To be completely honest, Lin Congzhi felt utterly embarrassed, but he had no choice. Without a prior reservation, if he wanted to find a temperature- and humidity-controlled warehouse in the vast city of Yu City that could send people over immediately to help him move his paintings, Xiao Jingwen was the only person he could turn to.

Faced with a predicament, Lin Congzhi couldn’t possibly let a room full of oil paintings suffer just to preserve a shred of meaningless pride.

About two hours later, around six in the evening, a line of sleek black seven-seater MPVs pulled up with their hazard lights flashing, taking up half the street. The owner of the coffee shop next door thought the gallery was being raided by some triad and was ready to dial 110 at a moment’s notice.

Lin Congzhi stepped out holding a transparent umbrella—the kind you could casually pick up at any convenience store. Watching from the second floor, the neighboring owner spotted a mop of naturally curly hair under the clear umbrella canopy. Then, from the first seven-seater MPV, a man in a sharp suit stepped out, opening a black umbrella as he walked over.

The two umbrella canopies—one black, one clear—drew close amidst the curtain of rain. One by one, more people emerged from the MPVs, all clad in matching black suits under black umbrellas, waiting respectfully behind the lead umbrella.

Rain hammered against the umbrella tops like water cascading over lush foliage.

Lin Congzhi said, “I’m really sorry for interrupting your work.”

Xiao Jingwen skipped over what he considered a pointless piece of polite banter, asking directly, “What’s the size of the largest painting? I only found out after my meeting that all the company’s transport vehicles were sent out of town today to pick up large sculptures.”

“Two point three meters by one point three meters,” Lin Congzhi replied.

“That’ll fit,” Xiao Jingwen said. “I had the rear seats of two cars removed before coming over. They’ll slide right in. Let’s head inside.”

Seeing that no conflict was brewing, the neighbor on the second floor eased up. As the transparent umbrella closed, the black umbrella immediately shifted over to cover Lin Congzhi from the rain. The rest of the crew then filed into the gallery in single file.

Lin Congzhi had already brought down some of the paintings from the second-floor storage. His stamina was actually decent; moving large oil paintings wasn’t the only physically demanding task he did—he sometimes hand-crushed stones to make his own pigments.

He had moved more than half of them, leaning them against the first-floor wall. Pointing to the stack, Lin Congzhi said, “I brought down more than half of them. There are still a few large-scale pieces upstairs that I couldn’t haul down without risking bumps or scratches.”

Xiao Jingwen gave a brief nod and led the crew upstairs. Lin Congzhi originally intended to lend a hand, but the team appeared exceptionally well-trained, leaving no room for him to intervene. Working with practiced skill, the men in black used waterproof tarps in pairs to carefully transfer every single painting into the vehicles.

The coffee shop owner upstairs finally had a lightbulb moment: Ah, so they’re seizing the artwork to settle a debt.

Not only were the paintings from the storage room cleared out, but those in the exhibition hall were loaded onto the vehicles as well. By the time they finished, almost everyone was drenched from head to toe, including Xiao Jingwen. Lin Congzhi wanted to fetch a towel from the bathroom for him, but handing a towel to just Xiao Jingwen felt a bit… awkward.

Xiao Jingwen casually ran a hand through his hair to shake off the rainwater. He glanced around at the bare, empty walls of the gallery, then lowered his gaze to the muddy footprints left across the floor. Lin Congzhi quickly chimed in, “Don’t worry about the floor, I’ll mop it clean myself. Thank you all for your hard work.”

“What about you?” Xiao Jingwen asked as he lifted his wrist to check the time. Seeing water droplets on the watch face, he wiped them away with a thumb. “It’s almost seven. Why don’t we grab a bite together?”

“Ah?” Lin Congzhi blinked. The invitation was delivered so naturally and casually, completely unpretentious, making his own instinctive hesitation feel misplaced.

Xiao Jingwen smiled, reaching over to pick up his suit jacket and tie draped over the back of a chair. The jacket was mostly soaked, drenched while carrying the paintings outside earlier. Right now, Xiao Jingwen wore only a crisp white shirt on top. Fortunately, the fabric was of high quality and didn’t turn see-through when wet.

