Jiang Ruotang’s face turned beet red. “Why are you always talking about ‘sleeping’ or not ‘sleeping’? He… he… he’s only eighteen!”

Mu Xianqing’s expression was as colorful as a paint palette. “Eighteen? Is there anything you can’t do at eighteen?”

Jiang Ruotang pursed his lips and said nothing.

Mu Xianqing sighed, “Xiao Tangtang, if you keep hiding and holding back like this, one day you won’t be able to stand it, and I’m afraid you’ll devour this guy whole.”

Jiang Ruotang offered a fake smile, thinking to himself that he couldn’t possibly digest Lu Guifan; the other guy was ten centimeters taller than him, a single bite would choke him.

“So, it’s this one?”

Mu Xianqing looked at the painting next to it, and as he unveiled it like a bride’s veil, a strange sense of reverence came over him.

The color palette of the painting was different from what Mu Xianqing had imagined; it was dark and cool.

This was unlike Jiang Ruotang’s usual bright and enthusiastic compositions. Mu Xianqing’s curiosity was piqued to the extreme. He slowly lifted the cloth higher, and the painting revealed the back of a young man wearing a black trench coat, with cool streetlights, a street lightly covered in snow, and the increasingly bright, bustling lights in the distance.

The subtle interplay of light and shadow created a poignant sense of loneliness, making one uncontrollably want to follow, walk alongside the person in the painting, or perhaps embrace him and give him all the warmth one possessed.

It still conveyed love; Mu Xianqing could feel Jiang Ruotang’s desire to protect the other person, to accompany him to a bright and splendid place.

It might not be as direct or as alluringly loving as the previous painting, but this one was deep and profound.

It didn’t resemble the emotions a person of Jiang Ruotang’s age would typically have.

Mu Xianqing quietly observed for a long time, so long that Jiang Ruotang wondered if his painting was too monotonous and had greatly disappointed him.

“You will leave your unique mark in this era.”

Mu Xianqing grew up surrounded by art. His intuition told him that in this vast and brilliant starry sky, Jiang Ruotang’s name would surely be there.

“Hmm?” Jiang Ruotang looked at him.

Mu Xianqing smiled, “Don’t tell me, after this painting is exhibited, you still won’t sell it.”

“Not selling it… Is that not allowed?”

Those were memories and emotions from his previous life. As long as it concerned Lu Guifan, Jiang Ruotang didn’t want to sell it.

Mu Xianqing rubbed his forehead. “Sometimes I really hate it. Why are you so rich? You should be destitute, scrambling for your daily meals…”

Jiang Ruotang was speechless. “Why would you curse me like that?”

“I’m not cursing you, I just wish you had more desire for money.”

“I have plenty of desire. I still want my Little Sweet Fruit to grow bigger and stronger.”

“Heh heh, I don’t feel it,” Mu Xianqing shrugged.

He was now just hoping that Jiang Ruotang would someday run out of money, just like after he bought Little Sweet Fruit. That way, Jiang Ruotang would come begging him, and he could try to break his principles and sell him “the beloved,” even if it was just a back view.

Mu Xianqing gestured with his chin towards the covered painting. “Where’s your beloved, the one you’re hiding?”

Jiang Ruotang lowered his head. “He went to do an experiment. A very important one.”

Mu Xianqing took a deep breath, raised a hand to cover his eyes. “A science major… an art student’s nightmare.”

“Who says? He understands art very well.”

“Then send him a picture of this painting.”

Jiang Ruotang hesitated for a moment. He remembered what Teacher Liang had told him.

Painting was Jiang Ruotang’s language.

To convey this language to him, to make him feel his desire for him.

To approach or to distance, that was Lu Guifan’s choice.

Seeing Jiang Ruotang’s expression, Mu Xianqing smiled, took Jiang Ruotang’s phone, found a good angle for the painting, and clearly captured all its details.

“The beloved’s number?”

Jiang Ruotang took his phone back, found Lu Guifan’s profile picture, and with a burst of courage, sent the painting.

One minute passed, two minutes passed…

If this were a comic, Jiang Ruotang and Mu Xianqing would have exasperated dots above their heads.

“He doesn’t look at his phone when he’s busy,” Jiang Ruotang defended Lu Guifan.

“So you like this man… what do you like about him?” Mu Xianqing asked.

“Huh?”

“Do you like that he’s in the lab every day, so it doesn’t interfere with your flings? Do you like that he’s so aloof you’d have grass growing on your grave before you’d get a warm word from him? Or do you like… that he’s handsome?” Mu Xianqing raised his eyelids and added, “He really is handsome. I’ve seen so many beautiful and handsome men in the entertainment industry, but he’s the best-looking.”

Jiang Ruotang said nothing.

