Times can create a lot of sorrow.

　　Many years ago, when child vagrants appeared on the streets, people would start to reflect that there were problems in this society.

　　 Later.

　　 There are more and more wandering children.

　　People no longer reflect.

　　 The cruel life takes away their thinking time.

　　 The little boy sits on the side of the street.

　　 There are a pair of beautiful pale blue eyes on that dirty face. He is a mixed blood.

　　 He lowered his head in thought, the galloping car turned into a horse and passed by him, the asphalt pavement turned into soft grass, the street lights were fireflies in the dark, and the air was sweet and sweet.

"What is your name?"

　　 "I don't have a name."

　　 "Come with me, I can make you full."

　　 The little boy followed the man away.

　　 He got in a car.

　　 There are many four or five year old children in the car.

　　 is all dirty, clothes are in tatters, but his eyes are clear and there seems to be hope gleaming in it.

　　 That person didn't lie to them.

　　 They can indeed eat their fill.

　　 But there is one more task.

　　 "Remember to pretend to be pitiful, those people will keep pestering them if they don't give money..."

　　 That person said something to them.

　　 Then gave each child a tattered iron bowl.

　　 They went out with empty bowls in the morning and came back with money in the evening.

　　 Children who have not completed the assigned tasks can only eat leftovers.

　　 The little boy often fails to complete the task because he does not look pitiful enough. The blond hair, fair skin, and thin face give him a different kind of temperament.

　　 There is a little white-haired girl who will hide some dinner for him.

　　 "Why is your hair white?"

　　 "I'm sick, so my parents don't want me."

　　 The two are very good friends.

　　 If time remains, this kind of life is actually not too hard.

　　 At least, I won’t be starved to death.

　　 But after a few years, the man called all the children.

　　 "You have grown up a little bit now, and you can no longer arouse sympathy from others. If this continues, everyone will not be able to eat..."

　　 That night, the oldest child was called away.

　　 When he came back the next day, his face was pale and one arm was gone.

　　 Later, some children were called away one after another.

　　 Some have lost their calves when they come back, some have their eyes gouged away, their ears have been cut off, and a lot of scratches on their faces.

　　 There are still others, never come back again...

　　 Ranked according to age, the next person should be the little white-haired girl.

　　 "Why hasn't she come back yet?"

　　 The sun sets at dusk.

　　 The man looked a little impatient.

　　 Until night fell, the little white-haired girl did not come back.

　　 That night.

　　 The little boy knocked on that person's door and said that he had a way to make money.

　　 The man called him in.

　　 "What can you do?"

　　 "Uncle, come closer, this method cannot be heard by others."

　　 The man got closer.

　　 So a sharp iron bar pierced his heart.

　　 Hot blood spurted on the little boy's face, and he was smiling.

　　 The man clutched his chest and staggered back.

　　 He couldn't believe it.

　　 A child, where does such a great effort come from?

　　 He is doomed to get no answer to this question.

　　 The fallen body hit the ground, and the blood was flowing on the ground, which had a strange beauty.

　　 The little boy thought for a while, but couldn't think of words to describe this beauty.

　　 may be art.

　　 He pushed open the door.

　　The white moonlight shone on the blood on his face.

　　 The strong smell of blood made the children look frightened and avoided.

　　 He started to wander again.

　　 also looked for the little white-haired girl, but found nothing.

　　 The life of a full meal and a hungry meal made the little boy look thinner and weaker.

　　 One day, he found a box of watercolor pens on the street.

　　 He slowly opened the box, cautiously, as if opening the door to another world.

　　 "White hair..."

　　 On a quiet street, under the street lights of the night.

　　 He began to paint the image of the little girl in his memory.

After 　　 finished painting, he also added a pair of wings.

　　 Then he tried red.

　　 is bright, like flowing blood.

　　 He drew his image in red.

　　Red and white.

　　 This is his first painting.

　　 The crooked and twisted lines have an unspeakable strangeness, not awkward, and somewhat abstract.

　　 "Is it the first time to paint? Very well painted, talented."

　　 Very magnetic sound.

　　 The little boy looked up.

　　 The man was wearing a black robe, his black hood covered his face, and he couldn't see clearly.

　　 "Want to learn to paint?"

"miss you."

　　 The little boy nodded solemnly.

　　 "Let me teach you."

　　 The man smiled, the magnetic voice sounded very comfortable.

　　 "Are you a great painter?"

　　 "I think so."

　　 "Then I will call you teacher."

　　 "Yes."

　　 "Teacher, do you have a name?"

"Zero."

the next morning.

　　 The little boy woke up dazedly on the street.

　　 He had a long dream.

　　 He dreamed that he had found a box of watercolor pens, and there was a teacher named Zero in the dream teaching him painting.

　　 But when he woke up, there was no watercolor brush around.

　　 There is no painting from last night.

Nothing at all.

　　 The little boy feels lost.

　　 He broke a branch, touched a bit of stagnant water beside the street, and tried to draw something in his dream, but he succeeded!

after that.

　　Zero always appeared in his dreams, teaching him all kinds of painting knowledge.

　　 Although it is a dream, the little boy always feels that he is getting sleepy and lacking energy during the day.

　　 It seems that I haven't got enough sleep at night.

　　He gradually grew up, occasionally doing odd jobs to earn some money, buying drawing boards and other tools, and starting his life as a street painter.

　　 "Young people are amazing, they paint very well, which training class came out?" someone passing by asked.

　　 "I learned it in my dream." The little painter smiled, very shy.

　　 Number zero appears less and less in dreams.

　　 The painting skills of the little painter are enough.

　　 But there is always a doubt in his heart.

　　 this evening.

　　 When he saw Number Zero again in his dream, he finally couldn't help but ask ~lightnovelpub.net~ Teacher, what is art? "

　　 He feels that his paintings cannot be called works of art.

　　 Something seems to be missing.

　　Zero smiled and took out a small statue from his pocket.

"Snapped!"

　　 He broke off an arm of the statue.

　　 "This is art."

　　 The little painter suddenly realized.

　　The scenes from small to large flashed before my eyes.

　　 Those children with broken arms, those who lost their eyes, those who had their calves...

　　 Art comes from his life.

　　 "I will take you to a place where you can play freely."

　　 The little painter came there.

　　 Red and blue blood flowed in the wailing, machinery and flesh and blood began to collide.

　　He was intoxicated in it.

　　 He didn't want to wake up.

　　 But after waking up.

　　 His heart is filled with pain and suffering again.

　　 Those people's wailing and begging for mercy seemed to echo in their ears, and he personally turned them into dead monsters.

　　 "Fortunately, it was just a dream."

　　 Those dreams are getting longer and longer.

　　 In the daytime, he began to lose energy.

　　 Work and rest are reversed.

　　 Gradually, he started to sleep during the day.

　　 In this dream, there are two uninvited guests.

　　……

　　Good night, all book friends!

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