Downstairs in the exhibition hall, Lin Lingyu looked at the bare walls and murmured, “Reduced to such poverty, yet still insisting on running a gallery.”

Zhang Miao spoke up, “That’s not it, Teacher. It’s been raining so much lately, so we had all our paintings stored in Gleam’s warehouse.”

“Oh, so that’s how it is.” Lin Lingyu nodded.

Zhang Miao was quite curious about her: “Teacher, have you ever thought about coming back to develop your career domestically?”

“That? I’ve thought about it—after all, the food here is so delicious.” Lin Lingyu took a stroll around the gallery hall, finally flipping through an art book as she said, “But I’ve gotten used to many things over there: I have friends, a career, and a stable income. Maybe in the future, if I grow tired of staying in one place, I’ll leave.”

“Must be nice,” Zhang Miao sighed.

“What’s so nice about it?” Lin Lingyu finished her coffee and tossed the empty paper cup into the trash can. “Pickpockets in Spain are all like magicians. When crossing the street, I had my eyes glued to the guy—staring dead at him—and after just two steps, he still stole my wallet. Not only are they fast with their hands, but they also play mind games. They know you’re watching them and put on an act like, ‘Oh well, I guess I won’t steal from you today,’ and then they steal from you anyway.”

Zhang Miao burst into laughter: “That’s ridiculous… Would you like anything else to drink?”

Lin Lingyu’s eyes darted around: “What else is good?”

“Boba milk tea?” Zhang Miao asked. “You might not be able to get milk tea made by local artisanal bakeries back in Europe.”

“Sounds great!”

As they were chatting, Xiao Jingwen came downstairs from the second floor.

Lin Lingyu looked up at him and asked, “Is he asleep?”

“He’s asleep,” Xiao Jingwen said. “His temperature dropped a little, but he still has a fever.”

Zhang Miao slung her bag over her shoulder and dragged Xiao Chen from the studio along with her, saying that the local artisanal bakery didn’t offer delivery, so they would drive over to buy it. Lin Lingyu nodded and thanked them for their trouble.

All at once, only Xiao Jingwen and Lin Lingyu were left on the gallery’s first floor.

This inevitably brought a wave of awkwardness. It was rare for Xiao Jingwen to feel so fidgety; he scratched his head first, then tugged down the hem of his T-shirt, asking, “Shall I pour you a glass of water?”

“I just finished a cup of coffee.”

“I…” Xiao Jingwen was genuinely at a loss for words. “Are you hungry?”

Lin Lingyu looked at him calmly: “Sit down. Let’s talk.”

“Alright.”

“It seems you haven’t gotten back together yet.” Lin Lingyu went straight to the point.

“Not yet.” Xiao Jingwen nodded.

“Though I didn’t give birth to him, I raised him after all,” Lin Lingyu sighed. “I can tell he still has you in his heart. His problem right now is that he can’t convince himself.”

Lin Lingyu added, “He’s more stubborn than either of us imagined. Strange, really—he’s just like I was in my youth.”

Xiao Jingwen knew about Lin Congzhi’s background—he was an adopted child. Lin Lingyu had picked up an infant on a day of torrential rain and subsequently went through the legal adoption process.

There was an old saying: “You grow to resemble those who feed you.” As Lin Congzhi grew up, he looked more and more like Lin Lingyu, right down to having the same naturally curly hair. This had once led Lin Congzhi’s grandmother to suspect that Lin Lingyu had secretly gotten pregnant out of wedlock, taking a huge detour just to pretend she had found and adopted him.

“Having lived with you for so long, he was bound to grow more like you,” Xiao Jingwen said.

“There are details you might not know,” Lin Lingyu said, her fingers lightly caressing the throw blanket on the sofa. “His name is Lin Congzhi. Twenty-seven years ago, I was painting at home. The rain that night was so heavy it felt like the sky had burst open. By chance, I wanted to listen to the rain that day, so I didn’t play any music—that was the only reason I heard a baby crying in the storm.”

“Back then, my home was at the foot of a mountain. It flooded every year whenever it rained. I rolled my pant legs up to my knees and went out with an umbrella that was completely useless against that kind of storm.”

