Sheng Shubai seemed to be in a good mood.
Lu Jia followed behind the woman as she led her toward Hall 4. She glanced at the woman’s upturned lips, curved into a beautiful smile, and couldn’t help but look again.
Was it… because of what she had said earlier?
At the end of their conversation earlier, when she saw Shen Zhiwei’s less-than-pleased expression, Lu Jia realized that her words had been a bit too direct.
Rong Yi had smoothed things over for her, saying that Little Lu was just like that and that Shen Zhiwei shouldn’t take it to heart.
“Professor Sheng.”
Lu Jia held her hand, and the woman’s thumb occasionally brushed against her palm, a soft and delicate sensation.
Sheng Shubai hummed in response, then heard the girl beside her hesitate for a few seconds before asking if what she had said earlier was too much.
Her brows and eyes now brimmed even more with amusement, and she slowed her steps a bit.
“No.”
She caught Lu Jia’s expression and reassured her softly, “She grew up in Country A from a young age, and people from Country A always pride themselves on not engaging in polite pretenses or hypocrisy, so she won’t mind.”
Lu Jia nodded.
Sheng Shubai’s emotional intelligence was leagues above her own; in front of outsiders, she was like a smiling, beautiful fox.
If she said it was fine, then it definitely was.
They first toured Hall 4, where a few prints were on display—ones Lu Jia had seen photos of before.
The night before last, Sheng Shubai had said she would introduce her to those painters, and she hadn’t gone back on her word.
The few people before her were all easygoing industry seniors who chatted amiably with Lu Jia for a bit, then smilingly pointed at the works and asked her to share her thoughts.
The real pieces were naturally different from the photos; even the ink printed on the paper seemed warmer.
Lu Jia had plenty of ideas stored up, originally planning to discuss them with Rong Yi or Sheng Shubai. Now, with the seniors smiling at her expectantly, she instinctively opened her mouth to speak, then paused and looked toward the woman beside her.
She wasn’t shy about expressing her views, but after all, Sheng Shubai had brought her here. She was afraid of saying something wrong and embarrassing the woman.
The next second, the hand holding hers gave a subtle, gentle squeeze—two light ones, full of reassurance.
Lu Jia understood Sheng Shubai’s meaning: Speak freely; I’m here.
Her mind was focused on organizing her words, so she didn’t notice how a certain corner of her heart softened, like snow melting on early spring treetops, silent and unnoticed.
A message came in then—it was from Rong Yi, probably something she needed to discuss with Lu Jia.
Sheng Shubai didn’t preview it. When she unlocked her screen, she glanced up and saw Lu Jia surrounded by the seniors, clearly too occupied to check her phone.
She tapped into the messages and scanned the concise lines.
They were sent to Lu Jia, but could also be considered sent for her eyes.
“Shen Zhiwei just mentioned that Country A plans to revive the Qinghui Cup next year; it’s almost confirmed. If Little Lu is interested in participating, have her head up to Hall 7 later—there are more award-winning prints there.”
The Qinghui Cup had once been one of the most prestigious international competitions for young printmakers, but it had been on hiatus for eight years.
Now that it was restarting, the competition would undoubtedly be fierce.
Shen Zhiwei had overheard Sheng Shubai tell Rong Yi to message if there was anything, yet she deliberately used Rong Yi’s account to bring up the event again right in front of her.
She looked young, but her intentions ran deep.
Sheng Shubai’s gaze lightly skimmed the text before she reined in her emotions and looked back at the girl not far away.
Her eyes were sincere, her expression earnest—a picture of poise and eager curiosity.
And her talent was exceptional; anyone who chatted with her for a few sentences couldn’t help but feel a pang of pity for her talent.
Lu Jia was the obedient one, she thought.
They had only been there a short while, but two of the printmaking seniors had already hinted at wanting to take her on as a PhD student.
How could that be allowed?
Seeing the girl’s fingertips fidgeting with the hem of her clothes at her side, Sheng Shubai raised a brow and smilingly draped an arm around Lu Jia’s shoulder, laughing it off as she politely declined on her behalf:
“Lu Jia is still young and hasn’t decided on her future city or direction yet. No rush.”
Given her sister’s attitude toward Lu Jia last night, it was likely only a matter of time before the rest of the family learned of the girl’s existence.
Sheng Shubai herself had no interest in printmaking, but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t let Lu Jia pursue it with the Sheng Family’s support.
Wasn’t that far better than with that someone… Rong Yi?
They stayed until nearly noon.
As the senior professors left one by one, the last one even took the initiative to add Lu Jia’s contact info, saying they could keep in touch.
Sheng Shubai fell silent for a moment.
If not for the fact that this one had ties to her family—and she had called her “Auntie” as a child—she…
Well, she couldn’t do much about it anyway.
–
There weren’t many standout works at the exhibition worth lingering over.
Sheng Shubai accompanied Lu Jia on a general tour, and by around four in the afternoon, they had looped back to the main hall on the first floor.
The girl was bent over her pre-made exhibition notes, checking for any overlooked or unappreciated pieces, while Sheng Shubai stood quietly beside her.
At 5:10, under Rong Yi’s watchful eye, they boarded the car sent by Sheng Shuyun, complete with all their luggage from the hotel.
Naturally, Rong Yi had only let them go after some back-and-forth haggling.
Sheng Shubai argued confidently that the hotel was too remote; shuttling Lu Jia back and forth daily wasn’t a hassle, but it wasted time. “With that time, Lu Jia could stay nearly two extra hours at the Exhibition Hall. Why wouldn’t she want that?”
