Nearby were rows of food stalls.
At night, thin blue smoke mingled with the yellowish glow of lights. Barbecue joints were no place for appraising paintings, so when they got out of the car, Lan Yan left the wooden box inside.
The boss brought over a menu. Liang Jingchuan quickly ticked off a few items and handed it to her, telling her to add whatever she liked.
Her mind wasn’t on it. She glanced over it—mostly things she enjoyed anyway, nothing to add—so she handed the menu back as is.
No one took it.
She looked up. Under the lights, amusement lurked in Liang Jingchuan’s lowered brows and eyes. He teased, “If you’re in such a hurry, we could head out overnight.”
Normally, Lan Yan would have shot him a glare right then, but for the sake of the painting, today… all the way to next Thursday, she could let it slide.
She waved the boss over. Liang Jingchuan reached across, took the menu, added two more ticks, and passed it along.
The shop buzzed with noise, making their table stand out in awkward quiet.
Lan Yan glanced at the man sitting across from her.
No conversation had been their norm before.
Back in high school, it was like that—parents busy in the kitchen over New Year’s, the two of them on the sofa listening to the TV and playing on their phones, treating each other like air.
Road trips by car, sharing the back seat, three hours with zero exchange.
Even bumping into each other on the same bus, sitting rows apart, a whole galaxy between seats…
That had been the routine. But since that last late-night snack, the silence stopped feeling like peaceful detachment. An undercurrent of awkwardness crept in.
It seemed like they had to scrape up some small talk to make it less weird.
Lan Yan asked offhandedly, “What was the business trip to Suzhou for?”
“A startup went bust. We’re acquiring a batch of their equipment.”
“Secondhand?”
“It hasn’t been used long—still in great condition. Half the original price.”
“Is your company’s finances a bit…”
“I don’t handle funding matters.”
“Oh. Chen Boyu does that.” Lan Yan took a sip of lemon water. “If the financing falls through, will you all…”
“Don’t worry. If the startup flops, Chen Boyu can always go back and inherit the family business.” His tone was even cooler than flat.
Lan Yan inexplicably felt choked up, even though she hadn’t said a thing.
She looked at Liang Jingchuan and suddenly realized, “Did you fight with Chen Boyu?”
“…”
His eyes, clearer and more exquisite than crystal, made it hard to muster any anger when they met hers. If anger came, it would only be at himself.
The server brought drinks first: a bottle of mineral water, a bottle of sugar-free tea—the brand Lan Yan liked.
She took the sugar-free tea, twisted off the cap, and drank a sip before realizing: the menu had only passed through her hands once. She hadn’t ordered this tea.
She paused, remembering Liang Jingchuan liked this brand too, and asked him, “Did I take your tea?”
Liang Jingchuan looked at her, his expression hard to describe.
Back in high school, her math teacher had called her to the office to explain a test paper. The teacher asked how she got “1.7.” She said, “I measured it with a ruler, like you taught—standard drafting for exams, measure if you’re stuck.” The teacher replied, “You measured 1.7, and it didn’t occur to you it might be the square root of 3?”
Liang Jingchuan’s look right now matched that teacher’s exactly.
Liang Jingchuan: “…It’s mine. Go ahead and drink it. It’s fine.”
Lan Yan glanced at his side. His cup was empty. She reached over, took it, and poured him some from the bottle. “This okay? If not, I’ll order another.”
“…That’s fine.” Liang Jingchuan took the cup and drank a mouthful of the intensely bitter tea, holding his breath to swallow.
With so many pot-washing waters out there, why did she have to like this worst-selling, hardest-to-stomach one.
The barbecue arrived in waves. Lan Yan grabbed a skewer of corn kernels first.
Halfway through, her phone vibrated in her coat pocket.
She pulled it out—Chen Boyu calling.
She grabbed a napkin, laid it on the table, set the phone down, answered, and hit speaker.
Chen Boyu’s voice sounded tired: “You off work?”
“Yeah.”
“Sorry, can’t make it tonight. Still drinking with Boss Wang from Bohai Capital. Might be late.”
“No problem. Assistant with you?”
“Yeah.”
“Don’t both get smashed. Text me when you’re home safe.”
“Got it. If it’s too late, I won’t—to not wake you…”
“It’s fine. I sleep with do-not-disturb on.”
