Xiao Jingwen froze.

For a moment, he didn’t know what expression to put on. He had teased him like this before, but that was a very long time ago.

Lin Congzhi was born with naturally upturned lips. If he deliberately wanted to smile sweetly, all he had to do was narrow his eyes slightly, look into the other person’s eyes, and curve the corners of his mouth upward. There was no way Xiao Jingwen could keep this meeting going any longer—it had been over an hour anyway, which was more than enough.

He cleared his throat, lowered his gaze back toward the computer screen, and hurriedly said, “That’s all for today,” before closing the video call and standing up from his chair.

Because it was a video conference, Xiao Jingwen was wearing a full suit. Out of habit, he buttoned his jacket as he stood up and said, “It’s just a bottle of wine. Did you really need to come upstairs to ask me?”

“I have excellent manners.” Lin Congzhi tilted his head up slightly.

Xiao Jingwen walked around his office desk to stand before him. Reaching out, he took the champagne from his hand, lowered his eyes to look at it, and said, “Before I went to Spain, I asked a business partner to help me pick out a few bottles of wine, intending to give them to your mother as a wedding gift. I don’t know much about this stuff. He picked quite a few for me, and two were left over here, so I just put them in the fridge.”

“Can I drink it?” Lin Congzhi asked.

“Of course you can.”

Outside, the rain kept falling. Lin Congzhi had slept very well last night—he had taken a long, deep sleep, and by the time he woke up, Xiao Jingwen was already in the study. This house still preserved his art studio, which was converted from a home theater because Lin Congzhi sometimes needed a projector to check and verify the accuracy of his forms when striving for perfection.

Stepping into this room again after five years, the plaster busts had been covered with dust cloths by their owner, and the easels were leaning against the wall. It felt as though time in this room had been sealed away—as if the studio’s owner had merely gone on a short trip for a week or two.

And right now, they were making love in this studio.

Xiao Jingwen opened the wine for him, and he carried the bottle by its neck upstairs happily, intending to paint. Xiao Jingwen followed him into the studio, where Lin Congzhi told him to take off his suit jacket and tie. After taking two or three gulps straight from the bottle, Lin Congzhi used his jacket and tie to set up a draped backdrop, placing the bottle on top to prepare for a life drawing.

The result was that before he could even finish outlining the form, the two of them became entangled together.

While Lin Congzhi was sketching with his pencil, Xiao Jingwen unbuttoned a couple of shirt buttons beside him, half-jokingly mentioning that the tie shouldn’t get wet—Lin Congzhi had tied the tie into a bow around the neck of the bottle, and the body of the bottle had water droplets on it from being chilled.

Lin Congzhi let out an “Ah” and moved over to take it off, only to be grabbed by the arm and pulled right back by Xiao Jingwen, who said it was fine and he could do whatever he wanted with it.

For two people who hadn’t slept together in five years, even the slightest physical contact was like willow catkins touching an open flame—instantly igniting and vanishing into ashes.

The pencil fell to the floor, snapping its tip off.

By seven in the evening, a thunderstorm raged. A streak of lightning cut through the night sky like someone tearing it open for a quick glance inside.

Having not done it for five years, holding Lin Congzhi’s narrow waist in his hands while Lin Congzhi’s gasps and cries echoed in his ears, Xiao Jingwen had to close his eyes and grit his teeth just to keep from finishing too fast.

You really couldn’t blame Xiao Jingwen. Calling him an abstinent CEO wasn’t just talk. His past five years had been spent… well, if he had pulled a few less ruthless moves in business and fasted a bit more, he could practically have retired into a monastery for the rest of his life under a solitary lamp.

Alright. He paced himself for a moment, then continued.

Thunder clapped outside the window. The rain lately wasn’t just falling heavily; even the raindrops were as massive as hail, slamming onto the ground with a sound like beating gongs.

Lin Congzhi was lying on the bed with a pillow prop under his lower abdomen.

He gripped the bedsheet tight, but a moment later, a hand covered his. He let go of the sheet and gripped that hand instead.

When he was flipped back over, Lin Congzhi couldn’t quite tell whether the Xiao Jingwen above him was twenty-eight or thirty-three years old. Truth be told, he had changed somewhat; his brows carried a more mature air, especially the way he looked at him.

