The next morning, when Zhang Miao and Xiao Chen arrived at the gallery, they nearly called the police. How could the place have been picked clean after being away for just three days? Then, the owner of the coffee shop next door chimed in, mentioning it looked like underworld debt collectors had come and swept everything away.

Zhang Miao was stunned.

Lin Congzhi was equally stunned. He had just walked out holding a cup of water, intending to dry a freshly primed canvas in the sun, only to overhear this absurd conversation being delivered with absolute conviction.

The sun had finally broken through today. Having laid down a thin base coat of grayish-blue on the canvas, Lin Congzhi leaned the board against the base of the wall.

He raised a hand to shield his eyes from the sunlight, squinting at the sky. After a full week of relentless rain, the sky looked as though it had shed a soggy outer layer, revealing a pristine, freshly unrolled blue. Beside him, Zhang Miao stretched languidly: “The weather is wonderful today.”

Xiao Chen stood next to her: “It really is! Oh, right, now that our paintings have been moved to Gleam’s storage, do we need to pay them warehouse rent?”

Hearing Xiao Chen’s casual question, the look in Lin Congzhi’s eyes shifted abruptly as he stared at the sky.

Noticing their boss’s expression souring, Xiao Chen quickly looked up to admire the scenery instead. Rent was something Lin Congzhi had honestly never considered—he had fifty or sixty paintings of various sizes, and he had no idea what specifications Gleam’s warehouse operated under or how much square footage his work was occupying.

Zhang Miao shot him a subtle glance, deftly steering the topic away: “Coffee, anyone? I’ll go buy some.”

Lin Congzhi nodded.

Zhang Miao grabbed Xiao Chen by the arm and slipped into the neighboring coffee shop.

In all honesty, paying Xiao Jingwen rent would feel entirely too deliberate. Settling accounts with an ex-boyfriend like that carried a strange, almost flirtatious undertone. Lin Congzhi let out a soft sigh and squatted down to check on his canvas. He hadn’t applied the base layer too thickly, and with today’s intense sunlight, it should dry in no time.

“Teacher Lin!”

Someone called out to him in a familiar voice. Lin Congzhi looked up: “Teacher Xin? What brings you all the way out here?”

Xin Jue was out of breath: “Finding parking in your neighborhood is a nightmare! Ah, sorry for dropping by unannounced.”

Lin Congzhi stood up: “No worries at all! What’s going on? Is something happening at the studio?”

Xin Jue waved a hand dismissively. Just then, Zhang Miao and Xiao Chen emerged from next door holding freshly bought coffee. Lin Congzhi immediately handed his cup over to Xin Jue: “Catch your breath first. Take a sip and tell me slowly.”

Xin Jue didn’t stand on ceremony, taking a few gulping swallows before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand: “A few parents from the studio heard that your paintings were going to be featured in Gleam’s auction. They insisted I bring them to your gallery to take a look, hoping to buy a couple of pieces to hang at home as inspiration for their kids.”

Lin Congzhi found the idea rather amusing, bursting into a light laugh: “They might as well just go buy the Mona Lisa.”

“Isn’t that in the Louvre?” Xin Jue blinked in shock.

“A printed replica,” Lin Congzhi clarified.

“Damn it,” Xin Jue chuckled. “Working hard in your direction actually gives the kids a reachable goal. What kind of household expects to raise the next Leonardo da Vinci anyway?”

“Well, as luck would have it, I don’t have a single painting left here right now.” Lin Congzhi picked up the canvas board he had been drying. “This is literally all I have.”

Xin Jue gasped: “Holy crap? Sold out already?”

“…” Lin Congzhi looked at him. “I wish.”

Xin Jue hadn’t come alone. Finding no street parking nearby, he had parked his car in the public lot across the street at the park before walking around the intersection. He explained that three parents had come along with him; after stepping out of the car, he came ahead to greet Lin Congzhi while the parents stayed behind at the park to snap a few photos before heading over.

Traveling all the way from the city center to the outskirts was quite a distance, and since they were already here—and parents of studio students to boot—Zhang Miao went to brew tea while Xiao Chen connected her laptop to project digital high-resolution previews of Lin Congzhi’s portfolio for the three guests.

As Xiao Chen slowly flipped through the images slide by slide, Lin Congzhi quietly observed the trio. Judging by their attire, they clearly belonged to the comfortable middle-upper class, and they all seemed to know one another well.

“Oh, this piece is lovely! Is this a harbor view painted from a boat?” The woman sitting closest to Lin Congzhi asked in pleasant surprise. “The blue tones are mixed so beautifully, and the refraction off the coastal water is captured so well… Ah, right, I’m Yu Shijing’s mother. Hello, Teacher Lin.”