Mu Xianqing sighed, “I’m not teasing you anymore—tomorrow, I’ll have my lawyer send the contract. As agreed, the painting you’re finishing now belongs to my gallery.”

“Mm.”

---

Hours later, Lu Guifan emerged from the lab, retrieved his phone from a locker in the changing room, and then went to the reception room. There, a row of lunchboxes was laid out. Some were brought by students for their seniors or professors. Lu Guifan immediately recognized the Jiang family’s lunchbox—Sister Juan’s taste: pink Peppa Pig.

Lu Guifan smiled. He opened it to find a balanced meal with meat and vegetables, and even the shells of the braised prawns were carefully peeled.

Despite feeling exhausted to the point of a throbbing temple, seeing Jiang Ruotang’s little fox-like profile picture on his phone made his heart soften, and he wanted to tuck him into his embrace.

The profile picture showed several unread messages. Lu Guifan tapped it open, scrolled down, and nearly dropped his chopsticks when he saw the painting.

Is this how Ruotang sees me?

Lu Guifan knew his personality was stiff, but in this painting, Lu Guifan could subtly feel that every line, every color, and every layer of light and shadow were filled with heart-stirring emotion.

Lu Guifan’s throat moved. His heels instinctively lifted, and muscles from his calves to his whole body tensed. He had never felt this way before—he wanted to pull the painter over, pull him into his embrace, hug him tightly, even if it crushed him or himself, he wouldn’t let go.

Then, a never-before-felt jealousy surged within him.

Ruotang’s paintbrush had painted so many other people, from his father to other family members, friends, and classmates. He was jealous of every single one of them.

Even Bai Yingchuan, whom Jiang Ruotang had frantically sketched in his notebook, he wished he could tear apart.

Lu Guifan put down his chopsticks and phone, tilted his head back, and covered his eyes.

What should he do?

All the impulses, jealousy, and possessiveness he had never experienced in his past eighteen years of life seemed to have been fully understood only in the year Jiang Ruotang had been close to him.

He had to get out of here quickly; he missed him terribly.

He made up his mind: he would confess.

Even if he was rejected, he had a lifetime to pursue him.

---

Some people fought tirelessly in laboratories, some pondered light in art studios, while Ling Song, an unknown actor, was playing a minor role with only one minute of screen time and no lines in another low-budget TV series.

The male lead, who had brought his own funds to join the crew, probably disliked Ling Song’s cold and uncommunicative demeanor. The script stated that he would kick Ling Song in the chest, and then Ling Song would quickly move backward on a wire. Unexpectedly, he aimed for Ling Song’s face!

Fortunately, Ling Song raised his arms quickly, otherwise, his nose bridge might have been fractured.

The male lead said insincerely, “Ah, sorry, I didn’t mean to.”

Even though everyone in the crew, including the director, could see that this guy did it on purpose, no one spoke up for Ling Song.

After all, funding was too important for such a small crew.

After being kicked three times in a row, the director, worried that Ling Song might actually get injured and cause a lawsuit, quickly moved past the scene.

Ling Song had just collected his daily wages and was walking out of the set when he saw a man in a suit and rimless glasses extinguishing a cigarette, approaching him with a slightly cold and mocking smile.

“Ah, Xiao Ling, why are you making things so hard for yourself? CEO Han is willing to promote you; you could get any resources you want, but you’re ungrateful and insist on coming to these low-grade sets to suffer?”

This person was the assistant to CEO Han of Cefeng Pictures. He would occasionally visit the film set to see how miserable Ling Song’s life was and routinely try to persuade him to humble himself and accept reality by becoming CEO Han’s little lover.

At first, Ling Song would be filled with rage, wishing he could smash a few punches into the hypocrite’s face.

But after a few years, Ling Song had become numb to the other party’s taunts. Saying one more word to him was a waste of life.

“Xiao Ling, it’s a long way back to the city from here. Are you going back to your old, dilapidated rental? I can give you a ride.”

Ling Song ignored him and turned to continue walking towards the bus stop.

Just then, his phone rang. After answering and hearing what the other person said, Ling Song froze.

A gentle and refined voice spoke: “Xiao Ling, right? This is Jiang Huaiyuan, the director who interviewed you the other day. Do you still remember me?”

Ling Song stood still. He had long prepared himself to be rejected. After all, he had no agency, no impressive works, and Cefeng Pictures was actively sabotaging him. He never thought he could secure the male lead role in Drunken Immortal Stage.

Hearing Director Jiang Huaiyuan’s voice at this moment made Ling Song feel unreal.

“Director Jiang, hello.”

Ling Song tried his best to make his naturally cold voice sound gentle and humble.

“Well, I’d like to make a polite request for your help. My son is participating in a portrait competition, and his friend was supposed to model for him, but something unexpected came up. I think your features are quite well-defined. Would you be available to model for my son? Three hundred yuan an hour?”