Dampened by the rain, the shirt clung to his chest and abdomen, leaving the sculpted lines of his chest and abdominal muscles fully visible under the gallery lighting.

He certainly knew how to work Lin Congzhi’s weaknesses. As fine arts graduates, they had a natural appreciation for the human form.

Lin Congzhi was even more susceptible; otherwise, he wouldn’t have relied on making love to resolve their arguments so many times in the past.

Lin Congzhi stared at Xiao Jingwen’s abs rather helplessly, inwardly lamenting his total lack of progress over the years. If his five-years-younger self were standing here, he would probably just feel a sense of shared vulnerability.

Xiao Jingwen deliberately kept his eyes locked on Lin Congzhi’s, asking, “What are you looking at? Did my clothes get dirty?”

Guilty because his thoughts weren’t entirely pure, Lin Congzhi found it hard to offer a convincing excuse.

“Not really,” Lin Congzhi murmured, averting his gaze. “Though something certainly feels dirty.”

“…” Long accustomed to Lin Congzhi’s sudden, enigmatic remarks, Xiao Jingwen steered the conversation back on track: “So, dinner?”

Eating was a necessity. Located in the outskirts, the area offered few food delivery options to begin with, and during heavy rainstorms, many vendors closed their delivery apps early. The gallery did have a small kitchen—though it was more of a pantry—equipped with an induction cooker where one could boil instant noodles.

However…

Under the exhibition lights, Lin Congzhi surveyed the mess on the floor—mud, puddle marks, and a few scattered yellow and green leaves…

“Let’s go,” Lin Congzhi agreed. “I won’t be able to clean this up anytime soon anyway.”

Draping his damp suit jacket over his forearm, Xiao Jingwen nodded: “Sounds good.”

The MPVs would deliver all the paintings straight to Gleam’s warehouse. Xiao Jingwen had checked before coming over—there was space, though the pieces could only be leaned against the floor for now. Lin Congzhi was already more than satisfied with that.

“I’ll go change my clothes then,” Lin Congzhi pointed upstairs.

“No need,” Xiao Jingwen said. “What you’re wearing is fine.”

Lin Congzhi looked down at his solid-color T-shirt, spotted with paint stains and varnish, then raised his head to look at him evenly: “Are you serious?”

“Yeah,” Xiao Jingwen replied. “I noticed a hot pot restaurant on the way here. Your shirt… isn’t that just the original print?”

Realizing Xiao Jingwen mistook the paint and varnish spots for an intentional graphic design, Lin Congzhi pressed his lips together slightly. “Forget it, let’s just go as is.”

“Do you have a change of clothes for me?” Xiao Jingwen pointed to himself. “If I stay like this, I probably won’t be able to go to work tomorrow.”

“Ah.” Lin Congzhi realized he was bound to catch a cold in soaked clothes, especially with his hair still wet. “Yes, I do. You can take a quick shower upstairs while you’re at it.”

“Alright, thank you,” Xiao Jingwen smiled.

In the end, Xiao Jingwen left his suit behind to dry. Initially, Lin Congzhi worried Xiao Jingwen might use it as an excuse, saying, ‘I’ll come pick it up once it dries.’ During Yu City’s humid plum rain season, far from drying out, a hanging suit was more likely to grow damp and misshapen—leaving Lin Congzhi practically needing to pray at a Dragon King Temple for a miracle.

Fortunately, Xiao Jingwen mentioned he would have a dry cleaner come pick it up the next day.

Sitting inside the familiar Volkswagen once more, Lin Congzhi instinctively pulled out his phone, opened Settings, and navigated to Bluetooth. Yet, his finger hovered over ‘Ignore This Device’ without tapping down.

Beside him, Xiao Jingwen buckled his seatbelt. He wore Lin Congzhi’s oversized T-shirt and loose-fitting large lounge pants, which fit him surprisingly well.

Noticing Lin Congzhi hovering indecisively over his phone, Xiao Jingwen chuckled softly, “If you want to disconnect, go ahead. You can always reconnect in the Maybach later.”

Snapping back to reality, Lin Congzhi offered a gentle smile: “Forget it.”

“Why?”

“Let’s just listen to it for the rest of the ride.”

