Chapter 79: Cinnabar

Chu Susu only then noticed that the red wine bottle originally placed in the living room had disappeared at some point, probably taken by Rebecca to her room.

She saw that the other woman’s cheeks were already flushed with a thin layer of red, so she knew that she’d already drunk quite a bit before coming to knock on her door.

“…”

Chu Susu paused for a moment and advised, “It’s so late already. How about we don’t drink? It’ll save you the headache of a hangover.”

But a drunk person wouldn’t listen to others. Rebecca remained unmoved, still standing in place, staring at her somewhat melancholically.

“I just want someone to talk to.”

Her eyes shimmered, though it was unclear whether it was the reflection of the light or tears, as she softly asked, “Is that okay?”

Rebecca had never shown such a vulnerable side in front of others.

She was always the image of a decisive career woman. No one could have imagined she had this side to her.

“…”

To be fair, Chu Susu wanted to refuse.

She always felt that getting too close to her superior wasn’t a good idea. Having a meal together could just be considered team-building for two, but drinking together felt especially intimate.

Although she usually relaxed and went out to have fun with friends, colleagues and friends were different.

Chu Susu drew this line very clearly.

“Is that okay?” Rebecca asked again.

But in Chu Susu’s long silence, she seemed to have already guessed the answer.

Having been in the workplace for so many years, how could she not understand the unspoken meaning behind that expression?

Her body was starting to sway a little, and the hand supporting her against the wall trembled imperceptibly.

“It’s fine.”

Rebecca forced a smile, but it looked worse than crying. “I know no one wants to hear complaints. It was presumptuous of me.”

She stumbled as if to leave, her back slightly hunched, suddenly radiating exhaustion.

In that moment, Chu Susu’s eyes stung for some reason.

She suddenly felt deeply touched. That back view was too lonely, making her feel as if she could see herself through Rebecca.

Chu Susu suddenly recalled the day she had a falling out with Chu Zhen. Back then, she didn’t have a car yet and had stormed out of the house in a fit of anger. Halfway through, it started raining heavily outside, but she still stubbornly carried Pipi the entire way.

Her back view at that time was probably like this too.

It wasn’t until Rebecca was about to walk out the door that Chu Susu finally spoke and called her name:

“Rebecca.”

The other woman’s footsteps halted. She turned back with a hint of confusion, the smile on her face unchanged, still bitter.

“What’s wrong?” Rebecca asked gently.

A faint sense of guilt welled up uncontrollably in Chu Susu’s heart.

She was able to attend this summit because Rebecca had given her the opportunity. Yet when Rebecca needed help, she hadn’t lent a hand.

With that in mind, Chu Susu stopped hesitating and softly said to Rebecca, “Wait for me a bit.”

Whatever, it wasn’t a big deal.

Chu Susu went back to her room to tie up her hair, silenced her phone to ensure no one would disturb them, then turned around and left the room. She came before Rebecca and took the wine glass from her hand.

“Where do you want to drink?” she sighed and asked.

A flash of disbelief appeared on Rebecca’s face, quickly turning into gratitude.

“Thank you.”

“No need for thanks.”

Chu Susu cut off her gratitude. “If you don’t mind, let’s just sit here and drink. What do you want to say? I’ll listen.”

She thought for a moment, then added, “Don’t hold back. I won’t remember anything after tonight.”

…

When Chu Susu turned off her phone, she didn’t check the message notifications carefully.

If she had opened Weibo at that moment and checked her private messages, she would have seen…

The astrology blogger she occasionally checked for horoscopes had suddenly sent a long string of messages.

【Don’t go, don’t go, don’t go, don’t go, don’t go, don’t go, don’t go.】

【Danger, danger, danger, danger, danger, danger, danger.】

The entire screen was filled with these words, like a hacked account or some kind of garbled code. But upon closer inspection, they were all just repeating the same two phrases.

But Chu Susu didn’t know any of this.

She simply put down her phone, came to the living room, and took Rebecca’s wine glass.

In the room, Han Xuan sat quietly before her easel, carefully applying paint with utmost caution, without making the slightest mistake.

Such work was undoubtedly tedious and complex. It required full concentration while enduring the monotonous coloring process.

But Han Xuan showed no signs of boredom, as if she were doing something utterly fascinating.

This was normal. To those who didn’t like painting, it was meaningless. It didn’t make money—what was the point? Just a waste of time.

But to someone who truly loved it, it was the most interesting thing in the world.

What Han Xuan was creating was still that massive oil painting. Just a few days ago during their video call with Chu Susu, she had only completed a tiny fraction.

Yet in just one or two days, she had made huge progress.

The painting was now nearly half finished. One could make out the figure of a woman, though the face wasn’t done yet—only the clothing, body, and head outline so far.