“And then I found him. He was wrapped in several layers of cotton quilts. It was May 20th—sweltering hot despite the heavy rain—and he was covered in heat rash. The stone he was lying on sat right in the middle of a pool of water that reached past my ankles. A small island in the water is called a ‘Zhi‘ (沚). I wanted his life to truly begin anew from that day forward, which is why I named him ‘Congzhi’ (从沚 – from the island).”

Xiao Jingwen nodded.

Lin Lingyu continued, “Stuffed into his swaddling clothes was a note with his name and birth details, saying he had severe pneumonia and they couldn’t afford treatment, begging any kindhearted person with whom he shared a fateful bond to take him, along with a palm-sized pouch containing a little milk powder. I burned it all. Because his life began anew with me.”

“I want him to live happily.” Lin Lingyu looked at him. “That year, he took a ship all the way to Seville to find me. Only afterward did I realize he hadn’t come simply because he missed me—he was reaching out to me for help. He was in deep pain and utterly torn apart, which is why I feel he should leave with me.”

Xiao Jingwen didn’t understand, so he neither agreed nor disagreed immediately.

Just as he couldn’t understand why Yang Qingzhi had to take her twenty-something-year-old son along when fleeing—at that age, can’t you rest easy yet?—he also didn’t understand why Lin Lingyu wanted to come back and take Lin Congzhi away.

“But taking him to Europe won’t solve the problem either,” Xiao Jingwen said. “Although I don’t understand whether parents act out of control or love toward their children, Ah-Zhi needs to reach a conclusion for himself. It sounds cruel, but given his personality, neither of us can help him with that.”

A long silence followed.

In that silence, both of them actually felt the other was right. Rather than calling it correctness, it was better described as their own unique forms of love.

Sometimes, Lin Lingyu genuinely felt a bit of regret for instilling too many pure artistic concepts in Lin Congzhi when he was young. Deeply ingrained through constant exposure, the belief that one must stick to their principles and convictions had taken root: art must be pure, and art itself should exist independently of society, detached from web traffic and commercial capital.

Painting had become Lin Congzhi’s safe haven, as well as the affirmation of his self-worth.

In the end, what truly tore him apart wasn’t the rift between him and Xiao Jingwen, but the conflict between himself and his own principles. Lin Lingyu’s education of him had been a form of “sculpting”—she was a sculptor, skilled at carving away flaws in pursuit of perfection.

Lin Congzhi was a perfect artist.

Zhang Miao and Xiao Chen returned, both beaming with joy from their trip, carrying several bags big and small packed with desserts and milk tea. They mentioned that the owner of the artisanal bakery had even given them several new sample products to try.

Xiao Chen pulled a gorgeous dessert out of a paper bag: “Teacher Lin, look at this! This is a hazelnut chocolate puff pastry freshly made by their shop!”

Lin Lingyu took it with a smile: “Really? Oh my, this little box is so pretty.”

“We sampled it in the shop! It’s just as delicious as the puffs from President Xiao’s preview cocktail party!” Xiao Chen said. “That day when we brought them back, the boss ate several pieces.”

Xiao Jingwen immediately chipped in, “I’ll bring some over next time.”

Xiao Chen’s eyes lit up: “Really? Oh, we couldn’t possibly!”

Beside them, Zhang Miao sneered silently—he couldn’t possibly be more willing.

In short, Zhang Miao and Xiao Chen’s return broke the atmosphere that had nearly dropped to freezing point. Coupled with the fact that dinner time had arrived and Lin Lingyu had just returned from Europe, Zhang Miao was thinking of taking her out for a proper Chinese meal. However, Lin Lingyu put on her bag a step ahead, saying she had an appointment with a friend.

Xiao Jingwen stood up alongside her: “Where are you heading? Let me drive you.”

“No need.” Lin Lingyu gestured with her phone. “I called a ride. Thank you.”

“Let me walk you to the car then.”

The two left the gallery and stood by the sidewalk. Xiao Chen sighed in admiration, “President Xiao is way too responsible. Sister, you said this morning that the boss got sick because of their company, and President Xiao actually came over in person! Now he’s even waiting for the car with Teacher Lin.”

“…” Zhang Miao opened her mouth, then stopped herself. Silly child.

By the curb, Lin Lingyu suddenly remembered something: “By the way, right now, do you still feel that artwork is the same as diamonds? Both merely imbued with meaning by people, beautiful in an ethereal, illusory way.”

