With the letter restored, she mounted it in a glass frame format. Tang Wangxiang saw photos on WeChat and was very satisfied, saying he’d come pick it up in person that afternoon.
Lan Yan picked up the previous restoration piece that had been delayed for days—a Republic-era painter’s imitation of a Song dynasty landscape. She had only finished the washing, separating, and filling steps before; the back of the painting heart had a full new backing paper applied, with still about a hundred spots of various sizes—gaps and creases—awaiting treatment.
The painting was badly damaged with gaps everywhere, so overall filling was more appropriate.
She laid it out on the mounting table—over three meters long, lacquered in bright red—and began the most time-consuming patching work.
First, she scraped away excess patching paper with a scalpel to fit the gap shapes, then meticulously beveled the roughly 1-millimeter overlaps into gentle slopes.
Summer break brought interns, so the mounting room was livelier than usual with chatter, but Lan Yan was fully immersed, undisturbed.
Until Sister Rong, who handled client reception, came up and told her Tang Wangxiang had arrived and was in the downstairs reception room.
“Mr. Tang saw the actual framed piece and said it’s restored beautifully. He wants to thank you in person,” Sister Rong said.
“Okay, give me a sec; I’ll head down right away.”
Lan Yan finished the patch she was working on, washed her hands, and went to the first-floor reception room.
Tang Wangxiang had come with his granddaughter; they sat side by side on the sofa, closely examining the framed piece.
Sister Rong announced her, and they looked up. Tang Wangxiang stood immediately, extending his hand to Lan Yan with a smile. “Thank you so much; it’s restored perfectly.”
Lan Yan quickened her steps, shook his hand. “No need; entrusted by someone, loyal to the task.”
“Too bad your master isn’t here; I’d praise you to his face. To stand on your own so quickly.”
Tang Wangxiang was a long-time client of Mend Orchid Studio; he had previously sent a four-panel panoramic screen set for restoration.
It was a big job that Lan Yan’s master, Chu Lansun, couldn’t handle alone, so he called her as assistant. One panel was basically restored by Lan Yan herself under Chu Lansun’s guidance.
Precisely because of that good impression from last time, with Chu Lansun away in North City for a lecture, Tang Wangxiang entrusted the letter restoration to Lan Yan.
Lan Yan didn’t know how to respond to the praise. Sister Rong chimed in aptly: “We should thank you for giving the young one a chance to practice. Next time you have work, you won’t have to rely solely on Master Chu.”
Tang Wangxiang smiled. “Don’t worry, plenty of work—I’m short on everything but junk.”
“Then don’t send them one by one; just haul a truckload and let us all broaden our horizons.”
Tang Wangxiang burst out laughing.
His granddaughter smiled and said, “I think Mend Orchid Studio could do without anyone but Sister Rong.”
“Then I’ll have Master Chu rename it Meng Rong Studio.”
After the jokes, Sister Rong brought the acceptance form. Tang Wangxiang signed off, officially taking the framed piece.
The rest had nothing to do with Lan Yan. After greetings, she returned to the second-floor mounting room to continue working.
Back at the mounting table, not five minutes later, someone lightly patted her shoulder.
She jumped, turning to see Chen Boyu.
“How come you’re free to come today?”
“To pick you up after work.”
“No meeting investors today?” Lan Yan said as she lowered her head to continue her work.
“My big brother and big sis-in-law are back. Come to our place for dinner tonight?”
“When did they get back?”
“This morning.”
“How come you’re only telling me now?”
“Sorry, I was in meetings all day and only remembered after they ended—do you have other plans tonight?”
“No. I haven’t washed my hair.”
Chen Boyu smiled and said, “It’s fine. They won’t notice that, and even if they do, they won’t mind.”
“Do I have to go?”
“My parents are both there, so it’s better if I do.”
Lan Yan fell silent for a moment before saying, “Wait for me to wrap things up.”
Chen Boyu said okay.
She finished the repair strip in her hand, packed away the unfinished painting and materials with preservation treatment, washed her hands clean, and removed her apron.
When she looked up, she saw her colleague Zhou Wenshu guiding the interns on dyeing paper. She called out, “Wenshu.”
Zhou Wenshu responded with an “Ah.”
“I’m heading out first. Remember to turn off the lights and lock the door when you leave.”
“Got it, Senior Sister.” As he spoke, Zhou Wenshu glanced over and spotted Chen Boyu. He immediately joked, “No wonder Senior Sister is leaving so early today—her husband came to pick her up.”
Chen Boyu smiled and greeted Zhou Wenshu.
Mend Orchid Studio was the personal workspace of cultural relic restoration master Chu Lansun. It was small in scale with little staff turnover; over the years, it had always been the same familiar faces who were more like friends or family than colleagues.
Chen Boyu came often, so everyone, including Master Chu Lansun, knew him.
The Mounting Room was spacious, equipped with mounting tables, copy desks, washing tables, and other basics. Overhead wooden racks held several sheets of color-dyed rice paper drying.
