Had she actually blurted out the nickname she had secretly given him?
“You’re Qian Chuanzi!” Qian Chong elbowed her lightly.
In Jinsong City, ‘Qian Chuanzi’ refers to a type of fast-moving, disgustingly creepy house centipede.
If Qian Chong saw one at home, he’d jump out of his skin.
She actually dared to give him such a nickname? Was she looking for trouble?
“It was a slip of the tongue.” Hua Jie quickly chuckled, trying to change the subject with a smile: “Qian Fugui, you’re really amazing, instantly pinpointing my issue. Smart!”
“…” Qian Chong glared at her with a dark expression.
Was this person determined to stick him with a nickname?
“Can’t ‘Qian Fugui’ be cute too?” Hua Jie raised an eyebrow, her face serious as if she were genuinely inquiring.
“No!” Qian Chong said fiercely in a low voice.
“Alright then.” Hua Jie looked genuinely disappointed.
“…” Qian Chong.
Fang Shaojun glanced at Hua Jie and Qian Chong, furrowing her brow. When had their relationship improved to the point where they could joke and discuss amicably while painting together?
Had their previous noisy, confrontational painting competitions been all in jest?
Dismissing them with a disdainful sweep of her eyes, she lifted her chin and immersed herself back into her own world of painting.
Throughout the session, Shen Jiaru frequently visited each of the four students, offering guidance and occasionally correcting their work.
After more than an hour, everyone’s drawings were roughly seventy percent complete.
During a break, Hua Jie leaned back in her chair, examining her own drawing while also scrutinizing the work of her three classmates.
Qian Chong’s drawing was notably intense; the entire canvas was filled, boldly shaded, giving the piece a three-dimensional and somewhat somber appearance.
Fang Shaojun’s drawing had very clean highlights, almost no mid-tones, and boldly rendered shadows, creating a stark contrast between light and dark.
Lu Yunfei’s drawing was exceptionally clean, his sketching highlighted his delicate and refreshing style, making the piece look particularly elegant.
Hua Jie looked back at her own drawing, her frown deepening.
“Why do you approach sketching as if you’re sitting for an exam? Your drawing is so structured,” Qian Chong suddenly said from beside her, without her noticing when he had approached.
She looked up at him, puzzled.
He scoffed, seemingly annoyed by her naivety, and bent down to smudge the background of her drawing with his hand.
“The way you handle clarity and blurriness in distant and close objects, and here—”
He picked up an eraser and rubbed out some lines and strokes in a bright area of her drawing:
“This boldness in leaving spaces for highlights, and—”
He pointed at a few of her lines:
“This firmness in stroke, the crispness in lifting the pen, the vivacity. And the overall composition, filled with the desire to express, boldly projecting your thoughts in every part of the drawing, huh?”
He patted her shoulder, leaned against the wall nonchalantly, and looked down at her:
“You don’t think your only advantage is in color usage, and everything else is just average, do you?”
“…” Hua Jie was momentarily stunned. She had always thought she was good at painting, confident in her strokes, but this was the first time she realized these were her strengths in the eyes of others.
And thinking about what Qian Chong said, she realized she might still be hesitant in her approach.
Suddenly, the mindset from her past life’s exams and the rigid standards demanded by teachers flooded her mind, momentarily trapping her.
Her drawing became constrained, falling back into formulaic patterns…
She pursed her lips, then looked at her drawing again, raising her head to survey Teacher Shen’s studio. Suddenly, her mind filled with many exaggerated images.
Feeling an itch to draw, she wanted to capture those ideas on paper.
What if she wanted to redo her drawing?
“You used to be so capable, right? How can you be so nervous and underperform while painting at the teacher’s house?” Qian Chong curled his lips, sitting down on his stool and turning to glance at her again, shaking his head:
“Your approach to painting is quite strange. You’re solid and stable, yet your style can go in completely opposite directions. Do you have multiple personalities or something?”
“…” Hua Jie glared at him sideways and continued to scrutinize her drawing, taking a deep breath to regain her composure.
A few minutes later, she suddenly picked up an eraser and a pencil, and started making major changes to her drawing.
To change, she used the eraser extensively, ruthlessly erasing the lines she had carefully drawn before.
To correct, she did not accommodate the previous forms but instead made clean, decisive modifications.
Initially, Qian Chong was focused on improving his own drawing’s completion. But hearing the vigorous brushing and erasing from Hua Jie’s direction, he couldn’t help but lean back to look at her work.
What he saw startled him; she had altered the entire composition. The foreground was exaggerated, and the background minimized, dramatically enhancing the depth of the teacher’s studio several-fold.
Moreover, many of the static objects and decorations inside were intensified. The objects and their placements remained the same, but after the changes, the layering suddenly became several times stronger, and a still image unexpectedly conveyed a sense of motion.
The closest table to the viewer seemed as if it might fly out of the picture at any moment.
Due to limited remaining time, Hua Jie didn’t layer the shadows line by line to deepen them. Instead, she gauged the force needed, marking the depth in one stroke and then pressing her finger on the carbon-heavy dark lines, smudging towards the lighter areas to create a face.
Qian Chong was momentarily dazed, feeling that at this moment, Hua Jie was painting like a heroine wielding a sword, cutting through with brisk, efficient strokes.