“Materials to hand over? What materials? Out here for an exhibition, and you’re still assigning reading tasks—being Professor Rong’s student sure isn’t easy.”
Lu Jia tugged at her sleeve, and Sheng Shubai finally held her tongue.
Before getting in the car, the woman exuded triumphant satisfaction and even waved cheekily at her colleague standing nearby. “Don’t worry. I’ve been Lu Jia’s neighbor for months—would I sell her off or something?”
Rong Yi averted her gaze silently, at a loss for words.
She really wasn’t reassured.
Sheng Residence, Exhibition Hall.
They had visited just yesterday, but this time Sheng Shubai had arranged in advance: the Exhibition Hall staff were on holiday for the next few days, leaving only essential on-duty personnel.
All four floors were nearly wide open, including Sheng Ling’s room.
Except for one.
Sheng Shubai took a key from her bag and handed it to Lu Jia.
It was a small brass key, brand new, resting in the woman’s fair, warm palm.
Back when she cut ties with her family, she had taken the key with her. She had left it with Sheng Shuyun afterward, retrieving it only last night.
Lu Jia’s fingertips paused briefly.
As she picked it up, they inevitably brushed against the woman’s palm. Perhaps because the Exhibition Hall was on the cooler side, it felt even chillier than her own fingertips.
Sheng Shubai wanted her to open it, so there must be a reason.
Lu Jia thought for a moment and didn’t bother with polite refusals like “Why don’t you do it?” She knew Sheng Shubai wasn’t in the mood to hear them right now.
The door opened slowly.
The dusty scene she had imagined didn’t appear; even the tile corners were spotless. The slanting evening sunlight filtered in from the window, casting a warm glow over the entire room.
Lu Jia turned in surprise to look at the woman beside her.
“I had Auntie Xie arrange for a quick cleanup this morning before we left.”
Sheng Shubai knew what she wanted to ask and proactively reached out to push the door wider for her.
The door creaked softly as it swung open fully, revealing the entire display room to Lu Jia’s eyes.
It suited Sheng Shubai’s personality perfectly, Lu Jia thought.
She had only glanced once, but she could tell that at least ninety-five percent of the design and setup had been done by Sheng Shubai herself back then.
Free-spirited, unbound.
Unlike the effortless poise left by the passage of time now, this display room brimmed with the youthful vigor and aspirations in every detail.
Before her stood the seventeen- or eighteen-year-old Sheng Shubai.
The moment that thought surfaced, Lu Jia didn’t know why her heart skipped a beat, nor did she have time to dwell on it.
Some of Sheng Shubai’s prints followed Sheng Ling’s style, with figures carved so lifelike they seemed ready to step off the page.
Most, however, matched her freewheeling style—landscapes.
Not distant mountains and flowing rivers or quaint bridges and homes, but sheer cliffs plunging thousands of feet, solitary smoke rising over desert sunsets.
Even the rare few figure prints weren’t merely static. The characters’ light garments billowed as if filled with gusts of wind, vibrant and fervent.
Lu Jia didn’t know where to start.
Or rather, every single one here was worth studying for a long time.
Sheng Shubai didn’t interrupt, letting the girl step slowly inside from the doorway and circle around, gazing repeatedly at the works on the four walls.
Every inch here had been designed by her own hand back then.
She tilted her head toward the right wall by the door, where a small wooden strip was embedded, from which hung a delicately crafted string of Six-Color Wind Chimes.
It was the gift Sheng Ling had given her right after their initial discussion about orientations.
At that age, still underage and in the throes of adolescent confusion, openly admitting a same-sex attraction in an artistic family wasn’t all that shocking, and no one dismissed it as childish nonsense.
But only Sheng Ling had given her a gift, sincerely congratulating her on developing her own yearnings and dreams for her first love.
Sheng Ling had an extremely romantic personality.
Toward family, juniors, friends, and… lovers.
Small surprises everywhere, remembering everyone’s preferences with care, giving herself wholly to all, believing the world full of good people.
Even her first meeting with Song Lan had been on a rainy night, when the other woman handed her an umbrella unprompted. Unable to catch up as she watched the girl dash back through the downpour, she later encountered this famous, beautiful senior from the academy, crouched alone under a streetlamp feeding stray cats.
Back then, whenever Sheng Shubai watched her paint, those ambiguous, delicate scenes and character auras could each make a film of lingering romance.
“Is your story with Teacher Song so sweet that you draw from those feelings?”
She had called her Teacher Song back then.
The girl had visited a few times to give pointers, and not being much older, calling her Auntie Song felt awkward.
Sheng Ling propped her chin with a beaming smile and admitted frankly, “Yes, she’s my muse.”
But the muse became the executioner, ruthlessly snuffing out her vitality—even her life.
The room was still.
Sheng Shubai reached out and gently nudged the tassel at the bottom of the wind chimes.
After more than a decade, the sound remained crisp, rippling through the quiet space, identical to the one in her memory.
Lu Jia looked up at the woman a few meters away, her shadow on the wall casting a touch of desolation.
“Miss Sheng.”
She called out instinctively.
The woman turned back, her eyes holding remnants of the past, her voice low and not fully detached from the emotion: “What is it?”
Lu Jia shook her head, unsure what to say.
She averted her gaze and made an excuse about asking about a work. In the few seconds it took Sheng Shubai to walk over, Lu Jia sank into an inexplicable train of thought.
It wasn’t the first time.
Lu Jia realized she wanted to… hold her.
