The lot selection process was public. Gleam Auction House would invite famous masters and experts from various fields to participate in the lot voting for every season, ensuring the high quality of auction items in this phase.

Furthermore, in an era where anything could be used as a promotional gimmick, some felt that simply being chosen as an auction lot by Gleam was an affirmation in itself—regardless of the final transaction price—acting as a golden stamp on one’s portfolio.

After Lin Congzhi finished swapping out his painting, the meeting resumed.

Not all of the judges were present in person. Many were advanced in years, so their children or designated proxies attended the meeting in their place, conveying the judges’ opinions via phone calls or video links.

Lin Congzhi replaced his submission very quickly; he already had a scanned version of that painting stored on his laptop. It took him only a minute to complete the upload. Immediately after, Xiao Jingwen’s assistant updated the auction catalogue, displaying the items in a randomized sequence on the big screen.

Gleam’s quarterly auction lots were always a hot topic among industry insiders. The artists and collectors sitting in the conference hall cast hopeful, expectant glances toward the catalogue.

Outside, the rain gradually stopped—it had been a fierce but extremely brief thunderstorm.

This was Yu City’s Central CBD, where every inch of land was worth its weight in gold, and the nights were brightly lit with vibrant lights. After the rain ceased, overtime-working white-collar employees emerged to grab late-night snacks, their high heels and leather shoes clicking on the wet pavement. They breathed in the post-rain air, while the street trees stood like a forest laden with high expectations.

The 15th floor didn’t offer a particularly high vantage point in this area. Lin Congzhi stood by the window sill at the end of the hallway, looking down at the street where scattered puddles reflected the flow of traffic and streetlamps.

Zhang Miao had spent ages searching for him before finally finding him. Walking over, she asked, “Why didn’t you pick up your phone? I thought you ran off early.”

“It didn’t vibrate,” Lin Congzhi turned around and replied.

“Is that so?” Zhang Miao didn’t give it much thought, continuing, “The lot registration is finished. Let’s head back.”

“Thanks for your hard work,” Lin Congzhi nodded.

His painting had been selected.

Gleam’s evaluation process was transparent and public, resembling a ‘raise-of-hands’ bidding site. The auction lots were displayed on the big screen one after another—jewelry, antiques, paintings, sculptures, and so on—and the judges scored them on the spot without showing the source or author of the piece. Therefore, in a sense, Lin Congzhi’s last-minute replacement of his painting had been a risky move.

What if, in that brief moment before the meeting, Xiao Jingwen had exchanged words with the judges? Swapping out The Eminent Monk at the last minute—wouldn’t that be putting himself at a disadvantage?

Fortunately, that painting of the waning crescent moon at sea still passed the selection, securing a spot in Gleam’s summer auction.

Lin Congzhi followed behind Zhang Miao into the elevator, descending to the parking lot before getting into the car.

It wasn’t until the car had driven several kilometers away that Zhang Miao sighed, “Why did you swap the painting at the last second? What if President Xiao had remembered old feelings and helped us network with the judges?”

“It was precisely to prevent him from doing something like that,” Lin Congzhi sat in the passenger seat, resting his fist against his lips as he looked out the windshield.

Zhang Miao was baffled: “When you were about to change the painting, I thought you were afraid your ex-boyfriend would target you. But then I thought about it, and President Xiao wouldn’t go that far. Why, then? Wouldn’t it be better if he helped us network?”

Her words weren’t false. Their gallery had already started eating through its capital, relying entirely on Lin Congzhi’s savings from previously sold paintings to maintain operations.

“No,” Lin Congzhi shook his head.

Zhang Miao could only assume he didn’t want to owe his ex-boyfriend a favor. “Alright. In any case, we made it through without a hitch. With a painting going through Gleam’s auction, our gallery won’t have to shut down in the second half of the year.”

The time was 8:30 PM. Zhang Miao held the steering wheel as the tires splashed over wet, slick pavement, sending up a continuous swish-swash of water along the way.

Lin Congzhi rolled down his window halfway, listening to the rushing sound of water and humming softly in response to Zhang Miao’s words.

Yeah, we don’t have to shut down. Over the past five years, he had often fallen asleep to the sound of cruise ships navigating the ocean. Sometimes he would wake up in international waters with no signal or internet—the ship’s Wi-Fi being painfully laggy and slow—and head out onto the deck to zone out.

During those five years, Lin Congzhi spent almost all his time at sea. He would disembark whenever the ship pulled into a port, handling paperwork on land, shipping his packaged paintings to local galleries for sale, purchasing supplies, and then reboarding the ship.

He had painted many works aboard the vessel—painting the people on board, the sea, the ports, the seagulls, and the tens-of-thousands-of-ton ocean-going cargo ships. He felt the internet’s “20-minute park effect” theory actually made sense, because when he scaled that effect up into the vast ocean and stretched it over five years, it truly felt wonderful.