Chen Boyu said “Okay,” then paused, as if remembering something. “Yanyan, last time you mentioned…”
“Yeah?”
“Never mind, too murky over the phone. We’ll talk in person.”
“Sure.” Lan Yan bit into a corn kernel. “Oh, right, on Wednesday I’m…”
His words cut off—someone calling for Chen Boyu. He answered, “Yanyan, gotta go. We’ll talk later if anything.”
“Okay. Drink less.”
Chen Boyu hummed and hung up.
The server brought two plates of fresh grilled meat skewers. Lan Yan took one and looked across. Liang Jingchuan was still sipping that tea bit by bit; the food on his plate barely touched.
“You fasting?” Lan Yan asked.
“I’m cultivating the path of no emotions.”
They both fell silent, chilled.
When she got home, after washing up, Lan Yan took out the painting from its box for a closer look.
The ancients had standards for appreciating calligraphy and paintings: “refined studio, clean desk,” “clear winds and moonlit beauty,” “incense and contemplation” as the “proper pursuits.”
This handscroll didn’t demand such treatment, but its mounting materials—every inch irreplaceable resources.
The next day at Mend Orchid Studio, Chu Lansun was overjoyed and approved her business trip request on the spot. Her master was a Peking opera fan; Lan Yan suspected that if it wouldn’t look undignified, he’d have belted out a segment from Dingjun Mountain right there.
Early Wednesday morning, Lan Yan waited at the neighborhood entrance.
Just her on the trip; Chu Lansun told her to scout first, send backup if there was a lot.
Ten minutes early, Liang Jingchuan’s car pulled up curbside.
He rolled down the window and checked his watch first.
Lan Yan: “You’re not late. I came down early for breakfast.”
“You ate?” Liang Jingchuan paused a second.
“Yeah. You?”
“Yeah.”
Lan Yan still carried extra xiaolongbao and soy milk she’d packed. Now she felt stuck.
“…Rushed over, didn’t eat much.” Liang Jingchuan said.
“Oh, I’ve got an extra share. Want it?”
“Sure.” Liang Jingchuan casually moved the McDonald’s bag from the center console to the door pocket below.
Lan Yan wheeled her suitcase to the trunk. As she went to open it, Liang Jingchuan got out and came over.
“I’ll load it. You get in first.”
He stowed the suitcase and returned to the car.
Lan Yan was texting someone, barely lifting her eyes, and pointed at the bag on the console. “Meat buns. Cold’s no good.”
Liang Jingchuan had no choice but to take it.
She sent her message, stretched lazily, and turned. Liang Jingchuan ate slowly.
“Not tasty? This place does great business. I got up half an hour early to queue.”
“…Tasty.” Liang Jingchuan stared blankly ahead, devoid of life’s spark.
The drive to Suzhou took over two hours self-driving.
Lan Yan needed his help, so naturally she couldn’t go wordless the whole way. But her best friend had called late last night, chatting till deep into the hours. Up early today too, so once on the highway, she started yawning nonstop.
“Didn’t sleep well?” Liang Jingchuan glanced at her.
“Talked with Lu Ying till three a.m.”
Liang Jingchuan knew Lu Ying.
She and Lan Yan were high school classmates, same class, middling grades. Lu Ying from a blended family too, so they naturally bonded over shared backgrounds, united against a common enemy.
He couldn’t recall how many eye-rolls he’d gotten from that duo of besties.
After graduation, Lan Yan and Lu Ying’s friendship endured. Lu Ying stayed local for college, then worked at a local hotel. Lan Yan returned to South City after grad school, ending their “long-distance” phase.
All these years, Lu Ying was the one friend Lan Yan could truly bare her soul to—her social circle narrow as a slit.
Liang Jingchuan: “She still at Lingyue?”
“Nope. Quit, traveling now. Job-hopping to Silver Platinum, hasn’t started yet.”
He nodded. “Sleep if you’re tired.”
“Afraid you’ll think I’m a lousy front-seat passenger.”
“Didn’t expect you to have that awareness.” Liang Jingchuan smiled.
“…” Lan Yan immediately crossed her arms and shut her eyes.
As the car rocked, her awareness faded. She heard him turn on music—unfamiliar song, but the melody suited her.
