“…” Xiao Jingwen was left speechless; he no longer needed to say anything.

During the silence, he caught sight of the transparent umbrella resting beside Lin Congzhi, a small section of its ribs collapsed, looking barely usable—though if the wind picked up any further, rain would surely leak inside.

He wanted to divert the topic: “How did your umbrella break? Let me get you another one.”

“You’re being a bit forced.”

“Indeed.”

“So, will I still be able to see Yang Qingzhi?” Lin Congzhi asked.

Zhang Miao had only added her on WeChat, but the other party hadn’t sent any reply, and when Lin Congzhi sent a friend request, it was similarly ignored.

If Yang Qingzhi was truly laundering money through the auction house, then her winery must have suffered a massive deficit. For those in business, it was always the same few issues: either acting behind the other shareholders’ backs by taking money from the public accounts to pursue another business venture, or facing a shrinkage in sales channels where a massive backup of expired raw materials in the factory led to heavy losses.

There was also another possibility—that there was actually nothing wrong with the winery, and it was purely driven by human greed for wealth.

Lin Congzhi had no interest in other matters, nor did he care about Yang Qingzhi’s fate, but Yu Shijing—who had retaken his exams for four years—was innocent. He looked at Xiao Jingwen, whose eyes held no answers, remaining calm and completely devoid of waves.

“There is no need for you to see her,” Xiao Jingwen said. “She is preparing to leave the country. Seeing her isn’t safe for you. Secondly, she is taking Yu Shijing with her because she fears domestic enemies will retaliate against her son. You should still let Yu Shijing go.”

“Of course,” Xiao Jingwen added, “Yu Shijing is an adult male. If he stubbornly insists on staying behind on his own, that isn’t impossible either.”

Lin Congzhi looked at him indifferently: “Yang Qingzhi laundered money together with those who were once Rubifi’s people. In that case, her domestic enemy… isn’t that you?”

“I count as one of them,” Xiao Jingwen said.

“400 million in three years,” Lin Congzhi said. “You count as the biggest one, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“She was forced away by you.”

“I don’t have that much capability,” Xiao Jingwen said. “I merely added fuel to the fire.”

“You also anticipated that she would bring her son along.”

“That, I didn’t anticipate. You understand—I don’t comprehend these feelings between parents and children,” Xiao Jingwen said. “Since she could use a cloisonné gilded cloisonné stupa to lure away my buyers, then I could trace back every single item Clovis auctioned off in Hong Kong at high prices over the years, and bring them all out into the open.”

Just how many buyers could a cloisonné gilded stupa lure away, and how terrified must Yang Qingzhi have been to be forced into fleeing in panic with her son?

He felt a slight headache. At times, he genuinely admired Xiao Jingwen—if these matters had come crashing down on him all at once for him to handle, he probably would have already been packing up to deregister the company.

“Then is there any progress on her money laundering matter?” Lin Congzhi asked. After asking, he glanced at the other people still waiting for Xiao Jingwen in the first-floor lobby. “First… stand up to speak.”

This posture of squatting and looking up was far too subtle; Lin Congzhi was truly afraid that the next time he came, the receptionist would directly call him the boss’s wife. But this President Xiao didn’t mind at all: “I feel quite comfortable like this.”

“I don’t feel comfortable.”

“You’re sitting down and still uncomfortable?”

Lin Congzhi naturally knew he was doing this on purpose, so he raised an eyebrow and stood up first. Seeing him stand, Xiao Jingwen thought he was about to leave, so he stood up as well.

Now both of them were standing.

Lin Congzhi: “This is much better.”

“Do you feel it’s a pity for Yu Shijing?” Xiao Jingwen asked.

In the past, Lin Congzhi would have shaken his head and indicated that even if he explained, Xiao Jingwen wouldn’t understand—how could a businessman possibly comprehend what it meant for an art student who had retaken exams for four years to be forced to give up on the university entrance art exams? But Lin Congzhi looked out through the glass wall of the lobby first; the rain-soaked glass, mixed with the city’s murky air, streamed downward from top to bottom.

He turned his head again to look at the other side of the lobby, where a group of people was still waiting for Xiao Jingwen. It was no longer working hours, yet everyone was working overtime for the summer auction. Weren’t these people also relying on Xiao Jingwen for their livelihoods?

Lin Congzhi suddenly realized that in the past, he would never have thought about things from such a perspective—such as how much pressure Xiao Jingwen carried, how having a meal with his parents at home felt like a meeting for Xiao Jingwen, and how, upon coming to his side, Xiao Jingwen had to bear artistic values he couldn’t understand at all.