“Ah,” Zhang Miao let out a sigh.

Lin Congzhi snapped out of his thoughts, turning his head to ask her, “What’s wrong?”

“There’s something wrong with my phone; the touchscreen isn’t working properly.” During a red light, Zhang Miao tapped her phone twice before setting it down, saying, “Use your phone to send Xiao Chen a message. Tell her to wear old clothes she doesn’t care about tomorrow afternoon, since we need to clean out the warehouse.”

“Okay,” Lin Congzhi nodded in response. “Huh?”

However, his hands found nothing—both of his pants pockets were empty. Zhang Miao asked what was wrong. As the red light ended, she released the brake and pressed the accelerator to move forward. Lin Congzhi blinked a few times and said, “My phone… seems to have been left at Gleam.”

“Ah?” Zhang Miao burst out laughing. “I was wondering why you said you didn’t feel any vibrations when I called you earlier! I thought you had turned off the vibration.”

Lin Congzhi searched himself all over again, finally saying in despair, “I left it in the conference room.”

“…” Zhang Miao was speechlessly silent for a moment before making a U-turn at the next intersection. “Use my phone to call your number. If you left it there, someone should have picked it up and kept it safe.”

“Okay.”

The screen of Zhang Miao’s phone had been cracked earlier, causing the touch response to be slightly misaligned. After a bit of struggling, Lin Congzhi dialed his own number. The process of waiting for it to connect felt like waiting for his art school exam results back in the day: who would be the person answering on the other end—Xiao Jingwen, or an employee of Gleam?

He was so nervous that he completely overlooked the fact that this was Zhang Miao’s phone and Zhang Miao’s car. Thus, with the phone connected to the car’s Bluetooth audio system, every single beep rang out clearly through the speakers.

“Hello?”

Lin Congzhi closed his eyes. Sure enough, the person who answered was Xiao Jingwen.

“It’s… it’s me.” Lin Congzhi glanced at Zhang Miao, who pressed her lips together and remained silent.

After letting out a brief “Mhm,” Xiao Jingwen said directly, “Where are you? I’ll bring your phone over to you.”

“No need, we’re already driving back. Please just leave it at the front desk,” Lin Congzhi kept his tone steady. “Thank you.”

Xiao Jingwen fell silent for a moment on the other end before saying, “The front desk staff has already clocked off. I’ll wait for you on the first floor.”

Declining any further would make him seem overly dramatic, and Lin Congzhi was no longer the stubborn, self-centered 22-year-old recent graduate he once was.

So he said, “Alright.”

After the call hung up, Zhang Miao shook her head helplessly and asked, “Do you need me to go get it?”

“It’s fine. We have to face each other eventually,” Lin Congzhi said. “I put your phone back here.”

“Okay,” Zhang Miao nodded, checking her left side-mirror to switch lanes and wait for a left-turn light. Noticing that Lin Congzhi was a bit tense, she saw him curled up in the passenger seat, rubbing his fingertips together while staring fixedly at the road ahead.

Zhang Miao said, “Don’t be so nervous. It’s been five years already. Five years—that’s long enough to go through high school twice.”

“I’m alright,” Lin Congzhi said. “Just a little tired.”

He had indeed been working continuously for too long. Because the suburban gallery wasn’t turning much of a profit, and he didn’t want it to close down within less than a year, Lin Congzhi held another job at a studio in the city—working as an instructor for an art exam prep class.

Zhang Miao nodded, suddenly remembering something and teasing him: “Hey, when you get your phone later, remember to check if the hundred-yuan bill tucked inside your phone case is still there.”

“…” Lin Congzhi paused for a moment before bursting into laughter. “Pfft.” The more he thought about it, the funnier it seemed, and he couldn’t stop laughing for a good while.

He had a rather peculiar sense of humor. He laughed so much he nearly choked before catching his breath, saying, “Would Xiao Jingwen really covet my hundred-yuan bill?”

“Well~ that’s hard to say!” Zhang Miao exaggerated playfully. “The economy’s been rough these past few years. Gleam’s stock price dropped alongside the broader market at the start of the year—they’re just relying on their deep pockets now!”

Lin Congzhi was amused by her again, and through this banter, he felt much more relaxed. Still, saying Xiao Jingwen covetously wanted the hundred-yuan bill inside his phone case was far too ridiculous.

Before long, the car drove back into the underground parking lot along the same path. After parking, Zhang Miao asked him one last time: “Seriously though, will you be okay going by yourself?”

“No problem.” Lin Congzhi unbuckled his seatbelt and stepped out of the car.

The elevator traveled quickly from B2 to the 1st floor. Once the doors opened, Lin Congzhi adjusted his breathing and stepped outside.