As the saying went, there were never any messy grievances between them—no third parties involved, nor any insurmountable external forces. Eating hot pot together on a rainy day like old friends before going their separate ways felt simple enough. In the end, Lin Congzhi bade him a gentle drive safely, before finally tapping ‘Ignore This Device’ in the Bluetooth menu.

Xiao Jingwen offered a wry smile: “You’re really doing it?”

Lin Congzhi nodded, smiling softly as well: “Aren’t you playing for keeps too?”

The car sat quietly in the rain, the windshield wipers swaying back and forth, making a soft swish-swish sound against the glass.

Xiao Jingwen’s wry smile was for how Lin Congzhi had actually severed the Bluetooth connection. Lin Congzhi’s smile, meanwhile, stemmed from a helpless realization—why couldn’t Xiao Jingwen see that if they entered this relationship again, it would almost certainly end in the same old rut?

Ultimately, Lin Congzhi bade him a gentle drive safely and stepped out of the vehicle. He knew what he wanted, and he knew what Xiao Jingwen wanted.

One pursued the most uncompromising artistic expression; the other set his sights on amassing wealth under the sun.

Back when Gleam attempted to ‘deify’ Lin Congzhi, he had refused outright. Xiao Jingwen had asked him in near desperation what he was actually after—surely one had to seek either fame or fortune? Lin Congzhi had understood it even less, standing inside Xiao Jingwen’s detached villa in Yu City’s affluent district and asking back: Can’t I just seek nothing at all?

Xiao Jingwen had pointed toward the 100,000-euro crystal chandelier hanging from the villa’s high ceiling—the one requiring specialized maintenance crews from Europe every three months—and retorted: In this society, if you truly want to be a pure artist, you don’t get to live a life like this.

Indeed, Lin Congzhi had no defense against that point.

He was certain he wasn’t that one-in-a-million Monet, nor did he believe the starting bid for one of his oil paintings would exceed a hundred thousand RMB. Thus, Xiao Jingwen’s statement was entirely accurate, striking precisely at his most sensitive nerve.

Lin Congzhi naturally struck back, telling Xiao Jingwen: Yes, I don’t care about money precisely because I’m not lacking it. Unlike you, acting like your family’s been dirt poor for three generations—slashing the value of Tang Dynasty zithers without a second thought. Is there anything in this world that you view as having true value, other than money?

Looking back now… it truly felt suffocating.

Lin Congzhi locked up the gallery’s front door and scheduled a cleaning service on his app for the following morning. With the first floor covered in muddy footprints, he went straight up to the second floor. The terrace at the end of the second-floor hallway wasn’t open-air; it featured a large glass window, which remained shut against the heavy wind and rain.

Hanging on the terrace was Xiao Jingwen’s suit. The wind blew rainwater against the glass panes, reflecting the warm amber glow of the streetlights outside—the sole soft, blurred accent of warmth in the entire scene. He pulled out his phone and snapped a photo of the terrace, a habitual gesture whenever he felt inspired to paint.

As for the prospect of getting back together with Xiao Jingwen, Lin Congzhi never dared to think too deeply about it. He slowly walked back into the bedroom, put on his slippers, and went to the bathroom to shower. Thinking too deeply only brought suffering: Had he grown over the past five years? Had the other person changed? If they reunited, would they simply repeat that same cycle of mutual destruction? When he told him back then, ‘I hope you hold fast to what you believe is right and walk the path you see fit,’ did his heart ache when saying those words?

It was precisely because he loved him that he said it; what Lin Congzhi loved was that ruthless, unyielding man who stopped at nothing to build his empire. Xiao Jingwen was the same—he loved that pure, uncompromising art student.

Both hoped the other would choose ‘self-realization’ over ‘romance’—for otherwise, they would no longer be the person they fell in love with.

After leaving Xiao Jingwen’s car and returning to the gallery, Lin Congzhi found himself moving sluggishly for some unknown reason. Pushing open the bathroom door, his eyes fell upon the slightly shifted bottles of shampoo and the moved hairdryer. He stood motionless for a long moment before finally turning on the shower.

He washed very slowly, as if reluctant to step out into the room again.