A childhood sweetheart cannot bear the love of a bamboo horse

Chapter 32 A little bit of painting, I am the first! (3)

"Hand in the paper!" She jumped to the ground, and with her chubby little hand, she yanked Qing'er's calligraphy on the ground, and then switched the place of a piece of ghost-like talisman written by herself, making it clear that she was stealing the sky and stealing the sky, but was there any? How can people make things as aboveboard as hers?

"Hmm..." She tilted her head and thought for a while, as if there was still a painting left.Pick up the brush again, dip a little ink, and put a little bit in the middle of the blank rice paper, "OK! It's done! The first belongs to me."

There was a smile in the corner of Qing'er's eyes, the little guy didn't want to hand it in just like that.

He guessed right, Xiao Bihe really took Qing'er's handwriting as if he wrote it himself, and then handed in the picture with only one black dot.

At the end, she said again and again, I want the first one, you must give it to me.

The organizers looked at the things she handed in, all pretending to smile with bitter faces, what should I say?Calligraphy, the first is not surprising, but the painting that is called a painting, in fact, even a three-year-old child can understand it.

"I just want No. 1. My dad said, if I come to participate in the competition, I will definitely get No. 1?" The little guy yelled, and even the prime minister's dad moved out.

When the person in charge heard that it was the Prime Minister who asked her to participate, he dared not neglect, and hurriedly said, yes, yes, it must be the first.The prime minister wants to be the first, who dare not give it?
"Tell me, do I draw well?"

"Good! Very good!" A group of painters praised Xiao Bihe's words repeatedly.

This made her very happy!Holding up her own painting aloft, with a look of admiration, Qing'er almost fainted from laughter.What this group of people say is fair and everyone is equal, isn't it the same way they are trying to please others?

Gradually, she suppressed her smile, pointed at a thin middle-aged man beside her and said, "Tell me, what's so good about my painting?"

All of a sudden, there was booing.

Where is this painting good?
It's even worse than rubbish, which can be regarded as a painting.

At best, it's just a blank sheet of paper with a black dot on it.

A group of people in the audience were watching the show, seeing that if they answered the question raised by a fool, it would be nothing more than a clown.

(End of this chapter)