“Oh, hello.” Lin Congzhi offered a gentle handshake. “That was painted when a cruise ship docked at a port in Spain, done from photo studies.”

“It’s truly stunning…” Yu Shijing’s mother was visibly captivated, asking directly, “Teacher Lin, how much is this piece?”

“Ah…” Lin Congzhi looked slightly put on the spot. “I’m very sorry, but that piece is currently with my mother. It’s for exhibition only, not for sale.”

Xiao Chen’s fingers hovered over the keyboard, unsure whether to keep scrolling forward. Zhang Miao brought over the tea, serving the guests while shooting Xiao Chen a discreet look. Understanding the hint, Xiao Chen flipped to the next image. Lin Congzhi immediately redirected the conversation: “Ah, this one is titled The Eminent Monk. It depicts a monk practitioner I met aboard the ship.”

“Is this one for sale?” Yu Shijing’s mother pressed instantly.

“This one… is available,” Lin Congzhi replied. Yet the moment the words left his mouth, he felt something was slightly off—the mother carried a distinct demeanor that suggested, ‘I came here today specifically intent on spending money.’

“Then I’ll take it,” she smiled pleasantly.

Lin Congzhi felt a wave of bewilderment, glancing at Xin Jue, then at Zhang Miao. Xin Jue beamed with a smile that practically read ‘Just sit back and count the cash,’ whereas Zhang Miao remained unphased—having worked at fine art museums before, she was thoroughly accustomed to affluent collectors buying pieces without batting an eye.

It left Lin Congzhi feeling momentarily unsure of himself—was his artwork really that compelling? Decisions made purely off digital previews? Or was this simply how the wealthy operated?

Lin Congzhi leaned forward slightly and said, “This painting was previously evaluated for Gleam’s auction line-up. Their team appraised the starting bid at 140,000 RMB.”

“Then let’s double that,” she replied without losing her smile. “I know how auctions work—bids go up in increments of ten thousand, so I’ll just jump a round ahead.”

She spoke with an effortless generosity—so casual that it felt almost surreal to Lin Congzhi. Unable to just sit by, Zhang Miao sat up straighter and interjected smoothly: “Generally speaking, doubling the starting estimate is completely reasonable, ma’am. However, the physical canvas isn’t on-site right now. Because of the heavy rains last week, our dehumidifiers weren’t quite keeping up—as you can see, the gallery is currently empty. The artwork is stored safely in Gleam’s warehouse.”

“May I ask your surname?” Zhang Miao added politely.

On the sofa, Lin Congzhi shrank back subtly, realizing he had completely forgotten to ask for her name.

“Yang Qingzhi. And yours?” Yang Qingzhi extended a hand to shake Zhang Miao’s.

Positioned right between them, Lin Congzhi listened as the two women exchanged smooth, professional pleasantries back and forth. Sitting in the middle, he felt like a young child brought along by a parent to be forced into awkward social interactions.

Zhang Miao explained that because the physical artwork wasn’t readily available, they couldn’t issue a bill of sale on the spot. The two exchanged WeChat contact details, agreeing to schedule a follow-up meeting after retrieving the piece from Gleam. However, Yang Qingzhi seemed remarkably eager, mentioning she had a free afternoon anyway and suggesting they head over right away.

Lin Congzhi flashed a discreet hand gesture toward Zhang Miao, trying to signal that he still had canvas work to finish today. Zhang Miao shot him a sharp look before answering pleasantly, “That works fine! Let us contact Gleam to arrange it. Please give us just a moment.”

Zhang Miao then signaled Lin Congzhi with her eyes. Left with no choice, Lin Congzhi reluctantly pulled out his phone to text Xiao Jingwen.

Who on earth ends up dealing with their ex-boyfriend every few days like this? But with Zhang Miao watching him like a hawk—a woman whose personal creed was ‘Better to break up a marriage than lose out on a single cent’—there was zero chance she would let a guaranteed sale slip away.

In under five minutes, President Xiao replied, stating he had already notified the front desk and that they could come over directly.

Lin Congzhi looked up: “We can head over now.”

After Xin Jue departed with the other two parents, Zhang Miao drove Lin Congzhi and Yang Qingzhi toward Gleam. Along the way, Lin Congzhi held his phone as if it were a boiling hot egg, nervously shifting it back and forth between his hands.

Ever since he disconnected his phone from the car’s Bluetooth in Xiao Jingwen’s vehicle that evening, not a single word had been exchanged between them. Although there was no practical reason to communicate anyway, that heavy silence had carried a surprisingly palpable presence.

He had no idea what Xiao Jingwen was thinking. To sever ties so decisively only to turn around and contact him for official business made him feel thoroughly conflicted—especially when recalling Xiao Chen’s offhand remark about paying warehouse rent.

