A storm refused to break, weighing down on the city until it felt stifling and suffocating.

When the gallery assistant brought in the coffee and the suit, Lin Congzhi was using white paint to trace highlights onto the canvas.

Lin Congzhi stood before his easel holding a palette. It was a large-scale oil painting, and he painted standing up; the canvas rose even taller than he was.

He was dressed in a loose, lead-gray hoodie with sleeves rolled up to his elbows, paired with matching gray sweatpants. It had been a while since his last haircut, so his bangs had grown too long. He had swept them back and pinned them in place with a long hairpin. His hair possessed a natural wave, and a few stray strands dangled loosely between his brows and eyes. His eyes shone with focused intensity, locked onto the picture plane in complete concentration.

He had been standing here painting for over four straight hours. Physically exhausted, he was driven purely by mental grit at this point.

“Mr. Lin, please keep an eye on the time.” The assistant placed the coffee on a side table in the corner of the studio, hung the suit on a clothes rack, and continued, “It’s almost five. Should we head out a bit early to avoid traffic?”

Lin Congzhi gave an absentminded “Mhm.” His eyes remained fixed on several outer lines and shadows on his canvas; dissatisfied with how he had handled them, his brows knitted together in a faint scowl.

Knowing he hadn’t truly listened, the assistant could only give the suit a final check. The suit had just been delivered from the dry cleaners, wrapped in a transparent dust bag. After inspecting it front and back, the assistant spoke again: “By the way, shouldn’t you take a shower? Your hair needs styling, too. How about you stop first…”

“Ah.” A sudden thought struck Lin Congzhi. He instantly set down the fine detail brush in his hand, leaning down to grab another brush. After dabs against a rag to dry the bristles, he used the semi-dry brush to dip into a block of grayish-blue on his palette. He blended it over from the background into the contour line of the subject’s clothing, enhancing the environmental reflections within the dark shadows.

“…” The assistant was well used to this. With a silent sigh, she pulled out her phone to contact a hairstylist to come over.

This was a gallery situated in the southern suburbs of Yu City, named “Ocean.” Its owner, Lin Congzhi, had spent the vast majority of the past five years painting aboard cruise ships before returning to Yu City late last year to open this gallery.

By the time the hairstylist arrived at Ocean, the ice cubes in Lin Congzhi’s coffee were nearly melted. Checking the time and seeing no other choice, the assistant snatched the palette right out of his hands amidst Lin Congzhi’s cries of protest.

“Mr. Lin!”

“…” His palette stolen, Lin Congzhi looked at his assistant innocently. “What is it now—”

“We really have to go!” the assistant said sternly. “It’s past five! You haven’t even gotten ready, and we have to go to Gleam Auction House for the meeting!”

The assistant shoved Lin Congzhi into the studio’s bathroom to shower, then led the hairstylist to another room equipped with a full-length mirror. Twenty minutes later, Lin Congzhi walked in wearing his fitted suit, his hair still half-damp.

His gaze was listless and his complexion pale—clearly the look of someone who had barely slept. The assistant brought over a matching tie and wristwatch. Wrapping a cape around him, the hairstylist began trimming his hair.

“Which one do you think looks better?” The assistant stood off to the side holding two ties, deliberating over which to pick.

Lin Congzhi kept his eyes half-lidded, looking like an entirely different person from the one painting earlier; right now, he looked as if his soul had left his body. In a lazy, raspy voice, he said, “The one in your right hand.”

Setting down the tie in her left hand, the assistant asked again, “I didn’t come over at noon and forgot to check with you. You ate lunch, right?”

Lin Congzhi: “I think so.”

Assistant: “…”

Once his hair was trimmed, his energy and appearance looked much better. The hairstylist used a powder brush to sweep away the loose hair from his face. Then, with the cape removed, he transformed from a wandering painter into a gallery owner.

Handing him the tie and watch, the assistant said, “Let’s go.”

Yu City was a coastal port city located along the lower reaches of the Yangtze River. As a result, it entered the plum rain season around this time every year. Yesterday had still been pleasantly warm, a bright and beautiful spring day that had coaxed the flowers into bloom, but today the meteorological bureau had issued an emergency heavy rainfall warning.

Lin Congzhi sat half-asleep in the passenger seat while his assistant drove. He had already downed most of the coffee sitting in the cup holder. The elevated expressway was jammed due to the evening peak hour, and traffic crept along in a stop-and-go crawl.

Finally, they managed to pass through the congested stretch at a snail’s pace, driving into Gleam’s underground parking lot twenty minutes later. The auction house had reserved parking spots in advance for those attending the meeting. After parking, the assistant first went to the trunk to change into her high heels, then pulled open the passenger door to shake her boss awake and drag him out.

The last time Lin Congzhi had slept was 32 hours ago.

Stepping out of the car, he felt a bit dazed and asked his assistant, “Where are we?”

