Chapter 79: Qinghui

After the start of the school term, time seemed to speed up all at once.

From mid-February to the end of March, Lu Jia hurried and polished her competition printmaking plate to her utmost satisfaction, then mounted the printing paper. Only then did she finally set one worry aside from her heart.

Shi Mengxi squeezed out time to create a piece as well. She wasn’t aiming for a win, but the quality was still quite high.

After all, Rong Yi had privately tutored her for over a year, and her talent was on par with Lu Jia’s. She just lacked the girl’s relentless drive to refine and ponder.

Now that things were harmonious with Rong Yi, she held even more enthusiasm for printmaking.

Held for the first time in many years, this Qinghui Cup in Country A was not only about awards but also a grand printmaking exhibition. Some master’s and doctoral students from C University Academy of Fine Arts, even senior undergraduates, were eager to sign up and participate—or at least go to view the exhibition without competing.

Sheng Shubai planned to go along too.

Though she taught watercolor, the Sheng family name carried weight, and she easily secured a spot on the organizer’s invitation list. She would attend the award ceremony.

Three days before departure, Sheng Shuyun made a special trip to C City.

She had originally wanted to accompany her sister and Lu Jia. But with too much going on at the company lately, Liu Zhao couldn’t handle it alone, so she had to stay behind in the country for now.

“If anything happens, call me right away.”

Sheng Shuyun cautioned the two, then looked especially at Lu Jia. “If something involving Song Lan comes up, Little Bai might act impulsively. I’ll trouble you to keep an eye on her.”

She didn’t know what tactics Song Lan had learned from that so-called discerning mentor of hers back in the day.

Over these years, when dealing with peers who crossed her, the woman’s tricks were endless. Not just schemes, but she was especially skilled at psychological attacks.

Truly vicious and cunning.

From the reports of the few students the Sheng family had planted, it was gambler setups, drug lures for addicts, and for the greedy and lustful, they were even easier targets.

They had traced it to Song Lan’s private island, but none of the people they sent had been allowed on yet.

Sheng Shuyun specially hired four top-notch bodyguards whose skills were first-rate. They would stay close by in Country A.

During this time, both the family and she probably wouldn’t sleep soundly.

By the time they saw Sheng Shuyun off, it was already midnight.

Lu Jia knew Sheng Shubai was in a bad mood that night. She let the woman take what she wanted and satisfied her in return.

After being sent to the peak time and again, then held tightly in Sheng Shubai’s arms, the grip around her waist was a bit too strong—not entirely comfortable—but Lu Jia didn’t struggle.

Lu Jia shifted her position and hugged Sheng Shubai from the front. Earlier, the woman had always pressed her from behind, even afterward. The familiar curves had pressed against her back, warm and soft.

But now, she wanted to face her, to comfort her properly.

“Sister, don’t worry.”

Seeing the unease and loss of control in the woman’s eyes, Lu Jia tilted her head up slightly and kissed Sheng Shubai’s brow. “We’re just going for the Qinghui Cup, to check out the exhibition. We’ll come right back after.”

Their plan was just that: compete, view the exhibition, return home.

The Sheng family didn’t want to drag Lu Jia into matters with Song Lan, so this trip had nothing to do with dealing with her.

The Qinghui Cup was a top-tier event and exhibition, with so many young artists attending. Sheng Shubai couldn’t stop Lu Jia from going, nor could she stay away herself.

If they left her in C City waiting for news, it might be better to just knock her out with a stick and splash her awake when Lu Jia returned.

Sheng Shubai didn’t speak, just held the girl in her arms a little tighter.

“You…”

Lu Jia started to say something, but her lips were blocked by the woman’s fingertip.

“I know.”

Sheng Shubai sighed softly. She didn’t let Lu Jia finish; more than anyone, she feared her words becoming a prophecy.

She could only restrain herself from dwelling on the past or those hypotheticals.

The bedroom was dimly lit, and neither spoke again. A long time passed before Sheng Shubai whispered, “Good night, Little Jia.”

–

“Are they coming?” Song Lan looked up at Shen Zhiwei. A message had just popped up on the latter’s phone, displayed on the screen for both to see.

The underground room was dimly lit. Breathing from the distant cells was so faint it was almost inaudible. The only light came from the lamp on the table and the brief glow of the phone screen.

“Wednesday, 1:20 p.m.”

The arrival time of the flight from Country C at the airport.

Shen Zhiwei curved her lips. “They’re coming.”

The smile was exceptionally warm, no different from usual, just like the gentle smile Lu Jia had once seen.

But in the dim light, it somehow accentuated her delicate features with a chilling undertone.

Song Lan nodded slightly.

She had always trusted Shen Zhiwei.

Ten years ago, when Shen Zhiwei knelt before her begging for shelter, and she helped the girl avenge her mother’s murder, Song Lan knew Shen Zhiwei would be her sharpest blade.

Song Lan still remembered that day vividly.

It was a cold winter night.

She brought Shen Zhiwei, who had only recently moved into her home, to the island and blindfolded her eyes, leading her step by step downstairs.

