Lan Yan smiled. “A US stock IPO is pretty tough.”
She didn’t say that she had never really liked the phrasing “take you to do something.”
“Wishes have to be big ones.” Chen Boyu smiled.
/
“Has anyone seen Chen Boyu?” Someone suddenly called out loudly from the living room.
“No idea. Did he go upstairs?”
“Maybe he went to see someone off.”
The only one who knew where Chen Boyu was leaned against the bar counter drinking water and stayed silent.
The ice water slid down his throat and plunged straight to the depths of his heart.
If he didn’t look, he wouldn’t torture himself—but he still couldn’t tear his eyes away from that smiling face.
Two years ago today, Liang Jingchuan had returned to South City.
During the summer he took a leave of absence, he had practically lived in the lab, eyes full of papers and data as he rushed to meet review deadlines.
By the time he snapped out of it, the break was nearly over.
He got back just in time for Chen Boyu’s birthday.
Chen Boyu said he was treating and added that the girl he liked had finally agreed to be his girlfriend three days before his birthday.
When asked who, Chen Boyu played coy, saying they’d find out when the time came.
The dinner spot was on a quaint Republic-era street in the old district.
It happened to start raining as they left, right at rush hour, and traffic was a nightmare. At a red light, he got out and walked the last hundred meters to the restaurant.
The rain wasn’t heavy. As he reached the covered walkway and pushed open the door, he heard hurried footsteps from behind.
He turned at the sound and caught sight of a face as delicate and frosty as thin snow.
He couldn’t hide his surprise. “Lan Yan?”
Lan Yan looked up at his voice and stopped in her tracks. She didn’t respond to his greeting, but she didn’t seem surprised to see him there.
Only then did he notice the men’s suit jacket perched on her head.
His heart sank, a bad premonition surging up.
Before he could voice the question, his peripheral vision caught another familiar figure hurrying through the rain.
Chen Boyu, who had parked across the street, squeezed into the narrow covered walkway, griped about “this weather,” then looked at him with a smile. “You just got here too?”
In the next instant, he naturally took the wrist of the girl who had been standing face-to-face with him, pulled her back to his side, clearly dividing them into two camps. “I kept meaning to tell you… Lan Yan and I are together now.”
The premonition had come true so quickly.
Even to this day, he couldn’t fully recall how that meal had ended.
Actually, Chen Boyu wasn’t Lan Yan’s first boyfriend—at least, not counting the two before him who could barely be called that.
Once in high school, once in college, unfamiliar faces had appeared glued to her side, only to vanish in less than a month, not even lasting the usual three-month honeymoon phase.
But with Chen Boyu, it had been two years. Even half a year ago, she had started trying to connect with his family, seemingly preparing for the next step. Even if that step hadn’t gone smoothly and was on hold for now, it proved Chen Boyu meant something more to her than the others.
He and Chen Boyu had been friends for over a decade, so of course he knew the guy was likable most of the time—just like right now.
As an onlooker, it was impossible to know the full picture of their relationship, but from the glimpses here and there, it was clear that Chen Boyu was extremely skilled at delivering unexpected surprises: a sudden dance on the balcony, a convenience store date at two in the morning, an impulsive red-eye flight to drop in unannounced…
People always gravitated toward benefits and away from harm. Unless someone was mentally deficient, they would not seek out suffering, so even if there were occasional conflicts, Lan Yan must have found plenty of joy in that relationship.
What he wanted to do was far beyond overestimating his abilities.
/
Chu Lansun returned from North City.
Everyone at Mend Orchid Studio tucked their tails even tighter, though Master Chu was not actually strict—in fact, he could be called affable.
But when he smiled and said, “Does the curtain pattern match? Take another close look,” the impact was no less devastating than a stern reprimand.
Zhou Wenshu summed it up: the only ones at the studio unafraid of the master were probably Senior Sister Xue Mengqiu and Second Senior Sister Lan Yan. The two senior sisters had vastly different personalities, but one thing they shared was technique sharp enough to split the Earth.
Returning with Chu Lansun were two silk paintings ruined like leftover flaky pastries.
Master Chu tested their skills on the spot, having the new batch of interns and the newcomers who had just joined last year defend their restoration plans right there.
The two senior sisters glanced once and left.
