Xu Qingtian said in a muffled voice, "Dad."
Xu Langge's voice was crisp and elegant, like that of a ballerina. He said, "Tiantian, why aren't you home yet? Are you with your friends outside? Where are you and when are you coming back? I'll get the driver to pick you up. Why didn't you tell us that you were gathering with your friends?"
As Xu Qingtian listened, he became more and more disappointed.
He had been preparing for the art festival recently and had come to the school early this morning to assist the school. His parents only remembered that his brother was going on stage to perform tonight, but they didn't remember Xu Qingtian, who was helping out behind the scenes.
"I'll take a taxi back later." With that, Xu Qingtian hung up.
He was already used to being ignored.
In fact, from the day those respected artists said that he didn't have any artistic talent, the Xu family's attention had shifted away from him. Even his parents ignored him.
