Side Story: The Last Glance

A year later, in the height of summer. The heatwave was like thin glass clinging to the city walls, and the low groans of air conditioner units could be heard everywhere you went.

Hu Li's first major solo exhibition in China quietly opened in the second-floor exhibition hall of the Municipal Art Museum. There was no overwhelming publicity, only a clean poster—a gray wolf and a red fox, with their backs to the viewer, the setting sun burning the edges into a thin ring of gold; in the corner, a line of small print read: "Silent Run".

She wore a plain white dress, her hair neatly styled in a bun, and a silver fox tail earring tucked behind her ear. As she entered the exhibition hall, the air conditioning sent a cool breeze to her neck, and she unconsciously twirled the hem of her dress, as if trying to calm her emotions. The spotlights on the wall illuminated the edges of each painting.

The media crowded at the entrance. Microphones were handed out one by one.

"Teacher Hu, this topic is very special, and the emotional intensity is also very high—what was the inspiration for it?"

She smiled with her eyes lowered, her voice unhurried: "It comes from running in the past, and also from someone I can never catch up with again."

The sound of camera shutters was like rain. She didn't dodge, but kept her speech brief. Staff members led the crowd away, and she walked slowly along the exhibition line. Her steps were very light, as if afraid of disturbing something.

At the far end of the exhibition hall hangs a medium-sized oil painting—"The Last Glance." In the painting, a gray wolf and a red fox sit side by side on the edge of a cliff. In the distance, the forest and the sun are reduced to a few minimalist strokes, as still as the wind suspended in mid-air. The wolf's ears are pointed towards the fox, and the fox looks towards the setting sun; they are very close, yet neither turns back.

Someone stood in front of the painting for a long time. It was Jiang Rouyin.

She wore a dark blue suit, her shoulders perfectly straight, her makeup restrained. Standing before the painting, her gaze neither rose nor fell, she simply remained calm. She spoke, her tone even: "That wolf, it was him, wasn't it?"

Hu Li walked to her side, the dried scent of the paint still lingering on his fingertips, his eyes calm: "And that fox, it can only see the sunset, it will never look back."

The two women stood before the painting, one on the left and one on the right, separated by an invisible line. They did not embrace or exchange pleasantries, only offering a brief greeting.

"Congratulations," said Rouyin. "The art exhibition was a great success."

"Thank you for coming," Hu Li replied.

Rouyin looked at the painting for a while longer, then added softly, "He will see it."

Hu Li didn't take it. She gently tucked the silver hair behind her ear and turned to move on to the next picture. Rouyin nodded to her and slowly walked away from the crowd. Two people caught in the same storm, each heading towards different exits.

—

Afternoon, Mu Corporation headquarters. Sunlight slanted in through the cracks in the floor-to-ceiling windows, illuminating the entire tabletop. A recent photograph sat on the corner—him and Rouyin, their smiles dignified, their distance appropriate, like a standard answer. The frame was spotless, free of fingerprints.

What is truly right in front of your eyes is the painting hanging on the wall: "The Last Glance".

The cliff line in the painting is like a pulse that has been repeatedly drawn, becoming more and more serene the more you look at it. He leaned back in his chair, his cuffs tied tightly, and his knuckles tapped silently three times on the table, as if nodding to a rhythm he had memorized.

His phone screen lit up several times—messages from board members, suppliers, and media inquiries. He didn't reply, his gaze fixed on the edge of the setting sun. The light seemed to push in from afar, reaching his chest, and then stopping.

In the drawer lay an old pendant. It was silver, with a wolf and fox motif. The metal felt cool to the touch. He held the pendant in his palm, and soon the lines of his hand warmed the icy feel into a dull heat.

If we can never get close to each other again in this lifetime...

He said those words in his mind without making a sound, like tucking the back of a knife into his shirt, not letting anyone see it.

There was a knock on the door. Soft voice entered, her steps light: "The meeting is in ten minutes."

He hummed in agreement and adjusted the picture frame slightly to the left. Rouyin noticed the painting on the wall, paused, but didn't ask. She stood beside him, at a comfortable distance: "There's a media dinner tonight; I've already sent your message."

"Hard."

"I should." She turned to leave, then stopped. "The painting is very quiet."

He didn't answer. She didn't say much either, and the door closed softly. Only the rhythmic sound of the air conditioner and the still sunset in the painting remained in the room.

He put the pendant back in the drawer, pressed his knuckles on the edge of the table, as if making a knot in some belated thought.

—

Paris, late summer.

After the art exhibition closed, the noise in the corridor slowly subsided. Hu Li stood by a high window, outside which the Seine stretched the sunset into a thin veil. She removed her hairpin, and strands of hair fell over her shoulders like water.

Her fingers touched the side of her neck, brushing against a small pendant—not of a wolf or a fox, but a thin, luminous shape, like a beam of light encased in metal. She lowered her head and smiled, as if speaking to an echo only she could hear: "Some loves can only be admired from afar."

She tucked the pendant back into her collar and pushed the window a little wider. A gentle evening breeze drifted in through the thin curtains, carrying a faint scent of moisture and flowers. She gazed at the distant bridge, where someone had stopped and was looking up at a streetlamp.

"But I will always carry the light you gave me and keep going."

She closed the picture book, turned, and walked towards the exit. Her steps were steady, and she didn't look back.

—

[Bonus Chapter: Words That Cannot Be Spoken]

That same night, in Beijing. As darkness deepened, a few lights remained on in the building. Mu Tianlang sat at his desk, folded a half-written and then deleted letter in two, and put it in his drawer. The letter was short:

present:

I received your art book. You painted light so quietly.

Don't worry about me, I'm still the same—busy, cold, and resilient.

I have nothing else to say, I just want you to know: I've been watching you and you're doing well.

——Tianlang

He didn't send it, as he had done many times before. He knew that once certain words were spoken, they would be used against him and talked about.

A breeze blew through the thin floor-to-ceiling window, creating a barely audible gust. His phone on the table lit up briefly; it was a work-related schedule update. He turned it off.

The painting "The Last Glance" on the wall watched him silently. He put on his coat, walked to the door, and reached out to turn off the light. The room sank into darkness, leaving only the edge of the setting sun in the painting, as if it were still lit.

He did not take that light with him.