“Why are you suddenly interested in these things tonight?”
Sheng Shubai raised her hand to refill her glass and clinked it against Lu Jia’s.
Her tone was light and casual, as if she had just asked offhandedly.
This woman was too perceptive.
Lu Jia lightly pursed her lips, a hint of helplessness showing in her downcast eyes.
She hadn’t deliberately brought up anything specific. She had only asked one or two extra questions when Sheng Shubai mentioned Rong Yu. Yet it was detected so easily, and directly pointed out.
Lu Jia didn’t regret her impulsiveness.
After all, this was the first time she had heard about suitors from the woman’s mouth.
She wanted to know how Sheng Shubai viewed her, evaluated her, and interacted with her.
But the more she listened, the calmer she became.
Back then, Rong Yu had pursued the woman and confessed several times, only to be rejected outright each time. It wasn’t until later, when she no longer showed any interest, that she added Sheng Shubai’s contact before leaving C City.
Even after so many years, they could now get along ordinarily when they met, but it remained strictly within the boundaries of friendship.
If the young Sheng Shubai had once planted thorns all around herself, pricking back mercilessly at anyone who tried to get close.
Now, she had merely built a towering wall around her heart, smooth and solid.
More peaceful and harmless, yet utterly unapproachable.
Lu Jia pursed her lips, recalling the “boil the frog in warm water” tactic Shi Mengxi had suggested. She pondered for a few seconds but decided not to use it.
She couldn’t completely deceive her—they had signed a contract.
Moreover, Sheng Shubai was so smart; she must have already noticed something.
That gulp earlier had been too fierce, and the drunkenness hadn’t yet spread, but Lu Jia already felt a slight dizziness. Her rationality held firm, however.
She set down her glass, her gaze lingering on the rippling liquid for a few seconds until it settled.
The racing of her heart was also suppressed.
Lu Jia thought she finally understood the reason for her previous erratic heartbeats.
“Miss Sheng, there’s something I need to confess.”
Sheng Shubai’s eyes flickered with an indeterminate light. She didn’t respond, quietly waiting for Lu Jia’s next words.
The outer wall of her glass had warmed slightly from her fingertips. She shifted her angle, feeling the expected coolness again, which seemed to reassure her.
“I breached the contract. I have someone I like, and I only confirmed my feelings today.”
Lu Jia tried to keep her tone even and calm, as if stating an objective fact.
“Who?”
Her breath hitched uncontrollably for a moment.
Sheng Shubai thought she had waited a beat before asking. In reality, her voice followed almost instantly after Lu Jia’s words landed.
A short, monosyllabic word, with only a faint trace of emotion in the ending tone—neither of them noticed it.
She realized she had lost composure slightly.
Fortunately, the person in front of her had her eyes lowered, missing that fleeting expression.
Sheng Shubai suppressed her emotions and realized Lu Jia hadn’t answered her question. Pretending to be casual and gossipy, she asked again, “Who is it? Do I know them?”
Lu Jia fell silent for a moment: “…You don’t know them.”
She… had almost said it.
The instant she received the negative answer,
Sheng Shubai admitted that her heart, which had tightened upon hearing it, suddenly relaxed upon learning it wasn’t someone she knew.
Yet it uncontrollably sank heavily, numbing every inch of her chest.
In that moment Lu Jia confessed, she had vaguely guessed it might be herself.
She had even prepared herself: if Lu Jia really named her, how to end this partnership as calmly as possible without hurting the girl.
It had been many years since anyone had gotten this close to her, and Lu Jia was the first to get… this intimate.
As she pondered how to phrase her draft response, that light “you don’t know them” shattered all her preparations.
Her mood wasn’t as good as she had imagined.
Sheng Shubai paused, her breathing rhythm disrupted for only a moment before returning to normal.
Lu Jia wouldn’t lie; otherwise, there’d be no need to tell her.
So, when had she met this new woman, liking her enough to forgo the inspiration she provided?
Or… did the other woman offer even more inspiration than she did?
To think she couldn’t compare to some other woman.
“You really like her?”
Sheng Shubai asked faintly, as if confirming something.
Lu Jia was silent for a few seconds: “Yes.”
The feeling of deception was unbearable; she felt utterly uncomfortable.
It seemed as if the denial suppressed in her throat would surge out the next second, tearing through her carefully crafted facade and calm, exposing her feelings completely to Sheng Shubai.