Zhang Miao drove smoothly, parking the car in Gleam’s underground lot. As the group headed upstairs, the front desk—having received advance instructions directly from the CEO himself—was already waiting right at the elevator bank. They politely guided the guests to the private elevator across the corridor, heading straight to the high-security storage floor.

When the elevator doors slid open, Xiao Jingwen was waiting right outside.

“Hello, President Xiao,” Zhang Miao greeted politely. “Thank you so much for accommodating us on such short notice. We truly apologize for the trouble.”

Xiao Jingwen shook his head gently: “Not at all. It just so happens I have a break in my schedule today.”

He then shifted his gaze toward Lin Congzhi, offering a greeting: “Good afternoon, Teacher Lin.”

The intensity in his eyes as he looked at Lin Congzhi was entirely too explicit, making Lin Congzhi’s subtle unease glaringly obvious. Standing alongside, Yang Qingzhi picked up on the dynamic immediately. She teased with a smile: “To think President Xiao would greet us in person! If I’d known, I would have brought a couple of fine bottles of wine along.”

Only then did Xiao Jingwen turn his attention to Yang Qingzhi, offering a courteous nod: “President Yang of Zhishi Winery, correct? I’ve heard a great deal about you.”

Yang Qingzhi shook his hand, remarking, “I used to only see President Xiao on the news. You’re even handsomer in person than on camera.”

“You flatter me.” Xiao Jingwen maintained his customary composure—polite, refined, yet strictly professional.

Xiao Jingwen led the group toward the vault area. A top-tier auction house’s storage facility was structured no differently from a high-security treasure vault. Traversed via corridors secured by biometric iris and fingerprint scanners, reaching the primary vault entrance alone required passing through three heavy steel gates. The final barrier featured a heavy vintage mechanical chain lock, with two security guards stationed at every checkpoint.

The vault was partitioned into climate-controlled rooms by category. When the door to the fine art repository opened, Lin Congzhi immediately spotted his collection stacked neatly in a far corner. The heavy waterproof tarps had been removed, leaving only protective layers of kraft paper wrapper.

Glancing upward, Lin Congzhi noticed that directly above his stacked canvases hung a famous pink rose oil painting valued at 28 million HKD… For a moment, he felt as though his collection resembled a street-food egg crepe served inside a state banquet hall.

“The Eminent Monk, was it?” Xiao Jingwen leaned in slightly, asking in a low tone.

“Yes,” Lin Congzhi nodded.

“I must ask the two of you to wait here briefly while Teacher Lin and I retrieve the piece,” Xiao Jingwen addressed Zhang Miao and Yang Qingzhi smoothly. “The Eminent Monk is a large-format piece positioned on the other side of the storage racks.”

Two Gleam staff members stepped forward to escort Zhang Miao and Yang Qingzhi around the viewing gallery, though Yang Qingzhi’s eyes darted back toward Xiao Jingwen and Lin Congzhi every few moments.

Xiao Jingwen guided him around to the opposite side of the storage rack. Lin Congzhi assumed The Eminent Monk was stored inside the tall vault cabinet positioned there.

Instead, Xiao Jingwen suddenly reached out, taking hold of his arm and drawing him closer while lowering his voice: “You cannot sell a painting to her.”

The low timber of Xiao Jingwen’s voice combined with his crisp diction—set against the ambient, dim lighting required for light-sensitive artwork—left Lin Congzhi taking a moment to register the warning: “Why?”

Xiao Jingwen looked into his eyes intently: “Normally, we could have retrieved the canvas beforehand and handed it over directly. But when you texted that the buyer was Yang Qingzhi, I needed time to verify her background.”

Xiao Jingwen continued softly: “Throughout this year, she has frequently sold works by mid-tier, lesser-known artists through the Carloan Auction House. On paper, her public records as a seller look entirely unremarkable, but operational data reveals that a vast majority of the transaction volume and capital flow at that auction house—both on the buying and selling ends—trace back to her network.”

Lin Congzhi was puzzled: “Isn’t Carloan Auction House based in Hong Kong? And its scale is quite small.”

His unspoken implication was clear: A small-scale Hong Kong auction house whose volume can’t begin to compete with Gleam—what could possibly concern a figure like Xiao Jingwen?

Xiao Jingwen glanced over toward the main floor, briefly making eye contact with Yang Qingzhi. He then stepped even closer to Lin Congzhi, leaning down slightly until his lips were mere inches from Lin Congzhi’s ear, whispering: “Because Carloan Auction House was built on the foundation of Rubifei. I suspect Yang Qingzhi and her network are using artwork transactions to launder illicit funds.”

“…” Lin Congzhi froze for a second before the realization hit him: “Yang Qingzhi intends to use Carloan to push The Eminent Monk to her target price, after which another associate will ‘purchase’ the artwork—running dirty capital through the auction house so that when it lands in her account, it appears as legitimate income.”