Grabbing her laptop bag, the assistant replied, “This is the place where our gallery changes its destiny.”

Oh, right.

Gleam Auction House was currently selecting lots for their summer auction. Ocean Gallery had only been founded late last year; it lacked antique credentials and possessed little fame. If they could snag a spot in Gleam’s summer auction, this lukewarm gallery might just hit a stroke of massive fortune.

Lin Congzhi let out a breath and said, “Wait a moment.”

He leaned back into the car, retrieved the coffee from the cup holder, and gulped down the remaining mouthfuls in one go. “Alright, let’s go.”

Indeed, his fragile, precarious gallery was on the verge of bankruptcy. The heavy impact of modern AI painting and AI wall spraying on pure artists like them was far too severe. The gallery’s rent, as well as the wages for his apprentices and staff, all rested on his shoulders.

The elevator traveled upward, opening its doors on the 15th floor. By coincidence, the doors of the opposite elevator opened at the exact same second—

Lin Congzhi knew he would run into him coming here, but he hadn’t expected it to happen so quickly.

The man in the opposite elevator was dressed in a formal, solemn suit, flanked on either side by an assistant and a secretary. He had sharply chiseled facial features, thin lips, and single eyelids, giving him a cold and distant appearance.

As the elevator doors parted, their eyes collided in midair. Neither showed confusion or surprise; both remained calm, like old friends meeting again. In truth, it was because both knew what to expect, having known days ago that they would cross paths today.

Stepping out of the elevator cab, the assistant recognized the man. Thinking since they had met here first, it wouldn’t hurt to build rapport.

“Hello, President Xiao. I am Zhang Miao from Ocean Gallery, assistant to Mr. Lin Congzhi.” Zhang Miao gestured, guiding Xiao Jingwen’s gaze toward Lin Congzhi at her side. “He is the artist behind The Eminent Monk, one of the lots up for selection.”

Among the two assistants behind Xiao Jingwen, one was already about to step forward to block these people on behalf of his boss, just as he had done many times before. Surprisingly, Xiao Jingwen reached out his hand toward Lin Congzhi first and said, “I’ve seen that painting.”

The Eminent Monk was a portrait, completed by Lin Congzhi over the course of a month and a half using figurative techniques.

Lin Congzhi froze for a moment before taking his hand. Both applied a polite amount of pressure, shook hands, and let go. Zhang Miao used her eyes to hint at him to say something, but Lin Congzhi kept his eyes lowered, remaining silent.

Just as she grew so anxious that she prepared to speak up and introduce the painting further—at least to leave a deeper impression on Xiao Jingwen—Xiao Jingwen spoke up to ask him, “Have you not been sleeping well lately?”

Zhang Miao froze. Not only was she stunned, but the assistants and secretaries on Xiao Jingwen’s side were equally bewildered. The two groups quickly exchanged glances. As fellow assistants serving their respective bosses, they picked up on each other’s feedback in an instant—We have no idea!

No idea at all! Are these two close?

There were prominent dark circles under Lin Congzhi’s eyes. Xiao Jingwen, who was half a head taller than him, watched as Lin Congzhi raised his gaze to meet his eyes and answered, “It’s fine.”

Xiao Jingwen nodded, then raised his wrist to check his watch. “The weather is poor today, so many people might be stuck in traffic. Have you eaten?”

Lin Congzhi had always been someone who said whatever was on his mind without beating around the bush or probing subtly. Thus, he asked straightforwardly, “Which meal are you asking about?”

“…” Xiao Jingwen paused for a moment before bursting into a subtle laugh.

Truthfully, the moment Xiao Jingwen smiled, Zhang Miao felt her heart settle back into her chest. She didn’t care what kind of history her boss shared with this President Xiao, but based on her experience in the auction industry, given that the notoriously stern Xiao Jingwen was showing such warm concern, their painting was practically a done deal.

“In that case,” Xiao Jingwen turned to tell his assistant, “take Mr. Lin to have some refreshments first and have the chef cook a bowl of noodles. Ms. Zhang can have some as well.”

“Understood, right this way please.” Xiao Jingwen’s assistant prepared to lead the way.

Possessing rich administrative experience, Zhang Miao seized the opportunity on the spot, asking with a smile, “Does President Xiao have time to join us? Mr. Lin has been working on a new piece recently—an academic classical figure portrait that is nearly finished.”

Xiao Jingwen shook his head gently. “Better not. I am merely a layman.”

Zhang Miao smiled. “Art can be appreciated by both refined and popular tastes alike.”

Lin Congzhi stepped forward half a pace, quietly tugging at the fabric on the back of Zhang Miao’s top twice. Zhang Miao brushed his hand away without breaking composure, so he gave up.

Xiao Jingwen continued to smile and shake his head in refusal, adding, “I have matters to attend to at the moment.” With a polite nod to the two of them, he took his leave first.

