They were like two asteroids colliding in deep space—a scene entirely devoid of sound. Silent and imperceptible, known to no one and noticed by none, save for each other.

Yang Qingzhi finally withdrew her gaze completely, pausing for a moment before asking, “Say, Miss Zhang, are Teacher Lin and President Xiao on very close terms?”

Zhang Miao smiled smoothly: “They’re on good enough terms. After all, wasn’t your initial interest in visiting our gallery precisely because we’re featured in Gleam’s auction?”

Zhang Miao attempted to steer the topic back to the artwork, but Yang Qingzhi was intent on digging further: “That’s true. Being vetted by Gleam is an assurance in itself, but I assumed Teacher Lin and Gleam held a purely professional partnership. I certainly didn’t expect… President Xiao to greet us in person.”

She glanced at Zhang Miao, then toward the far side of the display racks where the two men had gone to retrieve the painting—a search that was taking an unusually long time.

The moment that look crossed her eyes, Zhang Miao understood her underlying suspicion immediately: Yang Qingzhi assumed Lin Congzhi had secured a spot at Gleam solely through personal ties with Xiao Jingwen. In truth, explaining the connection wasn’t difficult—vagueness about being old acquaintances would suffice, and Yang Qingzhi likely wouldn’t press the matter.

However, Zhang Miao was equally familiar with her boss’s temperament. If anyone suspected he relied on personal connections to enter an auction, he would likely be driven to utter exasperation. Thus, Zhang Miao maintained a gentle, composure-filled smile and remarked, “It’s likely because only President Xiao holds access authorization for the vault. Just recall those heavy security iron gates we passed on the way in.”

It sounded entirely logical, yet it failed to convince Yang Qingzhi—after all, seeing was believing. She had clearly witnessed the two men making eye contact and embracing under the dim, soft lighting just moments before.

When Lin Congzhi finally returned empty-handed, informing her that the oil canvas was in sub-optimal condition and required delicate restoration, Yang Qingzhi merely offered a casual smile, replying that they could revisit it another time. Everyone present shared a tacit understanding: Yang Qingzhi had no intention of purchasing the piece. The people behind Carloan harbored a deep-seated hatred for Xiao Jingwen; they would sooner throw a quarter of a million into the ocean than hand it over to someone tied to him.

Even so, pleasantries were meticulously maintained on the surface. Xiao Jingwen escorted them downstairs, exchanging polite words about making the trip for nothing, to which Yang Qingzhi waved a hand dismissively, reassuring him it was no trouble.

Before stepping toward the elevator, she asked in a tone laced with casual banter, “President Xiao isn’t married yet, is he?”

Knowing she was testing the waters, Xiao Jingwen shook his head: “Not yet.”

“Are you seeing anyone?”

“No.”

Clutching her exquisite handbag, Yang Qingzhi remarked, “In a while, a few distributors from our winery are hosting an event, inviting quite a number of celebrities and artists. Would President Xiao care to drop by and show some support?”

As she spoke, Yang Qingzhi covertly observed Lin Congzhi’s reaction. Sure enough, she caught a subtle redness creeping into his eyes as he slowly lowered his head, his hand searching for something inside his jeans pocket. She assumed he was attempting to distract himself, inwardly dismissing him as someone unable to manage his emotions.

In the next second, however, Lin Congzhi pulled out a packet of tissues, hastily drew one out, covered his nose and mouth—and let out a sneeze.

Zhang Miao patted his back gently: “Has that cold still not cleared up completely? How many days has it been now?”

Meanwhile, Xiao Jingwen swiftly scanned the surrounding area, noticing several crates of fresh cut flowers being carried in near the first-floor entrance. Pressing his lips together, he turned around and headed toward a secondary elevator—an employee-only lift. Swiping his staff access card inside, he said, “Let’s take this elevator instead.”

Lin Congzhi stepped inside first as if escaping, offering a brief nod toward Xiao Jingwen by way of thanks, while Yang Qingzhi looked on in confusion.

Xiao Jingwen explained smoothly, “President Yang, I likely won’t be able to make time for your event. We are currently preparing for the pre-auction preview exhibition, and as you can see, those flowers were brought in for decor. My apologies.”

While that response remained strictly professional, his next words were laden with personal concern: “Teacher Lin, drink plenty of water for your allergies. Call me if you feel unwell.”

“…Oh.”

As the elevator doors slid shut, Xiao Jingwen walked straight toward the first-floor reception desk, where two front-desk clerks were busy signing for the floral delivery. Three crates containing various flower species had arrived as samples for Gleam’s selection.

“President Xiao.” Manager Han, one of the project managers for the summer auction, was inspecting the cut flowers alongside the front desk team. Spotting him, she walked over to greet him: “Would you like to review the floral selections?”

