Chapter 20: My Eyes Aren’t That Beautiful

“Your painting is excellent. Get your friend’s permission, and if you need an authorization template, I have one. This painting can be submitted for the exhibition.”

“Oh… wait, what did you say, Teacher Liang?”

Jiang Ruotang felt like either his ears were failing him or his brain still hadn’t drained all its water.

“If you can get your friend’s permission, submit this painting for the exhibition,” Teacher Liang said, looking at him. “You’re still young—how are you already hard of hearing?”

“But… didn’t you just say my technique has regressed?”

“It has, but your talent still shines through. Even with the regression, you’re above your peers’ level.”

Teacher Liang’s half-teasing tone made Jiang Ruotang’s ears turn red.

This was a massive opportunity, one he hadn’t even dreamed of back when he was studying in the art studio.

But why hadn’t he gotten this chance in his past life, yet now, with his technique worse, Teacher Liang was recommending him for the competition?

“Teacher Liang… besides my rusty technique, how is this painting different from my old ones?” Jiang Ruotang asked curiously.

“In the past, you focused on precision—line contours, light and shadow distribution. This painting isn’t as precise, but it’s freer, more expressive. It’s full of layered emotions that let viewers feel your heart.”

This was something even many established artists struggled to achieve.

Of course, Teacher Liang didn’t say that part out loud.

Receiving such affirmation from Teacher Liang, Jiang Ruotang couldn’t hide the joy bubbling inside him.

But soon, that elation cooled.

He remembered his past life, when he handed Bai Yingchuan a sketchbook filled with his portraits. Amid everyone’s praise, Bai Yingchuan’s smile turned icy. Later, he pulled Jiang Ruotang into a corner.

He said if Jiang Ruotang kept staring at him, following him, and painting him like a lunatic, he’d expose all his messy thoughts, letting everyone see what the great director’s son had in his head.

In that cramped space, young Jiang Ruotang stared blankly into Bai Yingchuan’s eyes. Stripped of his gentle facade, those beautiful eyes revealed undisguised disgust.

The teenage Jiang Ruotang couldn’t understand why simply painting him was such a grave sin in Bai Yingchuan’s eyes.

Years later, lying in a hospital bed, it dawned on him in the dead of night.

It was the emotions—the emotions in his sketches—that Bai Yingchuan loathed.

Bai Yingchuan craved freedom, not the suffocating adoration of fans. He’d been stalked, secretly photographed, and smeared with vile edited images online. Jiang Ruotang’s meticulous portraits, infused with fervent love, became blatant harassment when Bai Yingchuan sensed those emotions in the sketchbook.

Lin Lu and Bai Yingchuan were close, and he likely knew Bai’s triggers. That’s why he suggested Jiang Ruotang give the sketchbook as a welcome gift, planting the seed of dislike in Bai Yingchuan’s heart, letting it grow and overshadow everything. What a cunning move.

“Jiang Ruotang, what are you thinking about?” Teacher Liang’s voice snapped him back from his memories.

“I think… I’d rather not use this painting for the competition.”

Jiang Ruotang slowly clenched his fists.

Teacher Liang’s brow furrowed. “Why not?”

“Because I painted it without the person’s permission.”

What if Lu Guifan saw it and hated him like Bai Yingchuan did?

They weren’t even close now. If he rashly approached Lu Guifan and said he’d painted him, what would he think?

“Trust, longing, and affection don’t need permission to exist—they’re instincts. Your painting is a language. If it resonates with him, you’re kindred spirits. Since he’s so important to you, I believe he’ll understand your language,” Teacher Liang said.

Though still uneasy, Jiang Ruotang suddenly felt a strong urge to show the painting to Lu Guifan.

“I understand, Teacher.”

“Decide quickly. If it’s not submitted by tomorrow, it’ll be too late.”

“What? That urgent?”

“Isn’t that good? Less time to overthink.”

Teacher Liang’s smile seemed to see right through him.

Leaving the studio, Jiang Ruotang sat in the car home, his mind swirling with Teacher Liang’s words.

Since his rebirth, he’d barely spoken to Lu Guifan. Wouldn’t this be weird?

But deep down, he believed that whether at twenty-eight or eighteen, Lu Guifan was still Lu Guifan.

He sent a message: [You there?]

After sending it, he covered his face.