Ling Song was stunned. He hadn’t expected the esteemed director to seek him out not for a role, but for his son’s painting. He felt somewhat disappointed.

But three hundred yuan an hour… just for holding a pose, it was much more than he earned as an extra at the film studio, enough for several days of living expenses.

Perhaps because Ling Song hadn’t replied, Jiang Huaiyuan on the other end said again, “I don’t know the prices for models, is three hundred yuan too little? How about five hundred? Or you can name your price? After all, staying still for so long is quite tiring.”

Ling Song quickly said, “When is it?”

“Hmm… if it’s convenient for you, how about this afternoon?”

Ling Song received a message, an address sent by Jiang Huaiyuan, a very high-end residential area.

He checked the route and got on the bus.

Ling Song had long heard that Jiang Huaiyuan was a very strict director on set but an incredibly doting father to his son.

Director Jiang’s son? Asking him to model? It felt very sudden…

Ling Song found Sister Zhong, who had previously been his agent, in his contacts. Her agency had gone bankrupt last year. Although Sister Zhong didn’t have many resources, she was a good person, so Ling Song asked her about Jiang Huaiyuan’s son.

[Director Jiang’s son? I heard he’s an art student, supposedly spoiled rotten by Director Jiang since childhood, with a rich young master’s temper. If you go, you’d better go along with him, don’t do things your own way and offend Director Jiang’s son; that would be even more serious than offending Director Jiang!]

Ling Song took a deep breath on the bus. The sunlight outside was a bit harsh. He pinched the corners of his eyes.

The spot on his arm where the male lead, who had brought his own funds, had kicked him was still throbbing. He exhaled slightly.

[Oh, and I remember hearing someone say that Director Jiang’s son is absolutely obsessed with Bai Yingchuan, so much so that he spends a fortune on Bai Yingchuan’s various activities! He hires all sorts of photographers to capture everything about Bai Yingchuan, and there are even rumors that he spent a huge sum to rig votes for Bai Yingchuan, etc… He even used his connections to get Bai Yingchuan transferred to his school, his class. Isn’t that crazy?]

Ling Song took a deep breath. This reminded him of Han Ming’s various offenses and oppressive presence.

Why, no matter where he went, did he encounter such people?

[Of course, these are all rumors… but you should still be careful and protect yourself.]

Although a feeling of disgust rose from the bottom of Ling Song’s heart, he shouldn’t negatively judge someone he hadn’t met before they had done anything to him.

Moreover, he had already agreed to Director Jiang. If he broke the appointment, it would leave a bad impression.

“Ling Song, what are you even afraid of?” Ling Song gave a self-deprecating smile.

After several transfers, he finally got off the bus near Jiang’s residential area.

Arriving at the Jiang residence, Sister Juan opened the door. The entire duplex building was spacious and bright, making one envious.

Sister Juan greeted him with a smile and offered him slippers.

To Ling Song’s disappointment, Jiang Huaiyuan and his wife were not home. He had originally wanted to discuss the role with Director Jiang, but it seemed he wouldn’t have that opportunity today.

Just then, a tall, slender, athletic-looking boy, dressed in sportswear and quite handsome and energetic, came down the stairs.

Upon seeing Ling Song, he scrutinized him from head to toe with a judgmental gaze.

Is this Director Jiang’s son? The rumored young master who was madly in love with Bai Yingchuan?

Ling Song knew Bai Yingchuan’s physique. If this guy got rough with Bai Yingchuan, Bai Yingchuan would probably be at a disadvantage.

Just then, a clear voice came from upstairs.

“Changfeng, could you bring me some fried chicken when you come back?”

Ling Song looked up in the direction of the voice and saw a boy with a bright smile leaning over the second floor railing, his eyes curved into crescents, wearing a dark apron stained with various colors. Ling Song immediately understood that this was the painting-loving son Director Jiang had mentioned.

“Ah? Fried chicken again? Aren’t you afraid of getting inflamed and breaking out? Don’t come crying to me if you get pimples!”

“No way. I’ll eat it myself, and I’ll bear whatever pimples I get.”

Zhao Changfeng had just reached the entrance and was about to change his shoes when he suddenly remembered something and turned back, shouting to the boy on the second floor: “Do you want honey mustard or spicy? I think there’s also something with mayonnaise?”

“Spicy and honey mustard mix!” Jiang Ruotang said with a laugh.

“Then I’m off!” Zhao Changfeng passed by Ling Song again, his heroic yet round eyes giving Ling Song a hard stare, as if warning him.

As for what the warning was about, Ling Song was too lazy to understand.

“Are you Ling Song, the one my dad introduced to model for me?” Jiang Ruotang tilted his head.

Ling Song nodded. “Hello.”

“I’m Jiang Ruotang. Come on up, my studio is in the attic.”