Dust floated in the air, nearly making her cough.
Lan Yan was stunned for a good while before she snapped back to her senses. She hurriedly lowered her gaze. “I’m fine. You…”
She took half a step forward, then quickly turned around and reached out to steady the folding screen. Fortunately, it felt wooden to the touch, so it was probably just intimidating in appearance and wouldn’t actually injure anyone.
Liang Jingchuan seemed to react at that moment as well. He released his hand from her shoulder and turned sideways to support the screen.
The two of them each held one side and stood the screen upright, only letting go once it was steady.
Lan Yan said softly, “Thank you.”
“It’s nothing. You rely on your hands for a living. I was afraid you’d smash your hand.” Liang Jingchuan explained. His voice was utterly calm, without the slightest inflection.
Lan Yan raised her eyes slightly. Before her gaze could land on him, her eyelashes trembled and drooped again.
She turned around, pulled out a flashlight and magnifying glass from her bag.
Having grown accustomed to the attic’s dimness, her vision sharpened a bit. A hanging scroll over two meters long dangled from the wall panel. She stopped in place, turned on the flashlight, and used its beam to examine the painting’s material.
Meanwhile, Liang Jingchuan walked to beneath the skylight.
There was a wrinkle on the edge of the hanging scroll, possibly indicating it had already come loose from the wall. Lan Yan’s fingertip brushed it lightly, and she unconsciously glanced sideways at the man under the skylight.
One of his hands was tucked in his pocket as he tilted his head upward, seemingly observing intently whether the skylight could open or was fully sealed.
The daylight outlined the contours of his profile from forehead, along the bridge of his nose, chin, to his Adam’s apple—smooth, sharp, and elegant, like Wu Daozi’s line drawing technique.
His expression was utterly indifferent, as if their earlier contact hadn’t stirred any ripples.
Lan Yan withdrew her gaze and took several deep breaths to herself.
She tried to calm her emotions and focus on the task at hand.
This had originally been one of her strongest skills. Back when they shared a room, she could completely treat him as an eyesore humanoid stand—no need for communication; if he blocked her path, she’d just go around.
But at this moment, his presence was so overwhelmingly strong that it was impossible to ignore.
Lan Yan squatted down, clamped the flashlight between her knees, took out her phone from her pocket, opened the notes app, created a new one, and began editing.
This squatting position, which pressed against her stomach, somehow kept her from feeling so unsettled.
She recorded the painting’s name, material, dimensions, and suspected dynasty in that format.
Lan Yan heard footsteps pacing. From the corner of her eye, she saw Liang Jingchuan stop at her side.
He lowered his arm and said, “I’ll shine it for you.”
Lan Yan said nothing and handed him the flashlight.
After that, he held the flashlight while she used the magnifying glass to appraise, then typed the information into her notes.
The attic was so quiet that not a hint of the city’s traffic reached them. Every tiny sound was amplified many times over.
Footsteps on the wooden boards, the rustle of paper, fingers tapping on the phone screen…
And Liang Jingchuan’s breathing.
Liang Jingchuan stood at Lan Yan’s side. A thin layer of sweat formed in his palm around the flashlight. Despite his efforts to restrain himself, he couldn’t stop his peripheral vision from drifting toward her.
In the attic’s darkness, the flashlight beam illuminated the painting paper and diffusely lit her face.
The sensation of that embrace lingered—the slight jolt when the back of her head collided with his chest bones.
It felt surreal, like a dream.
He had to slow his breathing to keep his heart from racing out of control.
/
There were many paintings in the attic. Clearing and cataloging them all would probably take an entire afternoon.
Lan Yan selected just over a dozen in better condition, noted their details, and took a few close-up photos.
Afterward, the two descended from the attic and returned to the ground floor.
Bright light flooded their vision, and Lan Yan inexplicably breathed a sigh of relief.
She went to the counter and asked the owner if he could offer a discount for buying in bulk.
The owner was a straightforward man. “I’ve had experts appraise this junk three times—it’s worthless. What do you want it for? Don’t get scammed.”
Lan Yan showed her work ID and honestly explained her purpose.
The owner listened in half-understanding. “So, you mean you’re using this worthless junk to patch up other valuable junk?”
Lan Yan smiled. “You could say that.”
“How much do you want?”
“I’m not sure yet. We’ll take anything with some age to it.”
“Then pick what you want. I’ll tally it up and give you a price.”
“Our budget might not be that high…”
“You’re not trying to buy by the pound, are you? No way.”
“Of course not. We might only be able to offer this much per painting…” Lan Yan took the calculator in front of the owner and entered a number. “For larger sizes or silk ones, we could go up to this…”
The owner pondered for a moment. “Fine. If you can clear out my whole shop, that’d be ideal. I’ve wanted to empty this place and rent it out for ages.”
They reached a preliminary agreement. She scheduled to bring colleagues next week for the “acquisition” and asked the owner to hold the attic items for them in the meantime.
