Chapter 38: Fireworks Meet the Sky (3)

Nan Qi gazed at the enormous canvas hanging on the wall, a creation by Tang Lian that struck her as absurd yet strangely captivating in its beauty. Stirred by the impulse, she pulled out her phone, intending to snap a photo for later admiration.

But as she placed her finger on the sensor to unlock it, nothing happened.

Only then did she realize the battery had died completely. She could only stare at the painting in helpless longing.

Turning back, she sank onto the sofa, her eyes flicking repeatedly toward the bathroom door, eagerly awaiting Tang Lian’s emergence.

Bored out of her mind, she alternated between glancing at the bathroom and studying the canvas. Before long, she found herself utterly entranced by Tang Lian’s artwork, and the time passed without dragging.

In her absorption, she completely missed the soft click of the door opening.

It wasn’t until someone approached, carrying the damp mist of recent bathing, that Nan Qi’s skin prickled with goosebumps. Her ears perked up instinctively, and her body jolted upright, hovering above the sofa cushions for an instant.

“Like this painting?”

The woman’s voice carried a subtle huskiness, as if submerged in water—like the enchanting song of a siren, maddeningly alluring.

“Ah? Uh…” Nan Qi snapped out of her daze, startled by Tang Lian’s silent approach. Nonsensical syllables tumbled from her lips.

She reflexively scooted back a bit before twisting around with residual fright. “It caught my eye right away.”

Tang Lian toweled her dripping wet hair. “Such a scaredy-cat.”

“I’m not. You just walk without making a sound,” Nan Qi protested, refusing Tang Lian’s assessment and pinning the blame squarely on her.

Tang Lian let out a soft “Ha”—a brief chuckle that danced like a warm summer breeze through Nan Qi’s chest. It sent her heart tumbling, her temperature rising, and her breath falling into disarray.

Fresh from her shower, Tang Lian had slipped into a lightweight, silken nightgown of soft fabric, layered beneath a loose-knit sweater whose open stitches offered teasing glimpses of the silk underneath. The ensemble shed her inherent seductiveness, replacing it with a cozy domesticity—a subtle, gentle warmth that drew the eye and stirred quiet longing.

Nan Qi was easily captivated by such warmth. She yearned for people who lived as radiantly as sunlight, drawn to them irresistibly, even as she knew she could never become one herself.

Tang Lian’s outfit wasn’t overtly sexy; if anything, it concealed her impressive figure. Yet when Tang Lian leaned in to explain the painting, Nan Qi instinctively held her breath, determined not to let her gaze stray even slightly.

She caught the alluring fragrance wafting from Tang Lian’s neck and wrists.

No—truth be told, the scent enveloped her entire body.

The perfume was delightful: clean and soft, like a romantic watercolor. It blended crisp grapefruit notes against the earthier tones of vetiver—lightweight yet plush. On Tang Lian, it swayed with graceful allure, elegant and unhurried, as if she were preparing for a secret rendezvous in the city’s hidden depths.

“I like it,” Nan Qi murmured, her voice unexpectedly low as she circled back to Tang Lian’s earlier question with a more precise verdict.

“I bought this during my trip to Canada, from a street artist named Billy Macpherson.” Tang Lian pointed to an inconspicuous corner of the canvas, where the painter’s signature lingered.

Nan Qi stepped closer and sure enough, spotted it.

The painting’s bold imagery had seized her attention immediately, leaving her oblivious to the artist’s mark at first.

“Billy Macpherson,” she echoed. “Never heard of him.”

“After purchasing it, I searched his name back at the hotel, but there was nothing online—not a single mention. He’s far from alone. The world is full of nameless artists with profound skill, boundless inspiration, and clever ideas, all deeply passionate about their craft. Yet for countless reasons, they remain unknown to the masses, lost in the crowd. Some live in poverty, their work ignored in life. The lucky ones gain fame only after death. The unlucky? Aside from what family might preserve, their names and those vibrant moments of creation fade from strangers’ memory.” Tang Lian’s voice grew tinged with lingering melancholy as she recalled the memory.

Nan Qi’s mood sank along with her words.