Lan Yan and Chen Boyu walked out side by side and habitually checked on the work of the new interns.
Chu Lansun had been away for the past few days, so Zhou Wenshu handled most of the guidance, though Lan Yan would glance over whenever she had time.
At one mounting table, two interns used tweezers and fingers to carefully peel away the backing paper from the painting core. This step relied entirely on care and patience. Lan Yan saw that their technique was standard enough and continued walking without comment.
The other table was a sorry sight: on the damp mounting surface, the painting core floated loosely with cracks everywhere. The intern in charge painstakingly pieced the fragments together with his fingertips—one spot aligned above only for the gaps below to widen again.
“You probably didn’t secure it properly during washing,” Lan Yan said.
The intern’s ears turned red in an instant. He said awkwardly, “Yeah.”
Lan Yan fetched a clean brush, walked over to his side, and used the tip to gently nudge a corner of the fragments together, mending the crack.
As she demonstrated, she reminded him softly, “Don’t make beginner mistakes when Teacher Chu is around.”
“Got it, Senior Sister.”
“The practice paintings you’re working on are cheap. It’s fine to mess up—we all started that way.”
The intern nodded repeatedly.
Chen Boyu knew how time-consuming this was. Seeing that Lan Yan showed no sign of stopping, he checked his watch and reminded her, “There’s traffic on the road. We should hurry so we don’t keep big brother waiting too long, and besides…”
Lan Yan didn’t pause her movements. “I know. Right away.”
Chen Boyu peered over their shoulders at the painting core on the mounting table—those irregularly shaped fragments resembled a hellishly difficult jigsaw puzzle.
A minute passed, and Chen Boyu couldn’t help but remind her again. “Yan…”
“I said right away.”
The intern grew flustered instead. “Senior Sister, you go ahead…”
“It’s fine,” Lan Yan said softly. Her hands moved at a steady, unhurried pace.
This group of interns had formed a basic impression of the studio’s key members on their first day: Senior Sister Lan Yan seemed aloof, but only with personal matters. Whenever they asked her about professional questions, she explained everything in exhaustive detail, holding nothing back.
Unable to hurry her, Chen Boyu could only wait patiently.
He sometimes couldn’t help but feel jealous of her work because he was certain she loved it deeply and poured far more focus, energy, and passion into it than anything else.
Yet as her boyfriend, he apparently couldn’t enjoy the same privilege.
Three minutes passed, and she finished one corner of the painting core. Lan Yan set down the brush. “Take it slow. Keep at it.”
The intern nodded hurriedly.
Chen Boyu stepped forward, wrapped an arm around Lan Yan’s shoulders, and steered her toward the exit as if afraid something else might hold her back.
The small building had three floors with no elevator. As they walked down the stairwell, Chen Boyu said, “I think I saw Tang Wangxiang when I came in?”
“Yeah. He’s the client I rushed the job for this time.”
“Mr. Tang doesn’t seem to go out much anymore.”
“His health isn’t great.”
“Does he work with the studio often?”
“We work with a lot of collectors.”
Chen Boyu nodded.
By the time he finished speaking, they had reached the building entrance.
Chen Boyu’s Porsche wasn’t in the parking spot, but Liang Jingchuan’s SUV was.
“…Liang Jingchuan’s going too?”
“Yeah. Big Brother said he wanted to chat with him while he’s at it. I sent my car for a wash, so I’m hitching a ride.”
They reached the car. Chen Boyu opened the rear door, and Lan Yan bent down to get in. She glanced toward the front seat.
Liang Jingchuan, with his arm draped over the steering wheel, slowly straightened up, looking none too pleased about giving them a ride.
Chen Boyu followed Lan Yan into the back and closed the door.
Liang Jingchuan started the engine and asked, “Straight there?”
Chen Boyu felt baffled. “Where else?”
Liang Jingchuan glanced into the rearview mirror at Lan Yan and paused for a moment before saying, “Change clothes.”
Chen Boyu looked at Lan Yan. “No need. It’s just a family dinner—nothing formal.”
Liang Jingchuan said nothing more, as if he had merely fulfilled his duty to point it out and didn’t particularly care.
They drove out onto a one-way street and only merged into the congested evening rush hour at the end.
Lan Yan pulled out her phone, opened the map app, and asked Chen Boyu, “Your aunt likes cheesecake, right?”
“Right.” Chen Boyu smiled. “You still remember.”
Lan Yan swiped across the screen and found a reputable pastry shop along the route to the Chen Residence. She said, “Please stop at Cheese Flavor Shop first.”
The driver showed no reaction, as if he hadn’t heard.
Lan Yan raised her voice slightly and repeated it.
Still no response.
Lan Yan’s fine brows furrowed a little, her tone losing its usual calm. “Liang Jingchuan.”
Only then did he speak, in a lazy drawl. “Oh, so you were talking to me.”
“…”