Several years ago when he stepped off the ship in Spain, his mother heard about his breakup with Xiao Jingwen. He told his mother that between them, there were always arguments followed by concessions. His mother said your problem is very big; yielding after an argument isn’t called tolerance, it’s called apologizing after the fact.

It was likely at that moment that Lin Congzhi failed to understand his mother’s meaning. In truth, using language to explain such things inevitably failed to convey the full meaning. He remembered his mother holding a glass of champagne, hesitating as if she had a whole mountain of words to say, only to eventually let out a slow sigh and tell him:

Darling, although Mama will be very reluctant, there are some things in this world you must experience completely by yourself to know whether there is a solution, and what that solution is.

And it has a threshold. After accumulating to a certain point, it will either advance or burst apart. That’s why there is a saying that people age in an instant. By the same logic, people also grow up in an instant, and perish in an instant.

His mother said that this process was bound to be painful; you would feel disconnected from your past, and many actions contradicting what you once firmly believed in would appear.

Now, this action had appeared. He nodded and said, “It’s a great pity. But perhaps this is someone else’s life, and someone else’s choice.”

These words undoubtedly caught Xiao Jingwen by surprise. He even showed an inquiring look at the very first moment, roughly meaning—are you serious? You’re giving up? You’re not losing your temper and acting righteous with me?

Then Lin Congzhi added: “But if I persuade him one last time, and he is willing to stay in Yucheng, can you guarantee you won’t make things difficult for him?”

Xiao Jingwen laughed: “Why would I make things difficult for a kid?”

Lin Congzhi nodded: “And the others—those who have grudges with Yang Qingzhi and Rubifi.”

Xiao Jingwen shifted his gaze: “I can’t control the others.”

Lin Congzhi licked his lips and adjusted his posture as well.

Even though at this moment his clothes had gotten wet and dried again, the fresh air system in this building was still running so cold, and his bangs were damp and messy across his forehead, it didn’t stop Lin Congzhi from speaking with ease and composure: “In that case, if Yu Shijing is willing to stay, I can only keep him by my side day and night, to prevent him from being dragged into an alley inside a burlap sack and beaten up by a crowd on some dark and windy night.”

Listening to this, Xiao Jingwen felt something was off and knit his brows.

Lin Congzhi continued: “Sigh, the second floor of my gallery only has one bedroom and one bed, so I can only squeeze in with him. The world is chaotic; one must remain vigilant at all times, never leaving each other’s side, facing each other day and night…”

“Tsk.” The more Xiao Jingwen listened, the more ridiculous it sounded. Interrupting him, he said, “What nonsense are you talking about? What do you mean? He’s a twenty-something-year-old man—what, does he need a bedtime story to sleep?”

As for Lin Congzhi, he tucked both hands into his sleeves: “I don’t know, never slept with him.”

—This line genuinely provoked Xiao Jingwen. He directly reached out, grabbed Lin Congzhi, and yanked him up close to himself: “Trying to provoke me, I know. You succeeded. Rest assured, if you manage to persuade that kid to stay, I guarantee he can live peacefully in this city and attend the academy of fine arts.”

Lin Congzhi curved the corners of his lips: “Mr. Xiao is righteous.”

“Teacher Lin flatters me.” He released his grip and lowered his gaze to scrutinize him. Having been in business for many years, Xiao Jingwen had read countless people and felt quite confident in judging how much sincerity lay in someone’s words. Yet facing Lin Congzhi, he needed to observe carefully.

Whether there was any sincerity blended into those words Lin Congzhi had said, even a single trace, he cared deeply about it.

Honestly speaking, he wasn’t afraid of Lin Congzhi falling for someone else during those five years, nor was he afraid of Lin Congzhi having another relationship. He could wait, and he could pursue—poaching, snatching, or enticing, he was a businessman and could do such things with ease.

What he feared was that Lin Congzhi would end up with someone very similar to himself—someone with common topics, mutual understanding, and equal artistic accomplishments. Because five years ago, Xiao Jingwen had made a wild assertion: You can’t possibly be with someone just like you; two pure artists being together will only result in starving to death.

—He admitted those words were too extreme and impulsive, but he was also truly terrified that his words would prove prophetic.

So he was observing—observing whether there was any sincerity in Lin Congzhi’s words.

The conclusion was: he couldn’t tell.

There were too many interfering factors, and his own consciousness was too chaotic.

He could only ask: “You weren’t serious, right?”