Half of the ceiling lights in Gleam’s 1st-floor lobby were kept on. Xiao Jingwen stood near the front desk with one hand tucked casually in his pants pocket, looking at his phone without leaning against the counter. Sensing Lin Congzhi approaching from the corner of his eye, he put away his phone and stood up straight.

This time, there were no third parties around either of them—a true one-on-one.

Lin Congzhi looked up at him. Over the past five years, Xiao Jingwen’s features hadn’t changed much, though a touch of mature composure had settled between his brows. Xiao Jingwen was looking at him as well; the young man possessed refined and delicate features, long eyelashes, and deep dark irises that easily drew one’s eyes to him.

Xiao Jingwen pulled his phone out from his other suit pocket and held it out: “It seems to be almost out of battery.”

“Oh,” Lin Congzhi took it. “Thank you.”

Logically speaking, things should end here. But they weren’t sworn enemies; there was no reason to act like strangers who merely took an item, said thanks, and left—making Xiao Jingwen look like a local delivery driver.

The phone still carried Xiao Jingwen’s lingering warmth. After saying thank you, Lin Congzhi offered a small smile, though he didn’t know if his smile looked bizarre—after all, having gone without sleep for so long, his mental state was truly concerning.

In comparison, Xiao Jingwen was much more natural. He nodded: “You’re welcome. Where’s your assistant?”

“She’s waiting for me in the garage.”

“I still want to ask—why did you decide to swap out The Eminent Monk at the last minute?” Xiao Jingwen looked at him.

At this, Lin Congzhi reined in his expression. Switching the phone to his other hand, he changed his gaze and looked back at Xiao Jingwen, saying, “When we came over this evening, we ran into each other at the elevator entrance. My assistant was far too direct, blurting out that The Eminent Monk was painted by me. However, the selection process requires complete anonymity for all entries. I believed her actions compromised the fairness of the competition, so I swapped it for another piece.”

“I’m not a judge,” Xiao Jingwen said.

“But you are a party involved,” Lin Congzhi replied seamlessly. “It wouldn’t be fair to the competition.”

In that brief, silent eye contact, neither backed down.

He knew Zhang Miao might have acted impulsively at the time, and he knew Xiao Jingwen wasn’t participating in the judging, but Lin Congzhi maintained a bottom line for everything he did and stood firmly by his principles.

“I understand,” Xiao Jingwen nodded. “My apologies.”

“You… you don’t need to apologize. It was my assistant who spoke too fast,” Lin Congzhi avoided his gaze slightly. “Anyway, thank you for holding onto my phone. I’ll take my leave now.”

“Alright. Pleasure working with you, Mr. Lin,” Xiao Jingwen extended his hand.

Xiao Jingwen’s professional manner left him with no valid reason to refuse a handshake. Having just gotten his hair trimmed, he could no longer hide his eyes behind his bangs. His right hand flexed at his side to ward off the chill—the temperature of their company’s ventilation system was rather low.

Xiao Jingwen’s hand was dry and warm. When they shook hands, Lin Congzhi was actually the one clinging slightly to that warmth.

“Pleasure working with you, President Xiao,” he said with a smile.

“After you,” Xiao Jingwen gestured toward the elevator corridor.

However, perhaps because Zhang Miao’s joking remark on the way over—remember to check if the hundred-yuan bill tucked inside your phone case is still there—was echoing in his ears like a spell, Lin Congzhi actually removed his phone case as if possessed while walking toward the elevator…

Unbeknownst to him, Xiao Jingwen had followed him over.

By the time Lin Congzhi realized something was off, he was already at the elevator doors. The clean metallic reflection of the doors mirrored two men dressed in sharp suits.

With a mechanical, jerky motion, he turned his head around. Xiao Jingwen was deliberately looking at him with a glare that practically said, Do I look like someone who covets your hundred-yuan bill?

“No…” Lin Congzhi felt utterly helpless. He was still holding onto a corner of his phone case, with the pink hundred-yuan note sitting comfortably sandwiched in the middle. “I… I can explain.”

Xiao Jingwen nodded, looking at him attentively with absolute sincerity, completely devoid of teasing, provocation, or gloating: “Mhm. Please go ahead, Mr. Lin.”

Lin Congzhi wanted to cry but had no tears. He felt as though he were shrinking inch by inch right in front of Xiao Jingwen…

Lin Congzhi could only bite the bullet and explain: “On… on the way here, my assistant was joking with me, insisting I check if the hundred bucks was still inside. I… I haven’t slept in almost two days. You can’t hold a grudge against someone whose mental state is compromised.”

Xiao Jingwen let out a small laugh first, then handed over an exquisite paper bag: “I’m not holding a grudge. You forgot to take your gift bag. There’s sleep-aid aromatherapy inside. Get some rest early.”