The basement was newly built, and its first guest lay insensate on the cold concrete floor, uncertain if alive or dead.

Shen Zhiwei knew this person.

When she had just passed Song Lan’s painting assessment, her mother had brought her to visit the teacher at the Song residence.

Song Lan had been unexpectedly occupied that day, so they missed her. But as they left, they ran into this woman and her daughter.

Shen Zhiwei had seen her once during the assessment.

The girl’s painting skills were good, but Song Lan had used Shen Zhiwei’s work to compare and point out the flaws in hers.

Song Lan was only accepting three students that year; the girl ranked fourth and had come pleading for an exception.

Both were richly dressed, with bodyguards trailing them, hurling cold mockery.

Shen Zhiwei’s mother endured it, and so did she.

But that night, when her mother went out shopping, she never returned.

She was hit head-on by a speeding truck—car and people destroyed. Along with the neighbor’s little daughter who had hitched a ride partway out of kindness.

When identifying the body, it was mangled beyond recognition.

Shen Zhiwei insisted on seeing her one last time.

She stood before the corpse for a long while. The young policewoman beside her thought she was overwhelmed by grief and tried to comfort her, but she stepped back to avoid it.

She just felt cold.

A chill spread from her heart, making her tremble all over.

Children from single-parent homes matured early and were clever.

Shen Zhiwei vaguely suspected but didn’t dare confirm:

If she had died instead, the spot would open up naturally for that girl to join Song Lan’s tutelage.

A few days later, she overheard whispers near home—words that chilled her to the bone.

It was premeditated after all.

That very afternoon, Shen Zhiwei packed her bags and knelt before Song Lan, begging her to take her in.

In the eyes of those powerful people, what was a murder?

Just a speck of dust.

Song Lan calmly asked Shen Zhiwei if she wanted to hand the woman over to the police or settle it herself.

The young beast was wary, but upon hearing the offer, her gaze toward Song Lan filled with shock. Song Lan pretended to dial, but was stopped by hasty hands.

Shen Zhiwei didn’t move, and Song Lan patiently waited for her answer.

She was testing.

Whether this carefully selected child could truly serve as her future assistant.

Twelve years old, still childish-looking, lips pressed into a straight line.

She was silent for a full three minutes until the person on the floor stirred unconsciously, showing signs of waking.

Finally, Shen Zhiwei slowly shook her head.

During this time, her appeals had gone nowhere.

She no longer trusted Country A’s justice system, nor believed her mother and that neighbor’s daughter would get justice.

Song Lan chuckled lightly, turned, and left, locking the cell door from outside.

She left the bound criminal alone in the narrow room with the twelve-year-old Shen Zhiwei—and a sharp dagger.

From the monitors, she saw the dagger fulfill its purpose.

As if born to it, Shen Zhiwei struck ruthlessly and decisively, far from the timidity expected at her age.

Excellent.

Song Lan finally felt at ease. Shen Zhiwei was someone she could pull onto her ship; she would cultivate her well.

And cultivate her she did, for a full ten years.

As her student poured the most effort into—even half a daughter—Shen Zhiwei knew nearly all her secrets without reservation and was her most capable aide.

Several young Muses had been handpicked by her first, then approached by Shen Zhiwei and brought back.

Having received help back then, now dragged into the abyss together.

It was what the girl willingly accepted, a fair exchange.

Song Lan turned and ascended the spiral staircase around the corner.

She had a meeting later and couldn’t stay on the island too long. She left Shen Zhiwei alone in the basement with their carefully tended group of Muses.

The dim lamp still burned on the table.

Shen Zhiwei glanced at it but had no intention of picking it up. Instead, she strode straight toward the left corridor.

The light behind her cast a shadow that stretched longer and darker. Vision was swallowed inch by inch by darkness, leaving only vague outlines on either side.

Shen Zhiwei knew the place intimately; she could navigate to any cell blindfolded.

The cells varied.

The stubborn ones went first into the dark rooms nearest the training area. Meals weren’t withheld, but they heard every sound from the adjacent Muses’ training.

The compliant ones went to standard cells.

Single rooms, most curled on beds or muttering to themselves. Curses or pleas—Shen Zhiwei didn’t care.

As long as they produced artistic inspiration, what harm in their impotent venting?

Only the truly brainwashed or those threatened by family hostages were allowed carving knives. They wore heavy protective gear, especially around wrists, unable to easily self-harm.

Besides, people always feared death.

Her footsteps echoed lightly in the narrow passage, almost cheerful.

Shen Zhiwei finally stopped at the middle cell.

This was the spot she had carefully chosen for Lu Jia.

An ideal location: sounds from any cell, roars from the dark rooms, or faint cries from the training area—all perfectly audible.

Before going to C University, she had specially asked her teacher to reserve it and redecorated.

Shackles at the bed’s four corners and along the wall for limbs—this was prepared especially for Lu Jia.

Shen Zhiwei peered through the iron window, pressed her fingerprint on the lock, and stepped inside.

She traced the cold new shackles inch by inch, thinking she still couldn’t bear to let blood stain Lu Jia’s beautiful skin.

She had better behave.