Chapter 62: Sheng Residence

After her business trip ended, Sheng Shubai made a detour back to Z City.

It was nighttime when she landed, and Z City’s winter weather was a bit colder than C City’s.

Sheng Shuyun personally drove to the airport to pick her up. She rolled down the window and asked warmly, “Xiaobai, are you heading home tonight?”

Sheng Shubai gave her a lukewarm glance and loaded her suitcase into the trunk. “Which home are you talking about?”

Sheng Shuyun said helplessly, “The old mansion. Grandmother’s celebrating her birthday in a couple of days. She asked me to see if you’d come stay.”

This year marked Grandmother’s full milestone birthday, held at the old mansion. Not just the Sheng family—Grandmother’s friends from over the years and the many students she’d taught would all attend.

“…We’ll see.”

Sheng Shubai didn’t commit fully.

No matter how distant she’d grown from the family, she still had to observe the proper etiquette. She’d already selected and shipped Grandmother’s birthday gift to Z City ahead of time, asking Sheng Shuyun to pass it along a few days earlier.

As for the old mansion, Sheng Shubai hadn’t decided if she’d go.

The Sheng family wasn’t small, but most were distant cousins.

Grandmother had only two children. Mom handled the company, and Little Aunt had passed early, so in truth, the main branch was just Sheng Shuyun and her.

After they came of age, Sheng Shuyun devoted most of her energy to the company, while Sheng Shubai had switched to watercolors early on.

Years of growing cold with the family. The last time Grandmother had reached out unprecedentedly was when she saw Lu Jia’s work and specifically asked who the student was studying under now, whether the mentor was someone she knew.

Sheng Shubai had forwarded the response to Sheng Shuyun for relay.

The reply that came back was that Grandmother’s attitude was much warmer than in previous years. She only said that having a promising student to carry on her legacy was enough to satisfy her.

Sheng Shubai knew what Grandmother meant but still pretended not to notice.

The old grudge lingered in her heart.

Forced to study printmaking for four years, haunted by nightmares for nearly four years, all because of Grandmother’s words about “having an heir.”

When Grandmother learned she wanted to switch majors for grad school, she flew all the way from afar to C City, leaning on her cane as she rebuked her heartbrokenly.

Mom hadn’t taken her side either.

Compared to her barely adult daughter, Sheng Hui naturally sided with her mother. After all, Sheng Shubai’s talent in printmaking was obvious to all, and Sheng Hui didn’t want her acting on impulse.

Later, Sheng Shuyun persuaded the elders to leave and shouldered nearly all the pressure herself.

Sheng Shubai thought that if Lu Jia had met her from a few years ago, the moment she learned the kid studied printmaking, she’d have been shown the door—person and belongings alike.

Now, older and more mature, she still felt a pang when thinking of Sheng Ling.

But after over twenty years with printmaking, many memories had woven into her veins. She held back from wielding the knife herself but couldn’t fully sever it all.

Just like her bloodline—no matter how she resented Grandmother’s actions back then, she couldn’t change the fact that she was a Sheng.

The elderly woman’s years were waning, one less each year.

Since Grandmother was willing to soften first, Sheng Shubai couldn’t stay cold forever.

As for whether Lu Jia wanted to learn, that was the kid’s choice. She could at most offer some gentle persuasion, no guarantees.

In the end, she didn’t go to the old mansion. Sheng Shubai returned to her own place.

Seeing Sheng Shuyun get out of the car to walk her upstairs, she waved her off. “I’ll go up myself. Head back early—doesn’t Little Liu have to wait at home?”

Sheng Shuyun’s brows and eyes softened warmly. “Mm. This time, she’s coming back to the old mansion with me. It was too late tonight, so she didn’t come to pick you up. Let’s have dinner sometime when you’re free. Get to know your sister-in-law.”

Bringing Liu Zhao back to the old mansion this time meant she’d gained the family’s approval.

Sheng Shubai paused, glancing at her. “You’re moving fast.”

Last time, she was just a bedmate; now she was the girlfriend, brought straight home.

And talking about meeting the sister-in-law—they’d met Liu Zhao before. Just because she had a partner now didn’t mean she had to torment her single little sister like this.

She wondered if it was some inherited Sheng family trait, each one more impatient than the last.

Back then, Sheng Ling had done the same—barely chased down… that person before parading her home for all the elders to see.

“Once I’ve committed, of course I have to bring her back for Grandmother and Mom to meet.”

Sheng Shuyun spoke of her lover, her face blooming with a smug, springtime smile.

Only Sheng Shubai shivered in the winter night wind, grumpily grabbing her suitcase and turning to leave. After a few steps, she paused and looked back. “Tell Grandmother I’ll be there tomorrow.”

Sheng Shuyun smiled and agreed. “Alright.”

–

It had truly been many years since she’d entered the old mansion.

The last time Sheng Shubai returned, she’d taken Lu Jia to the nearby exhibition hall to view works.

For six or seven straight days, the old mansion had been right there, yet she hadn’t set foot inside once.

The room was exactly as it had been back then, unchanged in every detail, spotlessly clean everywhere.

Sheng Shubai set down her luggage and looked around.

The walls, bookshelves, drawers… even the closet still held the clothes she’d left from her last stay, each bagged neatly against dust.

During those four undergrad years, she rarely came back even on breaks, let alone after.