Manager Han was a veteran employee. Over the past five years, Xiao Jingwen had never personally micromanaged decorative details of this scale, yet she still asked out of habit.

Xiao Jingwen nodded, casting a brief glance over the three crates on the floor.

Manager Han introduced the options: “There are six categories of samples. We plan to select three varieties for decor. Manager Ding suggested making pink flowers the primary theme, since one of the highlighted oil paintings in this season’s collection features pink roses.”

“We won’t be using fresh flowers this year,” Xiao Jingwen instructed. “Settle the payment for the samples, then inform the floral supplier that no further orders will be needed.”

“Understood.” Manager Han nodded without hesitation. Displaying the professionalism of a senior staff member, she asked no questions regarding the rationale or underlying plan, offering an immediate alternative instead: “Should we swap the decor for tropical fruits then? Items like pineapples and mangoes offer vibrant colors along with a pleasant, natural fragrance, and they can be distributed to staff after the exhibition concludes.”

Xiao Jingwen nodded: “That works.”

A pre-auction preview reception was scheduled prior to the official auction, where all participating lots would be displayed to guests one week in advance.

Held at a luxury hotel in which Gleam held equity, the preview reception operated under a more relaxed dress code than the main auction, with each invitation allowing up to two accompanying guests.

Zhang Miao brought along Xiao Chen and Shao Heng, the owner of the coffee shop next door. Being immediate neighbors with the gallery and having a naturally social personality, Zhang Miao saw no reason to pass up an invite to a Gleam reception.

Shao Heng was an outgoing, straightforward individual. The moment he stepped inside, his eyes sparkled with awe as he gasped, “Boss Lin, holy crap, I’ve only ever seen scenes like this in TV dramas!”

Lin Congzhi took a quiet sniff, detecting no floral scent in the air, remembering he had seen their flower orders being arranged when visiting a few days prior.

Truth be told, Lin Congzhi had felt reluctant to attend today’s preview. That embrace had unsettled his thoughts for days; without maintaining proper emotional composure, he found himself unable to lay down brushstrokes on canvas—especially considering he was currently painting the very suit jacket Xiao Jingwen had hung out to dry on his terrace.

Ever since he took that photo of Xiao Jingwen’s suit drying on his terrace that evening, every attempt to lay down color felt inherently off.

Between the gray sky and the black suit, he possessed an absolute sense of color—a perceptive sensitivity that, while not as widely acknowledged as absolute pitch, created an intense internal conflict. The cool-toned grays and cool-toned blacks felt deeply contradictory to him, because regardless of everything, that day lingered in his memory wrapped in warm hues.

Even though he had severed the Bluetooth connection in Xiao Jingwen’s car that night, and even though he had resolved not to repeat past mistakes, that memory remained bathed in warmth.

The day brought a gentle, sweeping drizzle once again. The entrance corridor leading into the exhibition hall was lined with absorbent carpet, ensuring guests left no wet footprints behind upon entering the venue.

Lin Congzhi wore a sky-blue Chinese-style cardigan over a crisp white T-shirt, paired with relaxed light-blue denim jeans. As a fine arts graduate, the only time he ever looked unkempt was while locked away in a studio.

He stood with a serene, self-contained air, his long sleeves partially covering his hands. Stepping into the hall naturally drew quite a few lingering glances, yet he paid them no mind, turning to ask Zhang Miao in a low voice: “Where is their bar counter?”

That was, in truth, his sole motivation for attending—Zhang Miao had mentioned that Coco, a master mixologist, would be handling drinks at the reception today.

He had once tasted a cocktail crafted by Coco aboard a cruise ship in Spain—a drink so extraordinary it stood out across the entire voyage. Upon disembarking at Seville, the first thing he told his mother was, ‘I met an incredible mixologist!’ His mother had asked, ‘Oh really? Did you get his contact info?’ Naturally, he hadn’t.

He had assumed that chance encounter was lost forever, never expecting Xiao Jingwen to track the man down.

“Over there,” Zhang Miao pointed. “See that champagne glass decal with the arrow indicator? Go on ahead.”

“Alright.” Lin Congzhi nodded.

Coco was a middle-aged mixed-race Italian-Chinese man with a reddish-brown full beard, a slightly round build, and a penchant for swaying his hips to the rhythm of the music while shaking cocktails. Assuming Coco wouldn’t remember him, Lin Congzhi walked over with a warm smile: “Hello, do you have any recommendations?”

“It’s you!” Coco gasped, covering his mouth in delightful shock.

“You actually remember me?” Lin Congzhi asked in surprise.

Coco laughed: “I’ve been mixing drinks for twenty years, and you were the very first person who got tipsy at my bar counter and blurted out, ‘I’m going to tell my mom how amazing your drinks are!’“

“I actually did tell her,” Lin Congzhi nodded earnestly.