“Precisely. The auction itself is merely a front; every bidder driving up the price in the room will be her own people.” Xiao Jingwen nodded, closing the distance by another half-step until their chests were practically touching. With every breath, Lin Congzhi’s soft T-shirt brushed against the crisp fabric of Xiao Jingwen’s suit jacket.

Xiao Jingwen added: “Yang Qingzhi holds an off-balance-sheet Swiss bank account registered under a nominee. This year alone, over half of Carloan’s total transaction funds originated from that account before being remitted domestically. That is why I strongly advise against selling The Eminent Monk to her. She isn’t buying your art out of appreciation for you or your work; you simply fit their operational criteria—lacking massive main-stream profile, so a high closing bid won’t draw unwanted media scrutiny. Once her people take delivery of that canvas, they won’t even unwrap the packaging.”

“I don’t want… your artwork to end up used like that,” Xiao Jingwen said softly.

Lin Congzhi’s breath hitched, his nerves tightening. He hadn’t anticipated that Xiao Jingwen would genuinely care about the fate of his painting—rather than attempting to leverage the piece for strategic gain as he might have five years ago.

Between breaths, Lin Congzhi swallowed softly—a clear, audible sound in the quiet corner of the vault. Instinctively reaching out to grasp Xiao Jingwen’s wrist in subtle tension, he asked, “But if this involves money laundering, shouldn’t it be reported to law enforcement?”

“She and her network operate with extreme caution and elaborate cover, particularly regarding that offshore account.” Xiao Jingwen pulled back slightly to look directly into his eyes again. “From what I’ve gathered, she is already under covert investigation. But if intelligence regarding that investigation reached me, chances are she has caught wind of it as well. If she still chooses to take the risk anyway, it points to one of two possibilities: either she believes her cover remains airtight, or… she is facing a severe liquidity crunch and is willing to gamble.”

Lin Congzhi remained holding his wrist. In the next moment, Xiao Jingwen shifted his hand upward, turning his palm around to interlock their fingers instead.

That hand was warm and dry, grounding Lin Congzhi’s thoughts. He raised his eyes again: “Then how do I decline her offer? I don’t have a plausible excuse, and Zhang Miao already gave a firm verbal agreement.”

“Tell her first that the oil canvas is currently in sub-optimal condition—that sections of the pigment layer have flaked, and you require time to restore it.”

“This painting is less than three years old…” Lin Congzhi caught himself mid-sentence before swallowing his words back down. “Ah… you mean I should tell a white lie.”

Xiao Jingwen couldn’t help but let out a soft chuckle.

“But what about after that?” Lin Congzhi asked. “What if she asks to purchase one of my other paintings instead?”

Xiao Jingwen had naturally anticipated this variable. Initially, his plan was simply to stall for time, assuming Yang Qingzhi might lose patience and target another artist instead. However, given that Lin Congzhi held numerous available works, he needed Yang Qingzhi to drop interest in Lin Congzhi entirely and remove him from her target list.

Gently holding Lin Congzhi’s hand, Xiao Jingwen took a step back, drawing Lin Congzhi forward with him until both stepped back into Yang Qingzhi’s line of sight from across the gallery aisle.

Xiao Jingwen spoke in a voice quiet enough that only the two of them could hear: “The remaining figures behind Rubifei still hold a deep grudge against me. If you and I appear intimate, they will likely write you off—unwilling to channel capital into anyone closely tied to me.”

“What…” Lin Congzhi understood instantly.

It was entirely logical.

Carloan was built from the remnants of Rubifei. Back then, Rubifei’s faction had lost 400 million and seen Makoto Zhang ruined due to Xiao Jingwen’s maneuvering—a humiliating defeat they would never forget. They would never willingly funnel real capital into the hands of someone closely connected to their sworn adversary.

“How… intimate does it need to look?” Lin Congzhi asked softly.

“Lean in,” Xiao Jingwen whispered gently. “Adjust my tie.”

Lin Congzhi drew a quiet breath and complied: “And then?”

“The collar too.”

Lin Congzhi’s fingers swept lightly over the Eton collar of his crisp dress shirt, sliding over the smooth white fabric. As his hand reached around to the back of Xiao Jingwen’s neck, the tip of his nose lightly brushed Xiao Jingwen’s lower lip, causing him to hold his breath for a split second.

“Trace lower,” Xiao Jingwen murmured. “Slide your hand down my back.”

In the next instant, Xiao Jingwen tightened his arm around Lin Congzhi’s waist, pulling him firmly into his chest. Lin Congzhi’s pupils dilated subtly—the gesture naturally resolving into a deep, unbroken embrace.

After five long years of separation, two hearts collided once more, beating with a muted, aching resonance across the scarred expanse of time.