In the past, when Xiao Jingwen looked at him in bed, it was filled with pure, intense devotion. But now, as he looked at him, there was a touch of sorrow in his eyes—the kind of sorrow born from a desperate fear that there might not be a next meal after this one.

…But you can’t eat this much in one single meal either, Lin Congzhi closed his eyes, sinking into despair.

Lin Congzhi himself had also been in a dry spell for five years. Suddenly having so much at once was too much for him to handle… Or rather, he couldn’t handle it physically starting from the second round.

Not handling it was purely physical.

Mentally, he could go until dawn.

Lin Congzhi realized he missed him far more than he had imagined. At the same time, he felt he had been studying painting for far too long—nearly twenty years if he counted it up. Painting was a form of control; even when drawing from life, transferring what the eye sees onto the canvas was still governed by the painter.

It was just like a documentary: as long as a human was controlling the camera, there was no such thing as an absolutely objective documentary in this world.

By the same token, as long as a human held the paintbrush, the artwork would inevitably be tainted by the painter’s thoughts.

Lin Congzhi had always felt he couldn’t control Xiao Jingwen. He had once hoped he could change Xiao Jingwen, shaping him into the ideal, sentimental auction house CEO of his dreams. But he had overlooked one thing: this was the real world.

He had no idea when he fell asleep. When he opened his eyes again, his body was clean, and the bedding was clean as well.

In his memory, the bed had suffered a rather tragic fate, with faint recollections of the bedsheet being torn… Looking around more carefully—oh, this was the guest room.

The central air conditioner was blowing cold air silently in quiet mode. Lin Congzhi sat up slowly and stared back at the air vent. A moment later, the guest room door opened, and Xiao Jingwen looked in at him: “In this state, does it mean you’re awake?”

Lin Congzhi pointed at his own face: “My eyes are open.”

Was that really so hard to tell?

Xiao Jingwen explained: “Your eyes were open last night too, but you were completely unresponsive.”

“…” Lin Congzhi nodded. “Actually, I have vague memories of it. Come over here.”

He crawled out of the covers, moving on his knees toward the edge of the bed. Midway through, he stumbled a bit, gritting his teeth to complain, “Why did you buy such a huge bed?”

Xiao Jingwen obediently walked over to the bedside, setting down a glass of warm water and a bowl of finely diced cantaloupe he had carried in: “What’s wrong?”

Lin Congzhi pulled up his T-shirt—

“Agh…”

Sure enough.

He looked at the muscles on Xiao Jingwen’s abdomen with heartache—his external obliques had been scratched up with a long mark by his nails, alongside a messy array of scratches and bite marks across his chest.

Xiao Jingwen was puzzled at first, but then understood. His eyes turned helpless: “Thank you for your concern, though I know what you’re really concerned about is your own… experience.”

“Ooh—” Lin Congzhi bumped his face straight into his abs. “How could this happen—what a waste—”

A work of art! This was a work of art!

Still, he possessed a conscience. He raised his head: “Does it hurt?”

Xiao Jingwen pushed his head back indifferently: “It doesn’t hurt, I felt great, thanks for asking. Your voice is already raspy, so stop wailing. Drink some water. The rain is a bit lighter today, so I need to head to the company.”

“Ah.” Lin Congzhi sat up straight. “Take me along. I want to go to the art studio too.”

Xiao Jingwen sized him up: “Can you make it?”

“Of course I can.”

Xiao Jingwen had a rough idea of the studio’s layout; he had been to Lin Congzhi’s old studio at the Academy of Fine Arts before… How should he put it? It was somewhat different from what he had imagined… and from what was shown on TV shows. Briefly summarized, it felt like everything in there could be packed up and thrown into the dumpster downstairs, yet in reality, not a single thing could be thrown away.

And in order to find a satisfying angle for life drawing, art students would lay stools sideways on their sides to look at the still life group at eye level, or stand on stools to draw from an overhead angle.

—Therefore, in an art studio, there was usually only one comfortable chair to sit on, and that chair was reserved for the model doing portrait life drawing.

Xiao Jingwen cast a doubtful glance at him once again, as if saying: Are you sure you can go?

Lin Congzhi instantly understood: “Then I’ll go tomorrow instead.”