Why did he send “You there?” It felt like an old classmate hitting him up to borrow money.

But Lu Guifan replied instantly: [Should be around for the next few decades.]

Reading that, Jiang Ruotang nearly laughed out loud.

Lu Guifan wasn’t one for internet memes or trendy phrases—this was just his authentic response.

Jiang Ruotang: [Where are you? Can I come find you? I need your permission for something.]

At this hour, evening self-study should be over, and Lu Guifan was likely walking home from school.

Lu Guifan: [Meet me at the convenience store on Minghu Road.]

Jiang Ruotang told Xiao Gao to drive there immediately. When they parked outside the store, he saw Lu Guifan through the glass, wearing an employee uniform, reading behind the counter.

His head was lowered, and if not for his high, sharp nose, how could he support those heavy black-framed glasses?

As Jiang Ruotang entered, a robotic “Welcome” chimed.

Lu Guifan looked up, his expression neutral.

“You’re here.”

“Class monitor? You work here?”

“Yeah.”

“Isn’t that against school rules?” Jiang Ruotang knew Lu Guifan’s family wasn’t well-off, and with a leech of an uncle, it made sense he’d work to support himself.

“You gonna snitch?” Lu Guifan asked lightly.

“Of course not! I’m just worried it’s too close to school. The competition for top three in your grade is fierce—what if someone reports you and it affects your scholarship?”

Lu Guifan lowered his eyes, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

“I’m just covering for a neighbor. He’ll be back by eleven.”

“Oh.” Jiang Ruotang relaxed.

“What’s up?” Lu Guifan asked, pulling a chair over for him.

This was the first time since his rebirth that Jiang Ruotang sat side by side with Lu Guifan like this.

“I was at the art studio tonight. My teacher thinks my painting is good and wants to submit it for a competition. But it’s a portrait of a classmate, so I need their permission.”

His hands gripped the chair’s edges. He’d mentally prepared himself to stay calm, but now he was nervous again.

“You painted Bai Yingchuan again? Want me to talk to him?” Lu Guifan asked.

Was it his imagination, or did Lu Guifan’s voice sound colder?

“No.”

“If it’s Lin Lu, you can ask him yourself. No need to come to me.”

“Not him either.” Jiang Ruotang took the art tube from his back, pulled out the painting, and handed it to Lu Guifan.

“You want me to look? I don’t know art,” Lu Guifan said.

“Just take a look.” Jiang Ruotang took a deep breath.

Sigh, he thought. Jiang Ruotang, who could talk confidently with big directors and producers, yet feels this timid with Lu Guifan. It’s like some legendary bloodline suppression.

Fear born of closeness… something like that.

Lu Guifan carefully unrolled the painting, perhaps because Jiang Ruotang mentioned it might be for a competition.

His gaze lingered on it.

The convenience store was quiet at night, with only the hum of the fridge and Jiang Ruotang’s heartbeat audible.

After a long pause, Lu Guifan spoke. “Who… is this? An actor or a movie scene?”

Jiang Ruotang was dumbfounded. Was Teacher Liang right? Had his technique regressed so much that the likeness was off, and Lu Guifan couldn’t even recognize himself?

When he didn’t respond, Lu Guifan turned to him.

“It’s you… without glasses.”

“Hm?” Lu Guifan touched his glasses. “I’ve never taken them off in front of you. How do you know what I look like without them?”

Jiang Ruotang didn’t answer. I not only know what you look like without glasses, I know what you look like ten years from now.

“So this is your imagination, not me. Especially the eyes—mine aren’t that beautiful.”

“We artists are good at capturing likeness. I saw your eyes when you looked down. If you don’t believe me, take off your glasses, and I’ll take a photo.”

“My ID photo doesn’t have glasses. Want to see? It’s not like this painting.”

“Class monitor… Zhao Changfeng’s Level 2 certificate photo looks like a wanted poster. Take off your glasses, and I’ll snap a close-up of your eyes!”

Lu Guifan sighed, removed his bulky glasses, and set them on the counter.

As his eyelids lifted, his raven-feather lashes fanned out, and Jiang Ruotang’s breath caught, like a thread being pulled taut.

He raised his phone, carefully photographing Lu Guifan’s eyes.

At this point, Lu Guifan’s nearsightedness was severe. To save money, he hadn’t gotten lightweight lenses and hadn’t replaced them in years.