Xiao Jingwen couldn’t help but laugh softly: “My apologies. Five years ago, I was too impulsive and spoke without thinking.”

He continued, “I don’t think that way anymore. Now…”

“That’s good.” Lin Lingyu pointed at the ride-hailing car pulling up. “Here’s my ride. See you later.”

She seemed to have no desire to hear Xiao Jingwen’s answer—or perhaps, that answer wasn’t meant for her ears.

Xiao Jingwen stepped forward to open the car door for her, then stood by the curb watching the car drive away.

He hadn’t returned to the company all day. Gleam was hosting a small charity auction before the main event, a cause where the CEO really ought to show his face. If for nothing else, then for the sake of maintaining a charitable image.

Over the years, Xiao Jingwen had made quite a lot of money—and calling it “quite a lot” was an understatement. The spring auction a few months ago had reached a total transaction value of 2.5 billion yuan, an extraordinarily impressive performance in the auction industry. Yet his personal life wasn’t lavish or extravagant; he didn’t own private jets, yachts, or luxury supercars. He did, however, contribute quite a bit to charity.

Outsiders labeled him a money-making machine and a capitalist, and the media rarely covered his charitable deeds, often treating them as mere gimmicks. Rather than money itself, Xiao Jingwen simply preferred the act of making it.

Today, there were over twenty missed calls on his phone, fifty or sixty unread messages on WeChat, not to mention countless group chats. Moreover, his status in the company system today was visible as “On Leave.” This was his life—a life saturated with work.

He put away his phone. Inside the gallery, Zhang Miao and Xiao Chen were tasting their milk tea, analyzing the top notes, base notes, and ingredients. When Xiao Jingwen walked back in, the two instantly stopped their chatter. It was somewhat awkward, as they weren’t particularly familiar with one another.

“I’ll go upstairs to see if he’s awake.”

“Ah, okay,” Zhang Miao nodded.

Upstairs, Lin Congzhi was already awake, lying in bed playing on his phone. In the past, he disliked scrolling through short videos, feeling that it eroded the brain and prevented a person from settling their mind. Right now, he was watching a Corgi wiggle its butt, but he instantly locked his phone screen, stowed his smile, and said sternly, “Why didn’t you knock?”

“Looks like you’re feeling much better.” A smile touched the corners of Xiao Jingwen’s eyes. “Knowing you had a fever, even if I knocked, you wouldn’t have been able to get out of bed to open the door for me anyway.”

“Teacher Lin went out for dinner,” he added.

“Oh…” Lin Congzhi shrank back into the duvet a little. “What did she go out to eat?”

“I didn’t ask.”

Or rather, how could I dare ask? Thinking this, Xiao Jingwen smiled.

Lin Congzhi didn’t know what he was smiling about and furrowed his brows slightly. Earlier, Coco had mentioned taking his mother out for Chinese food, and he had been keeping it in mind; he hadn’t expected his mom to arrive early, and he hadn’t even found a suitable restaurant yet.

Xiao Jingwen walked to the bedside and touched the water glass; the water inside was already cold. There was still fever medication on the nightstand. Lin Congzhi looked at him warily, a glance that made Xiao Jingwen chuckle.

“I was forced by circumstances too. Your mom was watching right there; I couldn’t not stuff the medicine in.”

“You made me lose face completely in front of my employees.”

“When Miss Zhang saw us in the hotel hallway, you had already lost face completely.”

There was truth to that. Lin Congzhi adjusted his breathing: “Still, forcing someone’s jaw open to feed them medicine really lacks grace, President Xiao.”

“I’ll keep that in mind next time,” Xiao Jingwen said.

He went to fetch a fresh glass of warm water, then helped Lin Congzhi up, propping two pillows behind his back. Xiao Jingwen sat on the edge of the bed; Lin Congzhi felt the mattress sink slightly.

Xiao Jingwen desperately wanted to reach out and touch his face—pale, drained of color, frail, and unable to resist, making it incredibly hard to exercise self-restraint.

He swallowed hard and said, “When you’re fully recovered, I want to take you to see a few things.”

“What things?”

“Some things… that only you can give me the answers to,” Xiao Jingwen said ambiguously. “So get well soon.”