Lu Jia was stunned for a moment, then smiled helplessly.
She had no intention of asking Sheng Shubai to critique that person’s painting skills.
She had simply been worrying that her previous blunt refusal might make Shen Zhiwei too embarrassed to approach her again, forcing her to take the initiative.
Where would she even get the experience to strike up conversations with people?
Seeing that Shen Zhiwei not only took the initiative to make amends but also shouldered the blame herself, intending to gloss over the matter, Lu Jia finally breathed a sigh of relief.
However, she didn’t explain this to Sheng Shubai and simply went along with it. “Yes, Miss Sheng is impressive.”
Sheng Shubai didn’t paint much in private.
Lu Jia had visited her office many times and rarely saw the woman touch her watercolors.
But even from the works hanging on the office walls, it was clear that Sheng Shubai’s skill level was extremely high.
It made sense—she was an associate professor at C University, after all. Over the years, the painting paper she’d used could probably stack up several times her height.
“Come to my office after A-Jin’s class on Monday.”
A message popped up unexpectedly from the other side.
Lu Jia was puzzled. It was only Saturday; there were still nearly two full days left. If the woman needed something, she could just contact her anytime.
Sheng Shubai knew full well that Lu Jia’s routine consisted of nothing but the College Building and home—she rarely went anywhere else.
Except to pick her up from the bar.
Out of curiosity, Lu Jia asked, only to see another breezy message pop up:
“Nothing. No need to come.”
What was this woman up to?
Lu Jia didn’t understand. She asked again, but Sheng Shubai refused to elaborate.
Knowing the importance of boundaries, Lu Jia replied that she understood. She put away her phone and glanced at Rong Yi and Shen Zhiwei on either side of her—one flipping through documents, the other continuing to edit on her tablet.
Noticing the gaze, Shen Zhiwei smiled shyly.
Her tone carried a hint of embarrassment. “That painting from earlier only had light colors. I want to paint a full version and give it to you in a few days.”
Lu Jia paused. “No need.”
She didn’t want to accept too many favors from Shen Zhiwei.
But the other woman acted as if she hadn’t heard, and Lu Jia had no interest in arguing over it.
They arrived in C City in the early afternoon.
Lu Jia and the others had to return to the College Building for a summary report meeting, while Sheng Shubai skipped it and went straight home.
After being away for a week, she opened the windows to air out the place and ordered fresh ingredients online.
She glanced at the Golden-Edged Lily Bamboo in the corner of the living room.
She had asked a friend to water it once while she was away, but perhaps because it was placed against the wall, it received little scattered light, and the leaves looked a bit wilted.
Sheng Shubai recalled that Lu Jia used to come by at least twice a week and would proactively move it to the balcony for some morning sun the next day.
The girl seemed to have a natural affinity for plants.
This pot of Golden-Edged Lily Bamboo had been with her for months now, but it only looked particularly vibrant when Lu Jia was around.
She glanced at the sunlight outside.
On an autumn sunny day, even at past three in the afternoon, the rays weren’t too intense.
Sheng Shubai simply carried the pot—plant and all—to the balcony, squatted down for a closer look. The luster was indeed weaker than before.
“You ungrateful little thing.”
She chuckled lightly in mock reproach, reached out to fiddle with the leaves, and her slender, beautiful fingers caught the slanting sunlight, plated in a layer of pale gold.
“Will you perk up again the next time she comes over?”
A gentle breeze wafted in from outside, making the leaf tips sway slightly, brushing against her fingertip.
–
Lu Jia’s days were very uncomfortable lately.
She was used to being on her own, and suddenly having someone around made anyone feel uneasy.
To make matters worse, the person sticking by her side was exceptionally good at reading moods.
Whenever Lu Jia showed even a hint of impatience, Shen Zhiwei would tactfully find a reason to leave, only to snuggle up warmly again the next day.
It was like drawing a bow that never fully pulled back—releasing just past halfway every time.
Over the past few days, Lu Jia felt more exhausted than in the previous half month combined.
But since she had promised to help Sheng Shubai, she gritted her teeth and endured Shen Zhiwei’s closeness.
A knock sounded at the studio door. Lu Jia set down her carving knife, and as expected, the person outside was Shen Zhiwei.
“Advisor Rong said in the group chat that we’re gathering for dinner tonight. You haven’t replied, so she asked me to check.” Shen Zhiwei had her hands behind her back, smiling brightly. “Lu Jia, are you working on a new printing plate again?”
Rong Yi had assigned Shen Zhiwei a studio right next door, and she dropped by every few days.
Not only did she inquire about Lu Jia’s recent progress but she also took a few photos under the guise of reference. In their chats, she would casually mention how printmaking was booming abroad and how dedicated Song Lan was to her students.
Lu Jia received investigation updates from Sheng Shuyun’s secretary every other day or so.
Hearing Shen Zhiwei’s words, Lu Jia found it amusing.
Any naive young student would probably have packed up and submitted an application by now, dazzled by the name of an industry senior and guaranteed by Shen Zhiwei herself.
“Yeah, I didn’t check my phone just now.”
Lu Jia had a habit of focusing completely while carving plates, putting off messages until later and only answering calls.
She turned to grab her phone and replied that she’d received it.
When she looked up, Shen Zhiwei had followed her into the studio.
“For you, Lu Jia.”
What the girl had hidden behind her back was a small watercolor, identical to the one she’d given as an apology a few days ago.
“I redrew it by hand these past few days.”