It wasn’t until Lin Congzhi and Zhang Miao sat down in the refreshment area that Zhang Miao sighed in regret, “What a pity! Such a great opportunity.”

“What was so great about it?” Lin Congzhi was puzzled.

“That’s Xiao Jingwen! If our gallery’s artwork can be auctioned through Gleam, would we ever have to worry about finding buyers in Asia again?” Zhang Miao gripped her fork and drove it straight into the Mont Blanc on her dessert plate, then asked, “By the way, do you know him? How come I’ve never heard you mention him before?”

Lin Congzhi nodded, saying quite calmly, “Because we broke up five years ago.”

“…” Zhang Miao was dumbfounded. “Why didn’t you say so earlier? And here I was rattling on to him about appreciating refined and popular tastes alike!”

“I gave you a hint,” Lin Congzhi said.

“You mean those two tugs on my shirt?” Zhang Miao looked at him in despair. “Could you not have at least tugged out some Morse code for me?”

“I don’t know Morse code,” Lin Congzhi replied sincerely.

On the other side, inside the conference hall.

The weather in Yu City had been dismal lately—it was like this every year, the rain falling without rhyme or reason. A floor-to-ceiling glass wall inside the hall kept the wild winds and torrential rain outside at bay, the water trails distorting the street view below. Xiao Jingwen stood with his hands tucked into his suit pants pockets, gazing down silently.

His assistant knocked on the door and walked in, reporting, “A few attendees have arrived one after another and have been settled in the south lounge. Several of the judges’ proxies mentioned that road conditions are poor, so they might arrive a bit later.”

Xiao Jingwen nodded, raising his eyes to look at the thick dark clouds weighing heavily over the city sky. Following his gaze, the assistant added, “According to the weather forecast, there will be heavy precipitation for the coming week. The meteorological bureau just issued a thunderstorm and gale warning.”

As he spoke, a brilliant flash burst through the heavy cloud layer. A bolt of lightning pierced the vault of the sky like a long sword stabbing into ice, rapidly shattering it. Immediately after, violent winds howled, sweeping leaves, trash, and parking tickets high into the air. A reckless youth roared past on a motorcycle revving his engine in celebration, as the dark clouds that had been suffocating the city all day finally let fall their rain.

Xiao Jingwen turned his head and asked his assistant, “Is he eating?”

“Huh?” The assistant was momentarily dazed before quickly realizing, “Oh, oh! Mr. Lin—yes, he is. As per your instructions, he’s having tomato and egg noodles.”

“They didn’t put sugar in it, right?”

“No,” the assistant replied. As an executive assistant, he possessed great self-awareness: do whatever the boss says, and don’t ask extra questions, overthink, or gossip.

Gazing at the rain-streaked glass, Xiao Jingwen smiled for no discernible reason. He didn’t even know what he was smiling about. Not having seen each other for five years, keeping things decent and polite on both sides ought to be a good thing.

Playing dumb was a required course for adults. Xiao Jingwen had thought he had passed with high marks, only to realize he had merely been gouging his own flesh to heal a wound—robbing Peter to pay Paul. All thoughts of debts, credits, or owing anything vanished the moment he saw those dark circles under Lin Congzhi’s eyes and his pale complexion; all he wanted was to ask him why he hadn’t slept well, why he hadn’t eaten—whether he was too exhausted, or whether the gallery was doing poorly.

An adult’s defenses collapsed far too easily, precisely because when they were hastily erected back then, they had been a jerry-built project to begin with.

Intertwined in passion five years ago, owing each other nothing today; sitting across from one another to handle official business as professionals was good as well.

Finally, all the attendees arrived. Inside the conference hall, Xiao Jingwen stood before the table, his posture tall and straight.

He exchanged a few polite opening remarks before the meeting, offering the customary thanks to everyone for taking the time to attend. They quickly got down to business: this meeting was to select the lots for the summer auction.

At this moment, Lin Congzhi, who was seated toward the back, suddenly raised his hand and stood up to ask, “Excuse me, President Xiao. May I ask if it’s still possible to swap out a submission right now?”

Zhang Miao’s eyes widened in an instant. What is he doing?!

Xiao Jingwen was equally surprised, though his face betrayed little emotion. Pursing his lips slightly, he asked, “May I ask the reason, Mr. Lin?”

“Just… I want to change to another one.” Lin Congzhi looked into his eyes. “Is that alright?”

“It’s fine,” Xiao Jingwen nodded. “Please upload it now.”

Lin Congzhi nodded and sat down, re-uploading the submission on his laptop. He replaced The Eminent Monk with a different painting.

The title of this painting was somewhat long:

At 03:30 AM on June 5th, a Waning Crescent Moon at Sea with 4% Illumination.

It was an almost entirely dark painting. The content of the image was exactly as the title described—containing only the faintest edge of a moon.