside seemed to no longer sound.

Rousseau wiped the sweat from his forehead, then realized this belatedly, and tried hard to turn his attention back to listening to the sounds in the bedroom.

There was no sound of footsteps, no sound of mobile phones, and no sound of things being moved.

He hesitated for a moment, then pushed open the closet door slowly and quietly, peering out through the gap.

Indeed there is no one.

Rousseau breathed a sigh of relief, hugged his book, and crawled out of the closet little by little. During this period, he felt a little pain in all his limbs, and his neck was particularly sore. Maybe it was because he had curled up too hard before.

But did he really leave?

Rousseau held his waist and straightened up again. Suddenly he felt a little unwilling: in his feeling, the other party had not been looking for him for a long time.

To be precise, it must not have been long. After all, he just thought about it for a while, and the sound disappeared completely.

Rousseau pursed his lips, feeling that he was extremely pretentious in worrying about these things, but he couldn't help but think about these issues.

"Forget it, let's go out first."

The young man whispered something, arranged his hair casually, pulled his messy beige hair back into a normal shape, opened the bedroom door, and looked for someone a little dejectedly.

Kitahara and Kaede are in the hall downstairs.

When Rousseau came down, he was looking up at something. He turned his head when he heard the sound of Rousseau coming downstairs. There was no surprise on his face. He just bent his beautiful orange-gold eyes and looked towards him briskly.

He smiled.

"I have been looking for you for a long time, and then I thought about it, you might be in the bathroom, so I just waited here."

He explained the matter simply, and his tone sounded relaxed and lively, as if he was not the one with the worry and helplessness in his voice before.

Rousseau opened his mouth, but suddenly he didn't know what to say, and his mood became inexplicably complicated.

"Ah, is that so? I'm sorry."

He used all his strength to finally squeeze out this sentence, but he still didn't dare to look into the other person's eyes. He just tried his best to echo the other person's words: "Bathroom, yes, I was indeed there just now. You called me maybe

Didn't hear it."

Oops.

As soon as Rousseau said it, he regretted it.

Look. He said to himself in his heart, your excuse is full of mistakes. There is no water on your body except sweat! You actually have the nerve to say that you came out of the bathroom!

Beihara and Feng blinked and looked over again, causing Rousseau to hold his breath subconsciously:

He is afraid that the other party will know that he is lying to him, and he is also afraid of the sharp eyes with a color of scrutiny.

But fortunately, it's neither.

Look at him with those eyes, the smile inside is as light as water ripples and feathers.

"There's no need to apologize." He said, "No one can avoid this kind of thing."

The traveler looked up and admired the living room, and winked at Rousseau playfully:

"Actually, at the beginning, I didn't expect there to be so many flowers in your home. They are really beautiful - I mean, I wouldn't mind waiting a day if necessary."

If there is one thing that impressed travelers the most about Rousseau's home, it would probably be the "flowers".

There are various wooden furniture with simple and random patterns carved on them. There are large windows all around, allowing ample sunlight to shine into the house. Other than that, the only decorations are flowers.

There are large tracts of flowers blooming in vases and flower pots, both on the ground and hanging in the air.

The lily of the valley is snow-white and crystal clear, looking like a touch of sadness surrounded by clouds and mist. The honeysuckle is brilliant and dazzling, like the morning star falling on the earth. More flowers are intertwined with the surrounding colors, creating a halo.

A gorgeous rainbow.

All kinds of colorful flowers and plants, and all kinds of unique vases, all shine with moving colors under the bright sunshine of Provence.

It was so dazzling that it was too bright.

Kitahara and Kaede gently touched the petals of the pink rose with their fingertips. The flower lowered its head shyly, and a soft and delicate touch came through the fingertips. It seemed to be slightly moist with moisture, and it was so soft that it was surprising.

It seemed to melt into a piece of smoke, a touch of rouge, and a deep and shallow glow in the next second.

Rousseau looked up at his flowers and said softly: "I like them too."

"So, I always feel that Mr. Rousseau is the kind of person who is very interesting in life."

The traveler said with a smile, then released his fingers, naturally grabbed Rousseau's wrist, and dragged him outside:

"Okay, if we don't leave, they will probably finish their meal soon. I don't want to go hungry and paint in the afternoon. Mr. Rousseau, you can skip a meal, but I can't do it -"

"Actually, I can't do it either."

Rousseau said in a low voice, and the hand that was held quietly struggled and held the other person's fingers.

He seemed to be infected by the cheerful and bright mood of the other party, and even he who had been tense couldn't help but feel relaxed.

The sun in Provence is still very good today, just like countless days in the past. There is the fragrance of mint in the air, and the paths are covered with large and small stones. If you are not careful when walking, you will stumble.

There was an unknown bird singing in the field. If Fabre were here, he would definitely be able to recognize its name. The sun was so bright that it was a bit dazzling, and the sky was also dazzling. Rousseau, who was a little short-sighted, had to follow Kitahara and Kaede's footsteps.

Go forward.

The oncoming wind contains the heartfelt laughter of spring. The laughter is very comfortable, cheerful and lively, spreading wildly on the tips of the grass blades.
To be continued...