Fortunately, it didn’t.
Her temperament, which had hidden emotions for over twenty years, was putting on an rare act.
Relying on Sheng Shubai’s trust in her words and deliberately avoiding eye contact, she left no room for doubt.
Receiving the expected response, Sheng Shubai lowered her brows and smiled silently.
She didn’t know what she was smiling about, but she suddenly recalled the new contract they had signed recently.
Lu Jia bringing it up now made her meaning clear: they didn’t need to continue.
Of course. Lu Jia was so young, with such a soft and beautiful appearance.
It was time for her to start a normal relationship, a pure and open one, rather than continuing this ambiguous entanglement with her.
Sustained by that so-called agreement not recognized by law, prolonging their mutual consensual exchange of benefits. Wrapped in her own base possessiveness and timid avoidance, dragging it deeper into the quagmire.
It was too unfair to Lu Jia.
Sheng Shubai knew full well that even if the girl had said her name earlier, she couldn’t offer anything.
She couldn’t trust anyone, not even Lu Jia.
Of course, there was no such if.
“I understand.”
Sheng Shubai raised her glass, clinked it proactively against Lu Jia’s, and drained it: “I wish you success soon.”
She didn’t wait for Lu Jia’s response and stood up to leave directly.
“Good night, Miss Sheng.”
At the entrance, a soft murmur came from behind, the girl’s voice huskier than usual, perhaps out of apology toward her.
Sheng Shubai didn’t stop.
She never needed anyone’s pity or sympathy.
It was simply the result of following the contract; Lu Jia’s honest disclosure meant she hadn’t wronged her.
Her hand gripped the metal doorknob, chilled by the autumn night air.
Sheng Shubai replied softly: “Good night.”
The door closed slowly, followed by the faint sound of another door opening and closing.
Lu Jia leaned against the sofa, eyes closed, catching that subtle noise until everything fell completely silent. She slowly opened her eyes. The warm-toned light remained, but it brought no warmth to her.
She had breached the contract and lied to her.
Not daring to reveal her feelings to Sheng Shubai, the only thing she could do was end the relationship according to the contract.
The new clause added recently had made Sheng Shubai’s stance clear. No matter her selfish desires, she couldn’t deceive herself into continuing to get close to the woman.
That would be too despicable; she would only lose sleep over it.
Even with some drunkenness, Lu Jia had performed well earlier, afraid of ending up like others.
No, perhaps worse than others.
Their countless uncountable intimate moments would likely become another bargaining chip for Sheng Shubai in handling her under the “distance” option.
Two doors away, the Bluetooth speaker stuttered with music before disconnecting. Everything returned to calm.
Shifting her gaze, she looked at the coffee table: the wine Sheng Shubai hadn’t taken, still half a bottle left, placed side by side with the other glass.
Lu Jia stared at it for a moment before downing her glass.
Over half a glass—she took nearly half a minute to barely suppress the drunkenness.
Then, with careful aim, she placed the empty glass next to Sheng Shubai’s on the table.
Quietly, bathed in pale light.
–
The work for the exhibition entered its final stages.
For half a month straight, Lu Jia stayed in the studio from morning till night. Only when the security guard on the first floor patrolled and urged people to leave did she reluctantly set down the carving knife, turn off the lights, and head home.
She barely had time to eat. If Shen Zhiwei hadn’t brought meals punctually to knock on her door, Lu Jia would have waited until she was too hungry to hold the knife before tearing into a piece of bread.
Her once regular three meals a day had been disrupted by some unclear reason.
Rong Yi also noticed the abnormality and specifically checked on her. Lu Jia didn’t explain, so Rong Yi considerately didn’t press, only reminding her student to take care of her health and not overwork.
Lu Jia agreed and turned to return to the workshop, but she heard Rong Yi’s phone ring.
“Aren’t you going to take your things?”
A very cold remark—Lu Jia had never heard Rong Yi speak to anyone in such a tone.
Lu Jia paused, recalling her recent contact with Shi Mengxi. The other had been staying in a hotel near the school, buying all her necessities temporarily; she hadn’t brought anything out.
When asked about originally living with Rong Yi, Shi Mengxi had shared the story.
Not long after starting grad school, Shi Mengxi had been stalked.
Not living in the dorms, she had rented an apartment nearby with poor security.