“Of course not.” Lin Congzhi directly burst out laughing—the kind of laugh from being amused. “What do you have to panic about? I’m not interested in that kind of kid.”

“But you knew saying that would provoke me.”

“I was joking.” Lin Congzhi raised his hand and pulled at his collar. He had walked over from the studio earlier, and although it wasn’t far, he had still broken out into a layer of sweat, which now felt sticky on his skin from the building’s air conditioning.

Xiao Jingwen couldn’t understand: “Starting from which sentence were you joking?”

“Starting from when I said, ‘persuade him one last time’.”

Lin Congzhi let out a light laugh and continued: “I don’t know why, but I always look at things from my own caring perspective, and I’m impulsive and paranoid. Five years have passed, and I haven’t made any progress at all.”

“It’s not your fault,” Xiao Jingwen softened and said. “It is precisely because of this that it shaped you into who you are—a pure person. Unstained by worldly sophistication, not slick, and refusing to compromise. Your attitude toward Yu Shijing is a ripple effect; cherishing talent is not a bad thing, so just consider it a lack of fate this time.”

It was time for him to leave. By now, Zhang Miao was likely waiting outside. He didn’t know how to continue this conversation, so leaving behind an ambiguous “Alright, I won’t disturb you any further, go back to work,” he raised his foot to leave, only to be yanked back by the arm by Xiao Jingwen once more.

“Sigh.” Lin Congzhi felt helpless. “Mr. Xiao.”

“Wait a moment.” To Xiao Jingwen right now, every curve of this person’s naturally curly hair seemed to be teasing him. “The rain has gotten heavy. Take an umbrella with you.”

Parking at the gallery could only be done by the roadside, leaving a stretch of sidewalk to walk through. Lin Congzhi thought for a moment and nodded.

Zhang Miao’s car was waiting for him with its hazard lights flashing. Seeing him come out of Gleam, she turned off the hazard lights and unlocked all the doors. Lin Congzhi pulled open the passenger door and sat inside, saying, “My clothes got wet, sorry about that.”

“Why are you apologizing to me?” Zhang Miao smiled, then asked, “So, is Mr. Xiao willing to help you invite Yang Qingzhi out?”

Lin Congzhi hadn’t explained Yang Qingzhi’s matter to her in detail yet, nor was she very interested in it.

“The matter is a bit complicated, but it’s fine now.” Lin Congzhi pulled down his seatbelt and let out a couple of coughs.

Zhang Miao started the car and drove toward the gallery. On the electronic screen at the elevated highway ramp, the line “Roads are slippery on rainy days, drive with care” lit up. Traffic was a bit congested, with traffic police watching at the junction to prevent vehicles from crossing lines to change lanes.

She slowly followed behind the flow of traffic and asked, “Have you eaten dinner yet? Do you want to pick up some food on the way?”

Hearing no reply, she glanced to the side, only to find the person in the passenger seat fast asleep.

Originally, she had simply thought he was just exhausted today.

However, the next morning, Zhang Miao came to work as usual, waiting and waiting without seeing Lin Congzhi come downstairs. Going up to the second floor to take a look, no matter how she shook the person on the bed, he wouldn’t wake up. Reaching out to touch his forehead, Zhang Miao let out a sigh.

Xiao Chen was originally painting in the studio. Since the studio door wasn’t closed, she saw Zhang Miao go upstairs and come back down, so she stepped out to ask what was wrong.

Zhang Miao said Teacher Lin had a fever. Xiao Chen let out an “Aiya” and said, “He just had a cold a while ago, and today he has a fever again.”

Hearing this, Zhang Miao thought about it as she pressed down the switch on the electric kettle to boil water: “That’s right! This Gleam is truly cursed—every time he goes there, he falls sick upon returning.”

Xiao Chen was surprised: “How could it be like that!”

It so happened that when Xiao Jingwen called Lin Congzhi’s phone, no one answered, so he called Zhang Miao instead.

“Miss Zhang, sorry to bother you. Teacher Lin isn’t answering. Do you two have time today to come over and participate in a small public welfare promotion? For the gallery…”

“Mr. Xiao,” Zhang Miao interrupted him. “Every time our Teacher Lin goes to Gleam, he gets sick. This time, we won’t be coming.”

“He’s sick?” Xiao Jingwen asked.

“Yes,” Zhang Miao said, her anger flaring up. “How come he was perfectly fine all along, but every time he comes back from your place he falls sick? How about you compensate us with some money, Mr. Xiao?”