The woman in the painting wore a camisole nightgown, sitting at a table with her chin propped up, head slightly tilted.

It wasn’t a vibrant color composition, yet it exuded an effortless charm.

Pipi barked beside her, seemingly puzzled as to why she was saving the woman’s face for last.

Han Xuan set down her paints and brush, gently picked it up, and conversed fluently with the dog as if it could understand.

“The most beautiful part naturally goes last, so I can spend more time on it and refine it carefully.”

She said.

Pipi whined twice, unclear if it grasped her meaning.

Staring at the canvas and painting continuously was mentally exhausting, so Han Xuan didn’t paint for too long. Every so often, she’d set down her brush and rest.

During these breaks, she’d take a charcoal or pencil to her sketchbook and doodle meaningless lines to spark inspiration.

Though the studio held many oil paintings and sketches of various types, Han Xuan’s true specialty was actually quick sketches.

Quick sketches, as the name implied, were roughly completed studies done in a short time.

Since they mainly tested whether one could capture a person’s essence in a brief moment, the overall finish wasn’t high—just outlines—which especially challenged the artist’s skill.

And Han Xuan made Pipi leap vividly onto the paper in just a few minutes.

But a single dog seemed a bit monotonous, so she extended the scene to the hand holding Pipi, and then the face of that hand’s owner.

As she drew to this point, the hand holding the charcoal suddenly wouldn’t stop. It had reached the edge of the lines yet kept going uncontrollably.

Han Xuan blinked, then shuddered all over before lowering her head uncontrollably.

Where her gaze fell, the clean white paper seemed tinged with a faint purple hue.

The hand’s owner gradually came into focus: the woman held a tall-stemmed glass, some unknown liquid swirling inside.

It was clearly black charcoal, yet it carried a thread of crimson.

And beside that woman stood another person, face indistinct, only those big wavy long locks illuminated by the light, soft and affectionate.

The two raised their glasses in a toast, chatting happily, their postures intertwined like mandarin ducks with necks touching.

Han Xuan stared blankly for a moment, then abruptly tossed down the pen with a cold expression, her smile vanishing as her face turned emotionless, startling even Pipi.

The little dog immediately nuzzled over, as if asking what was wrong.

“It’s nothing.”

She softly comforted it, though only her voice was gentle—everything else remained icy as frost.

Han Xuan tore the paper from the sketchbook, crumpled it in her hand, and tossed it into the trash without a second thought.

Pipi barked twice more.

It was utterly confused. The drawing was so good—why throw it away instead of keeping it in the sketchbook like the others?

“You know.”

Han Xuan said, her chest heaving as if taking deep breaths to endure something.

“I can bear anything, except seeing her with someone else.”

She placed Pipi in its little bed on the floor nearby.

It’s not your fault. Pipi stared with its little eyes, as if agreeing with her.

If the owner were out playing with another puppy, Pipi would be sad too.

“So, would Pipi want to bite that dog to death?”

At those words, Pipi shrank back a little.

N-no, not that far. At most, it’d throw a tantrum and ignore her…

“But I can’t just ignore her.”

Han Xuan smiled. “I act normal in front of her, but no matter how much I pretend, whenever I see things like this, I lose control and want to go crazy. Seems like I can’t change it.”

Her smile didn’t reach her eyes.

“What should I do, Pipi?”

The little dog naturally couldn’t offer any constructive advice on human relationships and could only whine coquettishly.

Han Xuan hadn’t intended to seek its opinion anyway. She merely muttered that sentence to herself before withdrawing her gaze.

Pipi let out a long, drawn-out howl, meaning for her not to feel sad about it. It was just drinking, right? Didn’t the master and her friends drink all the time too?

“This is different.”

Han Xuan slowly, very slowly, put away the oil paints, then filled a bucket with clean water and placed the brushes inside to wash them.

She meticulously scrubbed every single bristle, not missing even a trace of leftover paint.

—Where’s the difference? Pipi didn’t understand.

Han Xuan had no intention of explaining further to it. Her refined and jade-like face fell silent, her lips pressed tightly together as if to suppress that one thread of distortion she could barely contain.

Some things, only she knew.

She sometimes truly envied those people—why could they so easily get close to her without paying any price?

And for her, just staying by that person’s side already took all her effort.

This world had never been fair.

The thing she cherished as a treasure—even if she held it briefly in her hands right now—didn’t truly belong to her.

Han Xuan looked into Pipi’s slightly drowsy eyes and gently stroked its head.

In that instant as her palm brushed over, a faint glow seemed to bloom, calming its restlessness and bringing it to peace.

“Sleep,” she said.

—What about you? What are you going to do?

But Pipi had no chance to make another sound. It simply closed its eyes and fell into a deep sleep.

—