After tailing her for half a month, the person showed up drunk in the middle of the night, smashing her door with a hammer and hurling curses and threats.
Rong Yi and the police arrived almost simultaneously, by which time the old security door’s lock had loosened.
Shi Mengxi trembled against the wall, clutching a gleaming carving knife for defense.
Only upon hearing Rong Yi’s soothing words outside the door and learning the intruder had been subdued did she open it and throw herself into Rong Yi’s arms.
That night, Rong Yi took her home.
She gave up the lease on that apartment and moved in long-term with the woman.
During that time, Rong Yi got her a well-connected lawyer, who revealed the stalker was a repeat offender and secured a heavy seven-year sentence.
C University’s faculty apartments were impeccable in environment and security.
Until this… incident, Rong Yi hadn’t mentioned moving her out. Instead, Rong Yi herself had moved to her sister’s place.
But Shi Mengxi hadn’t stayed there anymore.
She couldn’t live in a place full of memories, especially alone.
Rong Yi learned about it by overhearing students’ private chatter mentioning Shi Mengxi’s recent hotel stay.
So she went back once and saw the still-tidy house with no recent signs of habitation.
Nothing had been taken except the guitar behind the study door.
It was from an early autumn afternoon when Shi Mengxi got interested in learning guitar; Rong Yi had specially accompanied her to the music store to pick it out.
The wood grain was beautiful—Rong Yi still remembered Shi Mengxi hugging it lovingly in the passenger seat on the way back.
The voice on the other end was calm: “Sorry for inconveniencing you. I’ll come get it soon.”
Rong Yi faltered, unsure how to respond for a moment.
In those few seconds of pause, Lu Jia had already left and walked far away, missing the rest of their conversation.
She glanced down at her phone: a message from Shen Zhiwei.
“Lu Jia, Teacher sent me a new collected print. Want to come take a look?”
“Picture” “Picture”
It was the intaglio woodblock print Lu Jia had mentioned before, lost abroad somewhere. She didn’t know where Song Lan had acquired it.
She replied with downcast eyes: “Okay.”
This was the nth subtle overture from Shen Zhiwei—or rather, Song Lan—recently; Lu Jia hadn’t counted or kept track.
She only knew this mentor-student pair seemed unusually restless lately.
If originally Shen Zhiwei had approached with gradual intentions, lately she had become particularly active.
Proactively bringing meals, finding excuses to linger in her studio. Her gaze stuck to Lu Jia’s new print, unable to move away.
Though the exhibition required unpublished originals, so Shen Zhiwei didn’t suggest taking photos.
But her eyes kept darting between Lu Jia and the printing block, making even meals uncomfortable.
Every time this happened, Lu Jia recalled Sheng Shubai’s words from her first studio visit: “Don’t tell the password to anyone.” She wondered what that meant.
Back on the studio floor, Shen Zhiwei was already waiting at the door, waving her in.
They had recently been equipped with new computers and larger screens, making it easier to view details of electronic artwork files.
Lu Jia had marveled at the academy’s generosity, only later learning it was sponsored by Song Lan.
On the monitor was the woodblock print mentioned earlier.
The photos had been taken in a highly professional setting, surrounded by pure white with no clutter or stray light.
Shen Zhiwei’s eyes curved into a smile. “After Teacher bought it back, she specially took detail shots and videos first before placing it in the collection room.”
With a click of the mouse, the image switched to the next page—a more intricate close-up. Several video segments followed.
Shen Zhiwei turned up the volume and gestured for Lu Jia to put on the over-ear headphones nearby.
It was a woman’s voice providing a foreign-language introduction, mostly professional terminology. Lu Jia understood about half of it, and with the subtitles, she could follow along easily.
After the third video finished and returned to the desktop,
Shen Zhiwei, mouse in hand as she browsed back and forth through the folder, leaned in even closer in a posture that almost encircled Lu Jia.
Lu Jia shifted uncomfortably to the left and tried to stand. “I’ve finished looking. I’ll give the spot to…”
“There’s one more that’s longer—the Chinese version.”
Shen Zhiwei had already opened the folder and gently pressed down on Lu Jia’s shoulder.
Lu Jia had the strength to shrug it off, but when she heard about the Chinese version, she hesitated for a moment. Then, the warm, mellow tones of the Chinese narration came through the headphones.
It was Song Lan’s voice.
