Chapter 01

Zou Ping sat by the window, gazing at the dim sky outside. The sun had vanished, the air seemed frozen, and her gaze rested on the distant horizon—there was nothing concrete there, only a formless emptiness, an indescribable silence. This silence seemed to echo her loss.

Perhaps intentionally, or perhaps unintentionally, Tang Yuchuan's name and face flashed through her mind and heart. It was such a profound presence, but now, like a bird disappearing into the clouds, it left a silent void, gently sliding towards the end of her memory.

She slowly closed her eyes, her fingers unconsciously resting on her sketchpad.

The paintbrush gave her space to escape, and the paintings were evidence of their existence and love.

In this vast world, Tang Yuchuan had once been so close, so close that he could be touched, but now, he was like air, elusive. She caressed the colors on the painting, trying to return to the once warm world, the world where he existed.

He is dead.

Zou Ping didn't know how to address him, and later on, as they interacted, she seemed to rarely address him by name.

Zou Ping always felt that no name was enough to describe what he meant to her. So she just called him by his name, a name that was both familiar and unfamiliar.

He's dead. Tang Yuchuan, he's dead!

For two years, she had never had the courage to touch that word: death.

It's not that she fears death itself, but that she fears the emptiness it brings.

That man was so deeply embedded in her life, penetrating her thoughts and burning her soul. He not only changed her paintings, but also her entire existence. He taught her how to see the world, how to find her place in this world full of noise and indifference.

She still remembered what she looked like at 20, a student from a small town who had been admitted to the Beijing Academy of Fine Arts. Her ideas were simple, almost childish. She had never imagined that in that distant world, the man who existed in financial magazines and lingered in art galleries and theaters, would suddenly walk out of the screen and enter her little world.

That day, Tang Yuchuan appeared in her life, as if it was some kind of fate that could not be questioned.

In her memory, he didn't seem particularly dazzling when they first met, nor did he try to attract her attention deliberately.

He seemed to be attending an event at school and happened to stop at the door of her studio.

He was a bystander, like a difficult model, looking rational, reasonable and unshakable. He just walked in and stood quietly in front of her painting, like an examiner, staring at the canvas tightly, without saying a word.

She lowered her head, holding the paintbrush in her hand, feeling as if he saw through her, her fragile, young, and uncertain self.

"Do you like drawing these?" he asked suddenly.

Zou Ping raised her head, a hint of hesitation in her eyes. Her gaze lingered on the unfinished canvas, where objects were neatly arranged and light and shadow intertwined. However, her heart had not yet truly settled.

Everything in the painting is the reality she is trying to capture, a true reflection of her daily life - the storefronts, the shadows on the street corners, and the dust drifting outside the window. These things constitute her life, and she relies on them to construct her own cognition.

"Well," she finally said, her tone calm, "just practicing."

Her gaze fell back on the canvas, and those familiar details gathered before her eyes, not for her artistic pursuit, but for a more practical need - life. She knew early on that she must find a path to self-reliance through these paintings.

Tang Yuchuan did not respond immediately, but just stood there, watching her paint quietly.

After a while, he turned and walked closer to her, causing her to involuntarily tighten the paintbrush in her hand.

"What you draw reflects your perception of the world, how you view it." His voice remained calm. "Perhaps you should ask yourself: why only focus on the surface? Why not explore the deeper aspects?"

Zou Ping was shocked.

She had never thought about it. She simply reproduced everything she saw as accurately as possible. This was her talent, and she knew it from a young age.

She had always believed that as long as her paintings were realistic enough, they were good, and if they were good enough, she could make money. She had never asked herself what was hidden behind every detail in her paintings, and whether there was any feeling or meaning behind them.

"The thing behind it?" she repeated, her voice low.

Tang Yuchuan nodded and turned his gaze to the distant window, as if he was thinking.

"Yes, why are you so obsessed with depicting these specific things? Is their meaning limited to their physical form in your eyes? You should ask yourself what your true thoughts are when you look at this world..."

Zou Ping fell silent. She couldn't help but begin to doubt all her previous efforts.

She has never thought about what is behind the canvas or the wider world. She has always lived in a small, self-imposed world, using the brush in her hand to construct everything she can reach.