She slowly circled the room and, opening the door, ran straight into Sheng Tianqin. Sheng Shubai nodded and called out, “Grandmother.”

Sheng Tianqin hummed. “Back?”

At her age, perhaps due to calcium loss in her bones, the elderly woman’s stature had shrunk.

The Grandmother who once tapped her cane repeatedly on the college building floor looked, after so much time apart, etched full of the marks of years.

The grief of losing a daughter in old age had weathered Sheng Tianqin greatly those years.

Sheng Shubai recalled her childhood, when Grandmother took Little Aunt and the sisters on a plein air outing. The white hairs on her head had still been few then.

The sunlight in the suburbs was splendid, illuminating everything crystal clear.

Sheng Tianqin painted, and the three of them crowded around her, vying to pluck her white hairs, shouting out the tally with each one, giggling nonstop.

Back then, she was the youngest and shortest, unable to keep up with Little Aunt and Big Sis.

In a hurry, she’d shoved past the easel, tiptoeing right up to Sheng Tianqin’s face to pluck. With no one competing up front, she didn’t even notice the paintbrush drawing cat whiskers on her face.

So many years in a blink.

Now Grandmother’s hair was fully silver, though her vigor and spirit looked better than right after Sheng Ling’s passing.

Sheng Shubai replied, “I’m back. Staying a couple of days before I go.”

Just a few words of small talk, nothing more.

Seeing Grandmother had no interest in further conversation, she nodded slightly and headed downstairs and out.

The Sheng Family Old Mansion sprawled large. Beyond the main house and exhibition hall, there were several other buildings front and back. The older generation cared about feng shui, so even if left vacant over the years, the overall layout remained mostly unchanged.

Sheng Shubai wandered casually. When her peripheral vision caught a certain three-story building with tightly shut doors, her steps halted.

Perhaps for aesthetic uniformity, the outer walls had been freshly painted.

Sheng Shubai approached and, seeing the heavy locks on the door, lowered her lashes and stood motionless for a long time.

This was the small display hall before the Sheng Family Exhibition Hall was built. The third floor had been partitioned into a few studios—nothing grand, but fully equipped.

Later, the works moved to the exhibition hall, and the building fell into disuse.

Only after undergrad did Sheng Ling have it cleaned up again, moving tools back in and carving plates there daily.

She said the view from her studio window faintly caught Z University’s scenery—clear and inspiring through the seasons.

Everyone in the family knew better but said nothing:

From that angle, you could just make out Z University’s dorm clusters, one of which housed her beloved.

That was where she took her own life.

Afterward, the entire building was sealed shut, standing long in the old mansion grounds as a taboo the family never approached.

Sheng Shubai didn’t enter either.

She circled halfway around and looked up at a certain third-floor window. Then she turned her head following the window’s line of sight. Not high enough, the view was blocked by trees; Z University’s buildings were invisible.

That night, Sheng Shubai had a nightmare, identical to those inescapable ones from over a decade ago.

Sheng Ling’s face, Song Lan’s face.

Both familiar gentle smiles.

But in the next second, one face paled to ashen defeat, crumbling to dust, while the other’s lips stretched into an absurd, terrifying grimace.

Then the dream shifted to the memory Sheng Shubai least wanted to recall:

Sheng Ling lay in a vast pool of blood, the carving knife fallen to the floor, glinting with bone-chilling cold. She stood at the door wanting to rush in, but her legs were pinned by some force, unable to take a single step.

Over ten years later, the memory hadn’t blurred with time. If anything, each dream made that blood pool seem to spread further.

Inch by inch devouring her vision, dyeing the room a vast crimson.

This time, when she pushed open the door, the blood lapped at her feet.

The tiles became a bottomless blood swamp, one half-step from swallowing her whole.

Sheng Shubai jolted awake in cold sweat.

Opening her eyes to the familiar yet strange surroundings—her old room from back then.

Her gaze lingered on the dim ceiling for a long while until her heartbeat steadied. Only then did Sheng Shubai check her phone; it was two in the morning.

She’d had a few drinks at the family dinner that evening and another small one before bed. She’d thought she’d sleep soundly.

The screen showed two unread messages from Lu Jia, sent just after eleven.

One was a screenshot of a chat with someone else; the other was the girl asking, “Miss Sheng, do you know what this means?”

An inexplicable unease stirred in her.

Sheng Shubai tamped down her heartbeat again, hesitated with her fingertip, then tapped the screenshot.

The other person was Shen Zhiwei. It was still midday in Country A then. She’d sent a printmaking piece to discuss with Lu Jia. Lu Jia replied briefly, complimenting her inspiration politely but distantly.

Yet Shen Zhiwei responded lightly and cheerfully:

“Thanks to my muse—every encounter brings tons of inspiration.”

“Lu Jia, want a muse of your own?”

Sheng Shubai’s back chilled.

Memory flashed instantly to a conversation with Sheng Ling back then.

The girl set down her brush, propped her chin by the easel with a beaming smile, candidly admitting Song Lan’s inspirational role: “Yeah, she’s my muse.”

She recalled too how Lu Jia had first connected with her—desperate for her thesis inspiration. Amid the bar’s daily crowds, she’d zeroed in on her at a glance.

Over the past half-year, the girl had countless times mentioned lacking inspiration, new ideas sparking only in her closeness.

In a way, she was Lu Jia’s muse too.

Would they end up the same?