The afternoon sunlight was pleasant, and the shallow snow on the roof glistened in the light, dazzling to look upon from a distance.
Icicles hanging from the eaves sparkled translucently under the rays, resembling conical diamonds, and were strikingly beautiful.
When Shen Mo entered the house to drink water, he saw Hua Jie sitting on a small stool by the door polishing boots—the very pair he had gifted her.
Her head was bowed, eyelashes quivering slightly, eyes focused intently on the surface of the boots, rubbing them meticulously as if she feared missing even a speck of dirt or being too harsh on the soft leather.
After finishing, she gently brushed on some shoe polish with a soft brush, treating it like an artwork.
Shen Mo suddenly felt a deep sense of satisfaction; no wonder the girl’s boots looked new every day—she cherished and cared for them so diligently.
The joy of the gift-giving youth was palpable, pleased by the most satisfying feedback.
He credited her with having the insight to treat the little boots he had given with care.
Shen Mo set down his glass, and just then, the telephone beside him rang.
Hua Jie looked up and said, “Could you answer it for me, please? I’ll just wipe my hands.”
“Oh,” Shen Mo replied, picking up the receiver. Since he was answering for her, he added an extra touch of politeness, “Hello, who is this?”
…
Although Shen Jiaru didn’t get to enjoy seafood, he received a call from Wang Jian, a professor at Tsinghua University’s School of Fine Arts.
With the same raspy voice and the same respect, he said, “Professor Shen, since Tsinghua’s School of Fine Arts was just established, the school leaders want to launch several reputable large-scale events… In collaboration with the Art Association, we’re organizing a national painting competition… The top 50 participants will join the exhibition, which is an excellent opportunity for many young people… Your students, of course, are specifically invited to compete…”
After hanging up, Shen Jiaru sat for a moment, then began dialing his students’ numbers one by one.
The first call he made was to Hua Jie’s home.
As the phone connected, he heard his son’s familiar voice.
???
Looking at the handset, he raised an eyebrow in confusion, then looked up towards the upper floors of the building.
Wrong number? Did he dial the internal line to his son’s room upstairs?
Frowning, he said, “Wrong number, you continue studying.”
Then he hung up the phone.
On the other side at Hua Jie’s house, Shen Mo stared at the telephone receiver for a few seconds before putting it down.
Continue studying? What was that about?
It sounded like his father’s voice…
“Who was it?” Hua Jie asked.
“It’s nothing, someone dialed the wrong number.” Shen Mo took another gulp of water and looked out the window. Hua’s father was exhaling white breaths of air with every breath, standing on a high stool, his hands sawing vigorously making a whirring sound.
He put down his glass, about to go out and help, when the phone rang again.
He smoothly and quickly picked up the receiver:
“Hello? Yes?”
“…” There was a long silence from Shen Jiaru on the other side.
?????
Why was it his son answering the phone again?
Frowning, he asked, “Shen Mo?”
“Uh, looking for Hua Jie?” Shen Mo asked casually.
“…You’re at her place?”
“Yeah, I’ll get her,” Shen Mo said, and handed the receiver to Hua Jie.
“Who is it?” the girl mouthed.
“My dad,” Shen Mo said, then stepped out the door.
On the phone, Shen Jiaru held the receiver with a blank expression, his eyes flickering, yet his gaze was especially complex.
…
…
As the sun set, the temperature quickly dropped.
In a small northern town during the December cold, the temperature had already plunged to below minus thirty degrees Celsius.
The two men, one old and one young, could no longer work outside in the yard, so they moved their operations into the living room. The sofa was pushed back against the wall, and the middle space was cleared to place carpentry tools.
Saws, planes, chisels, wood, and various other items were laid out all over the room. Hua’s father, being a tidy person, had arranged everything neatly in no time.
The room was toasty warm, and once they shed their down jackets, working with their chests bared was even more enjoyable.
Hua Jie moved all her painting materials to the doorway of the living room and sat down facing them.
“What did my dad tell you?” Shen Mo, while sitting beside her, alternated between playing with a small bird, cleaning up Huan Huan who was rolling around in the sawdust, and occasionally assisting Hua’s father or advising on the details, keeping himself very busy.
“He asked me to take Wednesday off to go sketching in the mountains with the teacher,” Hua Jie replied, looking up at Shen Mo and her father while gesturing with her pencil, pondering the composition for a while before beginning to draw.
“Why suddenly go out to sketch in such cold weather?” Shen Mo questioned.
“The teacher mentioned a national competition he wants us to participate in. Our paintings will be exhibited,” Hua Jie answered.
“The National Youth Art Competition? Like the one you joined in middle school? Where all the paintings are judged, and the winners get a golden bear trophy and are published in a book that costs 200 yuan each for us to buy back?” Hua’s father asked.
“…No, it’s something more adult-like,” Hua Jie said.
“Is there a prize money?” Hua’s father inquired.
“…Ah, I don’t know, I didn’t ask,” Hua Jie replied.
“Children are just children,” Hua’s father commented.
“People’s children win awards because it’s an honor, how come you only think about money,” Hua’s mother interjected.
After a brief chat, everyone focused back on their tasks.
Though the work seemed hard, no one felt tired; everyone was enthusiastic, finding enjoyment amidst the busyness.
Hua Jie’s pen moved swiftly over the paper, pausing now and then.
She was drawing slower than usual, pondering more with each stroke, thinking deeper.
In her mind, the last sentence Shen Teacher had said over the phone kept resurfacing, making her blood boil as she painted more.
The teacher had said:
“I hope that by the end of this year, your watercolors will be as excellent as your gouaches.”
With only one month left in the solar year, how much could she improve?