The newcomers scratched their heads, lacking confidence in their own answers, and kept glancing at the two senior sisters immersed in their work, as if staring at two reference answers.
Halfway through the skill test, Sister Rong, who handled client reception, came in and said a customer had arrived wanting to restore a mirror panel.
Chu Lansun adjusted his reading glasses. “How big is the mirror panel?”
“Not large, two chi square.”
“Oh, then have Little Su go take a look first.”
Among the newcomers, a young girl nodded and was about to step forward when Sister Rong said, “He said he’s an acquaintance of Lan Yan. If Lan Yan has time, it’s best if she handles the restoration personally.”
Chu Lansun smiled. “Ah, it must be a Douyin fan coming to see their idol.”
In this era, the more niche and traditional the trade, the less it could afford to remain aloof and isolated.
Mend Orchid Studio had started late and proceeded cautiously, but it still embraced the wave of the times, registering accounts on platforms like Douyin, Little Red Book, and Bilibili. Besides serious content like knowledge popularization on painting restoration and process records, they also posted lighthearted daily studio life.
The accounts were run by the post-00s kids, who had a good online vibe. In just a year, they had built them up vibrantly, even earning special commendation from the provincial cultural heritage publicity department.
Zhou Wenshu and Senior Sister Xue Mengqiu appeared on camera the most. Both were extroverts, and even repairing a painting together turned into a crosstalk comedy routine.
Lan Yan was also very popular. She was extremely beautiful, with outstanding professional skills. Even though she rarely faced the camera directly and mostly kept her head down working expressionlessly, viewers still dug her out from the corners of the video frames.
This kind of fan-meeting-idol situation that Chu Lansun mentioned had happened more than once. People often used painting restoration as an excuse for ulterior motives.
Sister Rong took it upon herself to act as a filter, quoting a price range after the initial meeting, and those without real needs were generally dissuaded.
Sister Rong said, “He does need restoration, but whether he’s here specifically for her is hard to say.”
Lan Yan did not want to put Sister Rong in a difficult spot. She set down what she was holding and said to Sister Rong, “I’ll go take a look.”
The entire little building belonged to Mend Orchid Studio. The first floor housed the reception area, pre-processing area, and display area; the second floor was the mounting room; and the third floor contained the office, research room, and archives.
Lan Yan followed behind Sister Rong, coming down from the second floor, passing through the corridor, and heading to the reception room on the left side of the front desk.
The door was open, and a faint scent of line incense wafted out.
The sofa chair and tea table were set in the center, with the back wall displaying the studio introduction, restorer qualifications, mounting style references, silk samples, restoration process diagrams, and the like.
A man stood by the wall, seemingly studying the studio members’ profiles.
He wore a white shirt and black trousers, one hand in his trouser pocket, standing not entirely upright, yet carrying a calligraphic flair of hiding the edge against the flow, distinctly black-and-white against the grayish sky of the day.
It was a very familiar back view. Lan Yan recognized him at a glance and was about to speak when the man seemed to sense something. He turned abruptly, smiled faintly, and said, “While sorting old things, I found an old mirror panel. I was hoping you could take a look and see if it’s salvageable.”
“…Are you here to mess with me?” Lan Yan was speechless.
Liang Jingchuan smiled. “Would I dare?”
“You’re acting so innocent, as if you haven’t done it before.”
“I haven’t. Think carefully—have I ever taken the initiative to mess with you?”
“…”
It seemed he really hadn’t. It was always her provoking first.
Sister Rong on the side could not quite figure out the relationship between Lan Yan and this man. Their back-and-forth was full of gunpowder, sounding like ex-lovers who had broken up but still had lingering feelings. But she did not dare speculate and just smiled. “Lan Yan, you handle the reception first. I’ll go get some forms.”
Lan Yan nodded.
Business was business. She asked, “Did you bring the item?”
Liang Jingchuan nodded toward the tea table.
The mirror panel sat on the tea table. Lan Yan walked over to inspect it. The glass was slightly loose, but it should not be a big issue.
She steadied the mirror panel and was about to lift it when Liang Jingchuan took two steps over and said, “Let me.”
“It’s fine, I…”
Liang Jingchuan’s tone was very soft. “The glass is loose. Don’t hurt your hand.”
A faint sense of something unusual brushed past her heart like light floss, but when she tried to pinpoint it, there was nothing to grasp.