◎”If it’s convenient, I’ll go with you.”◎
Luckily, Liang Jingchuan wasn’t nearby, or else if he saw her deflated like this, who knew how smug he would get.
【blueblue: …Does saying hello in advance on WeChat waste that much of your time?】
【ljc: The car can’t park for long.】
【blueblue: Then why can you send it now?】
【ljc: Waiting at a red light.】
She could almost imagine the expression on his face at that moment, his seemingly indifferent eyes unable to hide the mischief.
Lan Yan ignored him and took a photo of the pastries, sending it to the four-person family group, where she @’d Liang Xiaoxia to thank her.
Liang Xiaoxia replied quickly: Eat them quick, the texture won’t be good if they melt. The mango flavor is the best.
She had just eaten, so Lan Yan couldn’t finish one by herself. She picked out the mango-flavored one and divided the rest among Zhou Wenshu, Xue Mengqiu, and Xiao Yue.
Over the next few days, Liang Jingchuan said he would come to visit, but he never showed up.
The studio required photos at the end of each restoration day for records, and clients had to verify progress at the completion of each major step: cleaning, unveiling, patching, and finalizing.
The patching work on Liang Jingchuan’s calligraphy piece was already done.
Lan Yan took photos and sent them to the group, @’ing Liang Jingchuan.
【blueblue: Patching is complete. Confirm it’s okay, and we’ll proceed to retouching and full coloring.】
【blueblue: What you sent for repair is a calligraphy work. If you have high requirements for the brush intent, I’ll ask a colleague more skilled in calligraphy to help with the retouching.】
Half an hour passed before she got a reply.
【ljc: Can I come take a look before deciding?】
【blueblue: Sure.】
【ljc: What time works?】
【blueblue: Anytime during work hours. Best within these two days.】
There was no more activity in the group.
A notification popped up at the top for a private message from Liang Jingchuan.
Lan Yan switched over.
【ljc: Are you still at the studio?】
【blueblue: Yeah.】
【ljc: Is it convenient for me to come now? Twenty minutes.】
The patching only had a little left, and Lan Yan didn’t want to leave it for tomorrow, so she finished it all in one go that day and stayed at the studio a bit later than usual.
Packing up would take a while, and the timing lined up, so she replied that it was fine.
While waiting for him, Lan Yan cleaned the floor and the mounting table, then opened the door and went to the small balcony for some air.
The open balcony had old concrete floors and railings. The parasol tree was its old lover, close enough to reach with a stretch, and when the wind blew, their branches rubbed intimately, casting tree shadows like flowing water across the ground.
Half the reason she chose Mend Orchid Studio over a museum job was this view.
Lan Yan rested her arms on the railing, squinting as she savored the moment after work, a blend of fatigue and lingering satisfaction, her mind utterly calm.
She knew better than anyone how closed-off her life was—half by choice, half just going with the flow.
Her daily routine was a dull back-and-forth between the studio and home, with romance as flashy decoration outside the monotony.
Everyone who stuck around at Mend Orchid Studio had their reasons. Her master went without saying; the older generation had that craftsman spirit. Senior Sister Xue Mengqiu loved the work. As for Zhou Wenshu, well, he’d already invested so much time learning that switching careers would be a sunk cost too high, so he kept going.
And her?
In a person’s life, too many things couldn’t be repaired: memories, emotions, lost time, vanished lives.
At least with some objects, she could still save them.
By investing a small segment of her own life, she could exchange it for decades of extended life for these decaying scrolls and paintings. It was a good deal.
Things were better than people.
Things wouldn’t disappoint her.
Lost in random thoughts, she glanced across the street under the tree shade and spotted a figure approaching from the other end of the road.
The white shirt turned a shade lighter than gamboge under the streetlights, the tall, slender figure like a single brushstroke, aloof and otherworldly.
If only she didn’t know him, she could dismiss the person and just admire the beauty.
The autumn breeze was cool, making her lazy. Lan Yan didn’t move for the moment. She waited until the figure reached the front, crossed the street, and vanished through the gate of the small courtyard before stretching lazily and heading back inside from the balcony.
Not long after, footsteps sounded outside the mounting room. They paused at the door, then came inside.
Lan Yan stood by the mounting wall and glanced toward the newcomer.
Normally, she should have greeted him, something like “good evening,” but the words felt awkward on her tongue, even though he was technically the studio’s client now.
Liang Jingchuan didn’t speak either. He walked straight over and stopped beside her.
Lan Yan nodded toward the mounting wall. “Take a look.”
After cleaning, unveiling, mold removal, and patching, the scroll looked completely renewed.
From a moldy mess to “serious illness lifted, vitality restored,” like a miraculous recovery.
Anyone witnessing it would probably stand there stunned, just like Liang Jingchuan did at that moment.
Lan Yan stepped closer to the mounting wall and pointed at the damaged strokes. “This part needs retouching. My calligraphy is average; I can do it, but it might not be perfect…”
“Leave it all to you,” Liang Jingchuan said.
He turned to look at her, his gaze sincere. “It’s repaired very well.”
Lan Yan fell silent.
His words and actions were too normal, which felt strangely off.
Lan Yan nodded. “Then I’ll continue.”
Liang Jingchuan took out his phone, stepped back, and snapped a photo.
The calligraphy piece was two large lines: See the Lotus Pure, Know the Mind Unstained.
While restoring it, Lan Yan had wondered if Liang Jingchuan’s “Jing” in his name came from this.
“Since you’re here, let me explain the mounting plan. Calligraphy works usually use single-color mounting so it doesn’t overshadow. For the mounting material, you can choose rice paper or silk.”
Lan Yan glanced at him, worried he might not know what single-color mounting meant.
But Liang Jingchuan nodded. “Use silk then.”