And she was fierce.
Perhaps enjoying the process of Hua Jie altering and finishing her drawing quickly, Qian Chong sat and watched her paint for over ten minutes, completely forgetting about his own work.
By the time he realized, only about ten minutes of class remained. He had to pick up his pace like Hua Jie, imagining himself as a hero, unable even to rob the rich to aid the poor, but needing to act.
So, he brushed his pen rapidly, too hurried for fine lines, mimicking Hua Jie’s technique of smudging directly with his fingers, creating transitional and gradient grays.
Gradually, he felt his own aura rising, his own fierceness developing, as if he too were a hero.
When Shen Jiaru clapped to signal the end of painting, his thumb was as black as Hua Jie’s from the graphite, looking like he’d just returned from mining coal.
The four paintings were laid out in front, and Hua Jie, while wiping the carbon from her fingers with tissue, looked at her own work.
Her body suddenly relaxed, and she felt a complete sense of satisfaction and ease.
Although it was a sketch in black and white, as she looked at it, she seemed to see colors in the painting. No, not actual colors, but she experienced the pleasure of freely moving through her watercolor paintings and the gradually emerging essence that was uniquely hers.
She pursed her lips, feeling completely satisfied.
Even though during the critique session her classmates had many suggestions, and the teacher pointed out several shortcomings, she still felt happy.
“Class is over.”
With those three words from Teacher Shen, Hua Jie breathed a sigh of relief and turned to Qian Chong, sincerely saying, “Thank you, Qian Chong.”
Having spent so much time in the teacher’s studio, this was the first time she truly appreciated Qian Chong’s talent.
Though he was often foul-mouthed, annoying, overbearing, and sometimes excessively blunt to the point of seeming aggressive, his straightforward critiques—devoid of malice—were actually quite beneficial to her.
Perhaps he couldn’t even distinguish which of his remarks were meant maliciously and which weren’t.
At their age, in the throes of adolescence, these young men are not fully mature; their rationality sometimes insufficient to suppress the inherent barbarity and cruelty of their male instincts, especially when someone like him possesses talent and a family background far surpassing others, he can’t help but sometimes act like a bully.
Hua Jie sighed, no longer holding on to any grudge regarding his past rudeness.
In Teacher Shen’s studio, having another comrade to discuss painting and grow together was indeed a joyful thing.
“Let’s exchange more about painting techniques and try to be less prickly,” she said, patting his sketchboard. “Be a good person, Qian Fugui, keep it up.”
Qian Chong glanced back at her, unresponsive and aloof, then pushed the door open and left the studio.
Hua Jie, carrying her sketchboard in one hand and her art supplies in the other, had no free hand to open the door and intended to follow him out.
Little did she expect Qian Chong to lack any sense of chivalry. He let go of the door after passing through, not considering that she might need help keeping it open.
Hua Jie nearly got caught by the closing door, but luckily she moved quickly enough to avoid disaster.
“…” The door closed just brushing past the bag of art supplies she carried.
Well, expecting Qian Chong to be a good person might be a bit too much to hope for.
He could just be himself.
If he causes more trouble, she would just have to confront him…
The two of them walked out one after the other, Hua Jie internally criticizing his lack of awareness, thinking he would probably have trouble finding a partner in the future.
Qian Chong suddenly turned around and stared at her, asking:
“Want to go sketching after school?”
“…No, I have things to do.” He actually invited her to go sketching together…
Though she found it peculiar and really wanted to become good friends with Qian Fugui, she ruthlessly rejected him.
Hua Jie waved at Qian Chong, then stood in front of the stairs looking up, intending to call Shen Mo down from his study.
Just as she looked up, she met Shen Mo’s deep, dark eyes. When had he been standing there?
“My family’s business is opening today, come check it out with me!” she invited.
Shen Mo, with his arms resting on the railing of the third-floor corridor, glanced down at Qian Chong from his elevated position before slowly descending the stairs.
Reaching Hua Jie, he possessively touched the back of her head with his hand, while his gaze shifted to Qian Chong, who was already walking towards the door.
“…” Feeling the tension, Qian Chong turned to meet Shen Mo’s unfriendly stare, swallowed nervously, and silently left.
…
…
When Hua Jie and Shen Mo arrived at the top floor of Fuyun Building, Dahua Furniture was already bustling with activity.
The opening was scheduled for 12 p.m., but it was only 11 a.m., and many people had already arrived.
As soon as they got there, Hua Jie’s mother had her running up and down fetching things, keeping her on her toes.
Shen Mo was immediately put to use as well; Hua Jie’s mother thrust the family dog, Huanhuan, into his arms.
That morning, Hua Jie’s mother had somehow forgotten to lock Huanhuan inside.
The little dog had followed her all the way, and by the time she noticed the familiar lion dog frantically running behind her, she was already biking into town. Turning back to take it home would have delayed the opening.
With no choice, she had to bring it along in the bicycle basket.
After a morning of hectic preparations and worrying about the dog getting lost, she tied it up with a rope, fearing it might chew through it or get strangled.
Handing it over to Shen Mo, Hua Jie’s mother finally felt relieved.
So there, Shen Mo, who had come to witness the hustle and maybe play a significant role, suddenly became a dog-sitting maid.