She slept till the highway exit.
The car headed into the old city district, first to the hotel.
Spotting the hotel sign from afar, Lan Yan searched the rates—minimum a thousand. “You booked here?”
Last night, Liang Jingchuan had said for convenience, best to book together.
Family trips before, booking hotels was always his job. He had her ID number, scans, copies— no need to ask last-minute.
Liang Jingchuan: “Yeah.”
“Finance won’t reimburse this pricey.”
“Someone will.”
“Don’t wanna spend Chen Boyu’s money.”
“…Am I nobody?”
Lan Yan blinked in surprise, looking at Liang Jingchuan.
His expression stayed calm. “What’s your reimbursement limit?”
“Three hundred something.”
“You won’t like it.”
“…Company not even public yet, and you’re playing overbearing CEO.”
Liang Jingchuan chuckled. “Got a conference call soon, no time to switch. If you really hate it, change tomorrow.”
Once checked in, she might not bother.
They parked in the hotel garage, checked in, went to their rooms. Agreed to meet in the lobby at 11:30 for lunch, then head to the shop.
The room had big windows with lake views.
Lan Yan rested a bit, then went down to meet Liang Jingchuan when time neared.
He arrived first, lounging on the lobby sofa. Freshly washed face, damp hair tips, clear features, posture relaxed yet exuding refined leisure.
Before she spoke, he sensed her, lifting from his phone screen. He locked it and pocketed it.
Lunch at a nearby restaurant, then drove to an aged street block. Deeper in, the car couldn’t go, so they parked roadside and walked.
Into the alley, city clamor vanished—like stepping into another time.
Twists and turns, Lan Yan lost her bearings. Past a carved brick gatehouse, Liang Jingchuan said they’d arrived.
No exaggeration; alone, she might not have found it quickly.
The shop was on the first floor of a residential building, a faded sign barely reading “Ink Cultivation Studio.”
Inside, familiar dust mixed with a musty tang hit them. Space tiny, under ten square meters, crammed floor-to-ceiling with scrolls—like a forest of hanging axes growing downward from the ceiling.
The owner, an auntie around forty, sat behind a tiny counter scrolling videos. She barely glanced up: “Look around.”
Lan Yan sidestepped through, eyes overwhelmed.
Most paintings here like that handscroll—no aesthetic or collector value. Snagging treasures took effort.
But she came for the mounting materials; worthless paintings were ideal.
“Boss, got any Xuanhe era paintings?”
“Don’t know Xuanhe.” The boss eyed her. “Just say the dynasty.”
“Song Dynasty. Any?”
“Attic’s got old ones, unknown dynasty. Go see yourself.”
Liang Jingchuan leaned close, murmuring: the shop was her late father’s. He’d spent life bargain-hunting, collected only this worthless lot. She knew nothing; experts confirmed no valuables. Too bad to trash by weight, so she kept it open, selling slow.
Lan Yan nodded, hunting the attic stairs.
A rickety wooden ladder, shaky.
Liang Jingchuan palmed it steady. “You first.”
Lan Yan didn’t stand on ceremony, clambering up hand and foot.
Floorboards shed dust; she squinted, reached the top, crawled in.
Liang Jingchuan followed close.
The attic had a small skylight, making the light very dim, but it was very dry—indeed a good place to store ancient paintings.
The space was even smaller, only half the size of downstairs. It was hard to even turn around.
Lan Yan walked to the end of the narrow passage. Just as she was about to turn the corner, her bag seemed to hook onto something. With a gentle tug, it pulled along a heavy force.
Before she could react, her shoulder was suddenly gripped, and her body spun around.
Her back collided with something.
She heard a muffled thud. Lan Yan immediately turned her head.
Dust puffed down. She squinted her eyes and discovered Liang Jingchuan’s face right in front of her.
Only then did she realize that he had tightly embraced her from behind, pulling her into his arms.
A folding screen stood in the corner. It had been hooked and toppled over, now entirely pressing down on his shoulder and back.
“Did you get hit?” Liang Jingchuan’s brows furrowed slightly, his eyes narrowed.
Dust obscured his vision. He struggled to open them but immediately lowered his head to check on her condition.
She had never seen such tense and urgent emotions in those usually indifferent eyes of his.
Lan Yan was stunned.