“Want to see the styles?”
“Sure.”
“Hold on.”
Lan Yan went to the materials room and brought out the sample book for clients to choose mounting materials.
Liang Jingchuan was still by the mounting wall, head slightly tilted up, gazing at the piece.
Lan Yan didn’t speak right away.
Liang Jingchuan’s personality had a base of solitude and melancholy, which stood out especially now.
He was probably lost in memories of the deceased relative.
Lan Yan didn’t disturb him. She placed the book on the mounting table, flipped to the floral silk section, waited a good while, then turned to check on him.
But she immediately met his gaze.
The mounting room was quiet, only the hum of the constant temperature and humidity equipment, dull like when your ears popped on a plane.
Across three mounting tables, under the pale light, his gaze held a distant focus.
Like certain sixth-magnitude stars you could only catch with peripheral vision.
That faint sense of strangeness crept up on her heart again.
She calmly shifted her gaze away.
Liang Jingchuan withdrew his eyes and walked over.
When he stopped beside her, Lan Yan pushed the book toward him. “Plain silk, or beige, light gray, medium gray, light green floral silks all work.”
She flipped pages and pointed out a few samples.
Liang Jingchuan looked down, paused for a moment. “What happened to your finger?”
“Taught an intern to drill and thread the drying pole; got pricked by copper wire.”
Liang Jingchuan said nothing, his gaze lingering on her bandaged finger for a good while.
Only when she turned another page did he seem to snap back, pointing at a light gray floral silk. “This one.”
“Okay.” Lan Yan closed the book and asked, “For the roller ends…”
“You decide on the rest.”
Lan Yan nodded. “That’s it then.”
Liang Jingchuan looked at her. “Still working overtime?”
“No. About to head out.”
“I’ll give you a ride.”
“I need to grab a night snack first.”
“Then let me treat you to a night snack.”
Before Lan Yan could voice her retort, Liang Jingchuan added, “I brought you something; it’s in the car.”
“What is it?”
“You’ll see when you look.”
She had to admit, he was good at building suspense.
Lan Yan returned the sample book to the materials room, checked that the windows were closed, turned off the lights, locked up, and went downstairs with Liang Jingchuan.
As they walked to the small courtyard, Liang Jingchuan said, “The security guard said there were no spots inside when I arrived, so I parked on the road ahead. Wait at the gate; I’ll bring the car around…”
“It’s one-way; doesn’t that mean circling back?” Lan Yan wore a loose thin suit jacket over her white tank top, hands in her pockets, utterly nonchalant.
So they walked to the parking spot.
Neither spoke along the way.
Outside of work, they always seemed to have nothing to say.
The wind rustled the leaves, like endless falling rain.
The road wasn’t long, just over five hundred meters, right at the intersection, then a bit further, and Liang Jingchuan’s car was parked on the side.
At the rear of the car, Lan Yan asked again what he had brought her.
“See when you get in.” Liang Jingchuan opened the passenger door directly.
After hesitating a few seconds, Lan Yan ducked her head and got in, spotting a wooden box on the passenger seat. She picked it up.
Liang Jingchuan closed the door, circled to the driver’s seat.
Lan Yan buckled her seatbelt, then opened the box.
Inside was a full-silk handscroll.
Liang Jingchuan got in, fastened his seatbelt, and started the car.
Lan Yan paid no attention to that, slowly unrolling the handscroll first.
The car interior was dim, so she turned on the overhead reading light to look.
Judging by the cyclical year on the signature, it was a mid-Qing piece, a Boneless Autumn Begonia Painting with some Yun School style.
The technique was crude, the artistic intent stagnant; aesthetically, it had little value.
That didn’t matter. What mattered was the material used for the handscroll…
Lan Yan hurriedly pulled out her phone from her pocket, turned on the flashlight, and examined it closely.
Silk from different dynasties had distinct traits: Tang silk was thick and coarse, Song silk even and pure… The biggest difference between ancient silk and modern replicas was the patina and aged aura from centuries of settling, something no scientifically distressed imitation could match.
The silk in this handscroll’s painting heart had luster, texture, and weave all bearing that ancient patina—not mid-Qing, but at least a century old.
Matching ancient silk paintings with comparable patching silk from the same era was a perennial industry headache.
Lan Yan felt a surge of excitement and turned to Liang Jingchuan. “Where did this come from?”
“Went to Suzhou on a business trip, had dinner with a friend, passed an antique shop on the way. They had lots of aged paintings by unknown artists. Wasn’t sure if you’d need it, so I bought one to show you.”
“How much was it?”
“Asked two thousand, bargained to two hundred.”
“…You’re pretty good at haggling.”
Liang Jingchuan chuckled lightly.
“Can you share the shop’s location?”
The car passed a green light.
Liang Jingchuan stared ahead. “It’s in a residential building, not easy to find. No map pin, just the street. I have to go back in a few days. If you want, I can bring a few more.”
Lan Yan shook her head. “A few won’t cut it. I’d need to assess and apply for studio funding…”
She pondered, then turned to him. “When are you going again? If it’s convenient, I’ll go with you.”
Liang Jingchuan looked at her too.
The flashlight was still on, illuminating her face—skin pale to the point of translucence, but her eyes bright as could be.
His gaze deepened for a moment.
The pastries were indeed from Liang Xiaoxia for him to pass along.
But there was also a probing intent; he wanted to see if these routine tactics worked on Lan Yan.
The result was obvious: she avoided them like the plague.
So he scrapped the plan to frequent the mounting room under the guise of checking the painting—with her sensitivity, she would draw a line before he made any real move.
The best approach was to lure her into taking the initiative.
His fingers tightened then loosened on the steering wheel. Liang Jingchuan said calmly, “Next Wednesday or Thursday. I can match your schedule.”