Shen Zhiwei explained, “I thought about it—compared to digital drawing on a tablet, painting it myself shows more sincerity.”
She held it out with both hands for a full half minute, as if she wouldn’t lower it unless Lu Jia took it.
Lu Jia glanced down and finally accepted it. “No need to do this next time.”
“It’s not much trouble; it just took a while to frame.”
Shen Zhiwei smiled softly. “I figured your place might not be convenient for hanging things, so I chose a smaller size that can go anywhere.”
Lu Jia nodded without responding.
Truth be told, she had no intention of hanging it or using it as decor. Instead, she was already thinking about which storage box in the cabinet had space left.
She worried that Shen Zhiwei’s gifts might hide listening devices in the frames.
“It’s really inconvenient.”
A soft, alluring female voice came from a few meters away. “Lu Jia, I remember the contract didn’t include a clause about damaging the walls.”
Lu Jia turned her head. The woman stood gracefully at the door in a long skirt, unclear how much she’d overheard.
“Professor Sheng.”
Shen Zhiwei’s eyes flickered as she greeted her proactively. “What a coincidence. Are you here for Lu Jia?”
Hearing the girl’s form of address for Lu Jia, Sheng Shubai’s eyes narrowed imperceptibly, her tone flat. “Mm.”
Seeing Shen Zhiwei take the hint and leave—reminding Lu Jia about the dinner on her way out—
“Miss Sheng, when did you get back from Z City?”
Lu Jia paid little mind to the painting tube in the woman’s hand, assuming it was homework from some student.
She hadn’t seen the other woman for days and thought it was just bad luck. Yesterday, Sheng Shubai had messaged her to water the Golden-Edged Lily Bamboo once, which clued her in that she’d gone to Z City again.
Without standing on ceremony, Sheng Shubai settled into the soft chair in Lu Jia’s studio.
The studio chairs were standard wooden ones from the college. Lu Jia found them adequate and never bothered replacing them.
After Sheng Shubai visited a few times—on the third, she decisively had a soft chair brought in.
The college chairs boasted ergonomics, but they dug into her uncomfortably everywhere. Sheng Shubai couldn’t fathom how this kid could sit so comfortably on something so hard when it was clearly soft for her.
“I got back this afternoon.”
Sheng Shubai tilted her chin toward her. “You all are having dinner tonight?”
Lu Jia picked up her carving knife again, not lifting her head. “Yes.”
“What time will you be back? Want me to pick you up?”
Sheng Shubai leaned in to examine the exquisitely framed watercolor, clicking her tongue softly.
The skill was barely passable—about on par with her own freshman year level. She had no idea what Song Lan was teaching her students.
Before Lu Jia could answer, she heard the woman say leisurely, “Come to my place after. That okay?”
By sheer coincidence, Lu Jia’s period had just ended. She agreed readily. “Sure.”
They hadn’t done it all week.
Yesterday was Thursday; past noon, she’d messaged Sheng Shubai asking when the contract’s required two sessions would be scheduled.
She had a lot of plates to carve lately. If they were fulfilling the agreement, she’d need to rest her hands half a day in advance and switch to line drafting.
Otherwise, she couldn’t use them for long at night.
Sheng Shubai said nothing more, leaning back in the chair to watch Lu Jia carve.
Whenever the girl immersed herself, she paid no attention to people or things around her.
To keep her line of sight clear, her long black straight hair draped over her shoulders was simply clipped back, though a few shorter strands still slipped from behind her ear.
Sheng Shubai watched for a while before she couldn’t resist standing up.
To avoid startling her—which could lead to nicking a finger with the carving knife—she called Lu Jia’s name first. When the girl turned her head, she tucked the stray hairs back for her.
Her fingertips were as cool and warm as ever.
Compared to the fleeting warmth rising on her cheeks, Lu Jia lowered her gaze, her thick lashes trembling slightly. “Thanks.”
The girl’s hair was fine and soft; the feel of it between her fingers had been pleasant.
Sheng Shubai chuckled lightly. “I’m off. See you later.”
Her hand had just touched the door handle when Lu Jia called out to her.
“Miss Sheng, you forgot your things.”
Lu Jia pointed to the desk, where the woman’s painting tube sat casually in the corner.
Sheng Shubai glanced back, her tone casual. “I drew it idly in Z City the other day when I was bored. It’s yours now.”
Drew it idly?
Lu Jia lowered her head to unroll it, but from the corner of her eye, she saw the woman hadn’t left—instead, leaning against the door to watch.
Of course, the tube contained a painting.
It was a decent size, so Lu Jia carefully unrolled the paper. As expected, a watercolor.
It depicted their first meeting at the bar—her sitting at the counter holding a mojito.
The composition was intricate and detailed, even rendering the background with care, though it omitted the other people, including the shop owner sister chatting amiably with her.
She was somewhat amazed by Sheng Shubai’s memory. Months had passed, yet she painted it almost identically.
Receiving two watercolors in one day, both of her—it was quite the coincidence.
She looked up at Sheng Shubai. “Miss Sheng, can we really not renegotiate the lease to allow a little wall damage?”
Her voice was soft, prompting Sheng Shubai to raise a brow. Her tone was unhurried. “What do you want to do?”
Lu Jia said earnestly, “I want to frame this painting and hang it on the wall.”
“I’ll think about it.”
Sheng Shubai was noncommittal, then asked offhandedly, “What about Shen Zhiwei’s? She gave you one too—going to hang that up?”
“Of course not.”
Lu Jia curved her eyes in a smile, her gaze clear. “You know I don’t like her.”