“Hahahaha, thank you!” Coco offered his signature laugh behind a hand. “We have some exceptionally fresh pineapples today—shall I craft a special drink for you?”

“Yes, please!” Lin Congzhi nodded eagerly.

A short distance away, Xiao Jingwen was engaged in business conversation with a client, forcing himself to maintain focus as the other party pitched a promising investment opportunity. Xiao Jingwen loved accumulating wealth—he truly did—yet his passion wasn’t driven by money itself, nor did he possess high personal material desires. He simply relished the thrill of conquering targets and outmaneuvering rivals—a calculated, ambitious hunter by nature.

At this moment, however, the hunter found his focus subtly wavering. Standing before a sculpture with three other guests who were discussing the impact of large-scale 3D printers on traditional sculpting and future market trends, his gaze kept drifting back toward the bar counter.

A striking figure clad in sky-blue sat perched on a high stool as Coco prepared a custom variation of a classic cocktail for him. While a traditional Mimosa combined orange juice and champagne, today’s fresh pineapple prompted the mixologist to substitute the orange juice with fresh pineapple juice, adding a spoonful of crushed pineapple pulp along with a splash of light rum.

“How is it?” Coco looked at him expectantly.

Lin Congzhi took a slow sip, then let out a long, contented breath: “How long are you staying in China?”

“Just a couple of days.”

“What a shame.”

Coco burst into a loud laugh: “You really know how to deliver a compliment!”

Across the room, Xiao Jingwen caught himself smiling slightly before clearing his throat with a soft cough. The speaker beside him instantly paused, interjecting politely, “Ah, President Xiao, you likely have other distinguished guests to attend to. My apologies for rambling on.”

“Not at all,” Xiao Jingwen replied smoothly. “Please continue—I remain interested in understanding the current outlook for traditional handcrafted sculpture.”

After all, this pertained directly to market intelligence: if traditional sculpture continued to wane, auction valuations for physical handcrafted pieces would naturally appreciate due to scarcity.

Coco rested his chin on his hands: “Ah, I’m heading back out to the cruise ship next week~”

Finishing his glass in one go, Lin Congzhi sighed: “I remember the violinist on the Night Star cruise ship was your boyfriend, right? Is he still working aboard the ship?”

Coco nodded: “He is, but he’s growing a bit tired of it. He still prefers life on land.”

“What about you?”

“I love the ocean,” Coco shrugged with open palms. “Alright, enough about me—where did you head after disembarking in Spain?”

Lin Congzhi rested his chin on his hand as well, the two chatting comfortably like close friends catching up between classes.

He shared softly, “My mother lives in Seville, Spain, so I stayed with her for a while. She helped me refine my paintings, shared countless meals with me, took me to concerts, and visited art exhibitions together.”

“Oh~ that sounds wonderful.”

“It was,” Lin Congzhi smiled gently. “She works at an art museum in Spain, but she’s planning to visit me in China later this year. I haven’t quite figured out where to take her yet.”

Coco gave the back of his hand a playful, light pat: “Is there even any need to think? Chinese cuisine, obviously!”

“You’re right,” Lin Congzhi agreed warmly. “I’ll take another glass, please.”

A little alcoholic in the making, Xiao Jingwen commented silently to himself. Tracking down this mixologist had been no easy feat; Coco moved freely between ships and high seas without fixed itineraries or exclusive vessel contracts. Fortunately, Xiao Jingwen’s team had managed to locate his boyfriend—and while the two didn’t always work aboard the same ship, their schedules overlapped often enough.

Once Xiao Jingwen wrapped up his conversation, he refrained from approaching Lin Congzhi right away, seeking out Zhang Miao first.

He found Zhang Miao standing beside the dessert station, where Xiao Chen and Shao Heng were thoroughly engrossed in the most critical task of their visit: eating. Gleam’s catering spread was exquisite, and Xiao Chen was already working on her third mango tart.

“Miss Zhang,” Xiao Jingwen greeted politely as he stepped up beside her. “May I ask what Teacher Lin has been busy with lately? I have a client interested in commissioning a custom oil painting, and I was wondering if he has availability?”

Zhang Miao smiled smoothly. Now that Lin Congzhi’s artwork was officially hung on display with an opening bid of 160,000 RMB, she held the leverage as the client’s representative. Adopting a composed, professional stance, she remarked, “Painting requires emotional nurturing, after all. Our Teacher Lin is an artist, not Ultraman. He’s already working on an active piece at the moment, so any prospective client would likely need to wait quite a while.”

“Understood,” Xiao Jingwen nodded, before asking casually, “And what has he been doing recently to nurture his emotions?”

Zhang Miao blurted out without missing a beat: “Heading to the pier with french fries to feed the seagulls.”

Xiao Jingwen: “…”