Although the rain was lighter today, Xiao Jingwen still called the housekeeper to tell her to come back to work in a few days. In the morning, he went back to the master bedroom to tidy up the bedsheets and quilt covers, and even took down the painting on the wall—how to put it? Sleeping alone before was one thing, but now that he had an ex-boyfriend… ah no, now that he had a boyfriend back, hanging a souvenir of his victory in a battlefield inherited from the older generation just felt weird.

Even though he didn’t know how long this guy would be staying at his place.

Xiao Jingwen drove out the door. Before leaving, he heated up food for him and told him he could use anything in the house as he pleased, explicitly specifying that this included the alcohol. Although Xiao Jingwen didn’t drink himself, due to business networking, he received quite a lot of wine from others.

Lin Congzhi picked out a few with pretty bottles, took them up to the third-floor studio, turned on the photography light, and set up a few other trinkets.

“Hmm…” He pondered for a moment, dissatisfied. The wine bottle was very pretty, and the Louis XVI court glassware was quite nice too; he had even gone to the walk-in closet to grab one of Xiao Jingwen’s wristwatches. Staggered heights, exaggerated colors, rich textures… an expensive still life group.

Yet he was dissatisfied—this wasn’t what he wanted to paint today.

About half an hour later, he removed the still life group, put them back in their original places, and began painting from memory.

His state today was extremely strange, uniquely strange in a way he couldn’t put into words—though Lin Congzhi knew the reason was simple. Over the past five years, the owner of a Florentine gallery that frequently bought his paintings had once asked him why his painting style was growing heavier and heavier.

When that gallery owner said ‘heavy’, he meant dark—not ‘depth’ in a philosophical sense, but in terms of color, or rather, darkness.

As the saying goes, artwork is the external manifestation of the creator’s spirit. As time went on in those five years, Lin Congzhi felt increasingly exhausted. The years, his age, and his experiences on the cruise ship all made him feel fragmented and conflicted. Painting The High Monk was a threshold for him in terms of ‘depth’; the monk’s eyes were calm and composed, the exact opposite of himself.

He had painted that peaceful expression for a long time, revising and tweaking it endlessly.

Lin Congzhi adjusted his breathing. The art supplies in this studio were all stored here five years ago. He picked out a sheet of 800g paper, grabbed one side and shook it to feel its resilience—pretty good.

Next, he pinned it to the drawing board with thumbtacks, stood in front of the easel, and stared at the blank paper for a moment. A moment later, he retrieved the paint box from the cabinet, grabbed the tubes of paint, squeezed out two compartments of South Red, and used the South Red color as a base coat for the entire paper.

In the evening, after signing the final document, Xiao Jingwen leaned back against his chair to catch his breath.

He hadn’t felt tired for over five years, yet today it felt as if a debt had suddenly been repaid. During this rainy season, it wasn’t the first time he had felt that going to work was so tiring… Or rather, ever since meeting Lin Congzhi at the meeting for the summer auction’s preliminary selection of lots, he had felt that work was exhausting.

He opened his eyes slightly; the overhead lights in the office weren’t fully turned on. In his memory, back when he was studying in university, he had been dragged to the company by his father for an internship. Needless to say after graduation, he worked for several years as a project manager—a diligent corporate slave whose life contained nothing except work… No, he didn’t have a life at all.

Until that drunken night. Yuchen had been so cold that day, the air freezing, with rain pouring down. He had drunk too much accompanying clients and was throwing up in the rain by the roadside when an umbrella leaned over toward him.

Xiao Jingwen slumped for a moment, then sat up straight. He had a lot of people on WeChat, almost all of them business contacts, and he added each while blocking their Moments feed. So when a new notification popped up on Moments, he knew it was the one at home posting a new update.

Tapping into it, there was a painting—half-finished.

Expanding the image, it had a red background with a white main subject. Lin Congzhi had painted a half-naked human ball-jointed doll. The facial features weren’t detailed, but the outline was distinct and sharp.

Xiao Jingwen narrowed his eyes. The doll’s figure was muscular; the external obliques, rectus abdominis, and chest muscles were drawn with several scratches—without even looking, he knew they matched the ones on his own body line for line.

Teacher Lin possessed great self-awareness, pairing the photo with a caption currently popular online:

That was then, this is now—a total pervert.

Xiao Jingwen gave it a like and left a comment:

So perverted. I love it 😀