Now, beholding the painting anew, a fresh emotion welled up in her—as if peering through its surface to glimpse the artist’s childlike persistence in chasing dreams.

In the world’s obscure corners, countless unsung souls toiled to weave bizarre dreamscapes, enduring setbacks while hoping one day to be discovered.

She admired them deeply.

Seeing Nan Qi sink into melancholy, Tang Lian inwardly regretted broaching such a heavy topic. She hadn’t meant to cast a pall over the mood.

Adjusting her tone to something lighter and brighter, she pulled Nan Qi back. “Anyway, enough of that. Go take your shower. I’ll whip up some simple noodles in the meantime.”

“Want an egg in it?”

Nan Qi blinked, caught off guard by the abrupt shift, but answered readily enough. “Yes.”

As Tang Lian turned toward the kitchen, Nan Qi suddenly remembered something crucial. She called out, holding out her phone. “Tang Lian, my phone’s dead. Could you charge it for me?”

Tang Lian sighed with mild exasperation. “When are you going to stop being so polite with me?”

“We’ve only met twice. Isn’t politeness normal?” Nan Qi thought to herself. Not everyone could be as effortlessly familiar as you.

Tang Lian accepted the phone, checked the charging port, and confirmed she had a matching cable at home. “Of course. I’ll plug it in right now.”

“Mm-hm.” This time, Nan Qi heeded the advice and skipped the thanks.

Relieved about the phone, Nan Qi gathered her neatly packed toiletries and headed to the bathroom.

Pushing open the door released a wave of warm steam laced with fragrance—the same one that clung to Tang Lian.

Clean, soft grapefruit.

Tang Lian had cracked the window to air it out, aiming for a more comfortable space, but with so little time, it hadn’t dispersed much.

Nan Qi closed the window again, set her clothes on the vanity, and took in the sight.

The counter held an array of bottles and dainty items, meticulously sorted by category and size—arranged with such neat precision that it was aesthetically pleasing.

Curiosity piqued, Nan Qi scanned the labels one by one. Her eye landed on a perfume bottle showing clear signs of use.

The distinct branding identified it as Hermès Pink Grapefruit—full name, Eau de Pamplemousse Rose.

Nan Qi’s memory was sharp; anything that caught her interest lodged vividly in her mind, ready to be recalled with perfect detail whenever needed.

As if compelled by some unseen force, she had studied this bottle before stripping off her clothes and stepping under the shower spray.

Being in someone else’s home made her less at ease than in her own, so Nan Qi hurried a bit faster than usual, thoroughly scrubbing away the sticky sweat from her skin.

Having found the right cable, Tang Lian tossed Nan Qi’s phone onto the living room outlet to charge.

She stationed herself in the kitchen, grabbing a bunch of Shanghai greens, separating the leaves, rinsing them, and setting them aside while eyeing the pot of water coming to a boil.

The water wasn’t bubbling yet; only the range hood hummed steadily.

A melodic ringtone suddenly chimed from the living room, blending seamlessly with the hood’s whir.

Tang Lian perked her ears, listening for a moment to confirm it wasn’t her phone.

The source was obvious.

Nan Qi was in the shower, unavailable. Tang Lian held off, hoping it would go to voicemail.

Over a minute later, it did—just as she’d anticipated.

But moments afterward, it rang again. Perhaps something urgent.

Tang Lian pondered briefly, turned the flame down to a low simmer, and stepped out of the kitchen to retrieve Nan Qi’s charging phone.

The screen lit up automatically.

The incoming call flashing on the screen was unmistakably from Bo Ranying.

The green answer button pulsed insistently, the ringtone looping relentlessly, as if refusing to yield without response.

The dual signals pressed with forceful urgency.

Tang Lian had never imagined Bo Ranying capable of such dogged persistence.

She stared at the screen for a long beat, myriad thoughts flashing through her mind. Recalling Nan Qi’s resolute decisiveness during the move earlier that day, a spark of intrigue and eagerness glinted in her eyes.

The next instant, she slid to answer without hesitation.

Her voice emerged calm and lazily languid. “Hello.”