It had taken her over a decade in her past life to reach such a level with gouache.
This life was built on the past foundation; how much quicker could she progress?
How much could she improve her watercolor skills in one month?
Over the past month, she had been ceaselessly painting still lifes, repeatedly drawing apples, pears, cups, clear glasses, reflective glasses, and various other objects…
Now, the teacher’s assessment of her was that she had basically mastered the basic techniques of watercolor and the integration of the whole painting. What she needed to learn next was the more skillful and mature techniques for artistic expression—
Whether it’s the expression of structure, light and shadow, or emotion.
To be as effortless with watercolor as with gouache, how long would that training and accumulation take?
As she painted, she bit her lower lip, her eyebrows slightly furrowed, revealing a rather stressed expression.
Shen Mo glanced up occasionally and saw the backlit girl sitting there, frowning as she painted.
Her soft hair floated in the backlight, as if it would detach from her head and drift towards the brightly lit outdoors, looking exceptionally cute and fluffy.
The backlight deepened her facial features; when she opened her eyes, the shadows cast by her eyelashes seemed to outline thick eyeliner, adding a touch of allure.
Somewhere along the line, even if she changed her hairstyle, he could still recognize her.
Changing clothes was no worry, tying her hair was no fear, he knew her face.
Her long willow-leaf eyebrows, large cat-like eyes, a small and delicate nose which looked particularly good from the side with its straight bridge.
And those soft, plump lips, especially the meaty lower lip, quite unlike many others.
She was truly delicately crafted, like the finest carpenter’s most exquisite carving, every detail seemed perfectly tapped into place to him.
Shen Mo felt she must be the most beautiful in the crowd; otherwise, why would he remember only her?
They had only been together for just over three months; it had taken him nearly a year to remember Zhao Xiaolei.
The girl’s focused demeanor was somewhat special, more serious than usual, as if her temperament had also undergone some subtle changes.
Less warmth, more a sharpness of marching forward.
As he watched, lost in thought, someone suddenly tapped his shoulder.
Shen Mo turned around, and Hua’s father pointed at the wood and said:
“Press down on it, don’t let it go crooked.”
“Oh.” The youth hurriedly lowered his gaze.
For a moment, he seemed somewhat guilty, and the usual arrogance and carelessness seemed to have faded significantly.
…
In Hua Jie’s painting, Shen Mo’s leg was raised high as he stepped on the wood, both hands sawing, just about to cut through it.
His long eyes were slightly downcast, focused on the falling wooden joint, his bangs partially covering his eyes and brows, yet his handsomeness was not hidden; instead, the partial concealment made him appear even more mysterious and charming.
His leg pressing on the wood tensed the upper part of his track pants, and his sweater outlined his muscular arms as he exerted force. The youth’s broad shoulders and powerful, youthful body.
And those large hands holding the saw, with fair wheatish skin, well-defined knuckles, long fingers, and neatly trimmed nails, were hard to look away from.
Is it that handsome people are just good-looking everywhere?
On the other side, Hua’s father leaned against the sofa armrest, one foot propped on the armrest, placing a piece of wood needing carving on his thigh, focused on carving along the pencil lines he had drawn.
Wood shavings flew around as the auspicious patterns began to emerge halfway.
Middle-aged, his youthful handsome features could still be discerned from his facial structure.
The wrinkles around his eyes and lips were traces left by time, each telling a story.
His rough fingers gripped the delicate carving knife, performing some of the finest craftsmanship.
His fingernails were plump, resembling her larger-sized, fuller, and thicker nails.
In the painting, the two men, neither aligned horizontally nor vertically, created a wonderful spatial tension.
Shen Mo was closer to the window, with most of his body bathed in the sunset.
Hua’s father was near the wall, illuminated only by indoor lighting.
The different lighting on them even gave the illusion that they were not in the same space-time.
It was as if the same carpenter at different ages met in a strange space.
Neither was looking at the other, yet there was a wonderful sense of harmony.
Water permeated the paper, darkening as the shadow spread outward with the water, engulfed by the night swallowing the light as the sun set.
The final artwork wasn’t bright, devoid of large blank spaces or warm tones.
But the golden sunset that edged the youth and the somewhat blurred soft strokes under the indoor light, along with the unclear edges of Hua’s father, rendered the painting warm and harmonious.
Despite depicting two people hard at work, it conveyed a sense of comfort.
That comfortable atmosphere was vividly presented in the tranquil painting, through colors, strokes, and meticulous handling of various key parts.
She set down the brush, blowing on the still-wet painting, causing the paint to splatter in a pattern.
This was her first real A4-sized, on-the-spot watercolor portrait featuring two people.
She had done character studies and small-scale watercolor figures before, but those were practices, with learning outweighing presentation.
This piece was different; she had sat meticulously all afternoon, carefully planning and detailing. Although there were many mistakes and errors in steps, the finished work was her best recent piece.
A slight smile curved at her lips; her fingers brushed over the painting, feeling a warmth inside.
This was probably what reaping rewards felt like—after days and months of learning, enduring countless mistakes and failures, amid dissatisfaction, she gradually harvested growth and a faint satisfaction.
Keep it up, little Hua Jie.
Progress faster, even faster!
….
During dinner time, Hua’s father put down his carving knife, shook his wrists, and placed the newly carved furniture component alongside other finished pieces.
Hua Jie set her painting aside, walked over to her father, pressed him down onto the sofa, and kneeled on the couch to massage his back and wrists.
Shen Mo glanced at her, sauntered over to her painting laid on a small stool, looked down at it for a while, and then said:
“It’s better than what my dad paints.”
“…” Hua Jie was speechless, “Please don’t let others hear you say that; they might think I’m overestimating my abilities.”