The owner said, “Don’t worry. I won’t sell a single one in the next half month.”
They left the small shop and retraced their steps. The autumn sun shone brightly, and the sounds of crowds and traffic gradually returned to their ears.
“How did you find this shop?” Lan Yan asked Liang Jingchuan.
“I passed by.”
“…Passed by a place in such a remote corner?”
“The day I passed by, the owner happened to have a stall set up on the roadside ahead.”
“Oh.”
A subtle awkwardness suddenly resurfaced as they walked quietly.
Lan Yan shoved her hands into her jacket pockets and kept her eyes slightly lowered, looking only ahead.
They soon reached the car.
Lan Yan reached out to open the passenger door, but Liang Jingchuan reached for it at the same moment.
Their hands hovered above the handle, nearly brushing.
Lan Yan pulled her hand back. Liang Jingchuan opened the door for her and held it.
As she was about to get in, Liang Jingchuan spoke. “There’s dust on your back…”
She paused, reached behind, and patted haphazardly. “Better?”
“Still some.”
“You…” Lan Yan hesitated, then said, “Forget it. Let it be.” She ducked her head and climbed into the car.
Lan Yan had no other plans that afternoon, while Liang Jingchuan had a three o’clock meeting to continue discussing equipment procurement. He first dropped her off at the hotel.
Back in her room, Lan Yan set down her backpack. She turned in front of the full-length mirror in the entryway and checked her back—the thin denim jacket still had a faint smudge of dust.
She took off the jacket, patted it, hung it on a hanger, then lay down on the sofa opposite the foot of the bed.
She pulled out her phone and messaged her best friend Lu Ying.
【blueblue: I think Liang Jingchuan has been acting a bit strange lately.】
She’d thought Lu Ying would sleep the whole day after their late chat the night before, but she replied instantly.
【Luna: How strange?】
Her fingers hovered over the keyboard for a long time.
【Luna: Halfway through? Where’d you go?】
【blueblue: Poof. Gone.】
Lu Ying sent her an emoticon pack saying “Wait till I get out and I’ll shark you both.”
/
That evening, Liang Jingchuan had dinner with the equipment supplier.
Lan Yan had plans with a local friend named Song Yi, who worked in Suzhou embroidery intangible heritage. Last time, to get a birthday gift for Chen Boyu’s mom, Lan Yan owed her a favor for just labor costs.
After dinner, Song Yi enthusiastically took her on a night stroll by the river.
Around nine o’clock, while sipping milk tea at a small shop, Lan Yan received a message from Liang Jingchuan asking her location and if he should swing by to take her back to the hotel.
Lan Yan bit through a popping boba and turned to Song Yi at the round table across from her. “Is it easy to get a cab around here?”
“Best to walk up to the main road ahead…” Song Yi glanced at her knee. “But can you even walk?”
Lan Yan chewed on her straw. “I have a ride coming. If you don’t mind, he can drop you off too…”
“Why would I mind a free ride? Isn’t a ride-share just some stranger driver anyway?”
Lan Yan smiled and replied to the “ride-share driver”: 【Okay. Thanks.】
She attached her location.
【ljc: Fifteen minutes.】
They sat for another ten minutes or so, then stepped out and waited by the roadside.
Soon, a familiar SUV appeared amid the slow-crawling traffic.
Lan Yan linked arms with Song Yi and walked a short distance to meet it.
Song Yi got in first and greeted the driver. “Hi, hi! I’m Lan Yan’s friend.”
Liang Jingchuan turned back and nodded slightly. “Hello.”
His gaze swept over Lan Yan.
She was still wearing the denim jacket, but underneath was now a white dress with a gauzy skirt falling below her knees.
“What happened to your leg?” Liang Jingchuan noticed her limping as she approached.
“Bumped it.”
His gaze lingered for an instant, but he said nothing more. He turned forward and lightly pressed the accelerator to follow the car ahead.
The car fell silent for a moment.
Song Yi leaned toward Lan Yan’s ear and whispered, “Did you fight with your boyfriend?”
“He’s not…” Lan Yan felt awkward. “I told you, I’m from a blended family. He’s… my brother.”
Song Yi felt even more awkward. “Sorry, sorry. I thought he was Chen Boyu…”
Song Yi had only dined alone with Lan Yan in South City and never met Chen Boyu. Lan Yan never posted her relationship status on her social circle, so Song Yi only knew she had a rich, handsome boyfriend.
But here she was getting in the car without greeting the driver, and neither said a word. No way did that seem like ordinary friends—more like a couple still in a cold war.
Liang Jingchuan glanced at the center rearview mirror.
Having sharp hearing wasn’t always a good thing.
“Any good food in Suzhou?” Liang Jingchuan spoke up. Social graces made his tone politely mild.
Song Yi realized he was asking her. “Depends on what you feel like. For local dishes…”