But is meaning useful? Are feelings important? Can it provide her and her mother with a good life?

Tang Yuchuan noticed her hesitation and said softly, "Art shouldn't just be a tool for making money. It's a way for you to communicate with the world, and you should use it to perceive broader things."

Zou Ping frowned slightly, thinking, "Is this just the meat porridge?" Her world was so realistic, filled with trivial matters, her mother's expectations, market demands, and the pressure of survival. Every stroke she made was for practice, but also for the sake of earning the next income.

"I understand where you're coming from," he finally said after a moment's silence, his voice calm but full of concern. "Life sometimes leaves us with no time for anything else. When making a living becomes our only pursuit, we naturally devote all our time and attention to it. Your paintings are beautiful and detailed, and I can see your attention and dedication to these scenes."

His words were as soft as silk, slowly sliding into Zou Ping's heart, plucking a string she had never noticed.

She lowered her head and her gaze fell back on the unfinished canvas.

She paints these houses, street corners, lights, parts of a familiar world, the reality she relies on, the things she needs to sustain herself and cope with the daily grind. Yet Tang Yuchuan's tone makes these things seem insignificant, as if her long-held obsessions have become insignificant in the context of a broader perspective.

"But have you ever thought that perhaps your talents go far beyond this?" His voice once again broke the brief silence. "You paint very well and very accurately, but this is only the world in front of you. I think you can see more and feel more, not just for life, but for yourself."

Zou Ping's fingers unconsciously stroked the edge of the canvas. The rough texture made her feel at ease, as if the world still revolved around her and she was still in control.

But Tang Yuchuan's voice, like a river, slowly and unstoppably invaded her thoughts, gently pulling her out of the familiar reality and heading towards a deeper and more unforeseen direction.

"I understand your situation," he continued, his tone as gentle as an old friend, full of deep understanding. "Life isn't easy, especially when you have to rely entirely on your own strength. But you have a special talent, which I see and feel. If you are willing, I can help you and give you some financial support so that you don't have to worry about making a living for the time being. This way, you will have time to explore more possibilities and discover things that you haven't seen yet."

Zou Ping's heart trembled slightly. She hadn't expected Tang Yuchuan to make such a suggestion. She had always been accustomed to bearing the burden of life alone, and had never imagined that someone would take the initiative to offer her help. Especially not from someone like Tang Yuchuan. She didn't respond immediately, but remained silent for a while, trying to sort out her complicated emotions.

"Why?" she finally asked, her voice low but with a hint of defensiveness, "Why are you helping me?"

Tang Yuchuan smiled, lowering his head slightly, his eyes filled with gentleness and patience. "Because I value talent," he said, his words slow and firm. "I see your potential. I think you have the ability to create more than you have already, and I simply want to give you a chance to discover the worlds you haven't yet touched. This isn't charity, nor is it meant to change you. It's because I think you can go further."

Her heartbeat quickened, as if some unforeseen possibility had suddenly opened before her. Although she felt his words were sincere, devoid of any ulterior motive, she still felt a certain resistance. She wasn't used to accepting help from others, especially when she didn't fully understand their intentions.

"Thank you for your kindness," she shook her head gently, her tone gentle but firm, "but I can't accept it. I don't want to rely on others. I still hope to rely on my own efforts, even if this path will be slower."

Tang Yuchuan looked at her quietly, his eyes showing no disappointment, but rather admiration. He seemed to understand her every concern and respect her every decision. He smiled slightly, pulled a business card from his pocket, and gently placed it on her drawing table.

"I respect your choice," he said, his tone still gentle. "If you change your mind, you can always contact me. This business card is for you. You don't need to make a decision right away."

Zou Ping looked at the business card, her heart filled with mixed emotions. Although she still wanted to stick to her own way, Tang Yuchuan's appearance made her feel a sense of strength and support.

She felt his pointing and criticizing was a bit condescending, so she didn't accept it, but she was unconsciously attracted by his every move, so her heartbeat unconsciously accelerated. She gripped the pen in her hand a little tighter, and the pen core made a slight sound, as if responding to the rhythm of her heartbeat.

"Thank you," she said softly, her eyes returning to the canvas.