In the name of color

Gu Nanxiao put down his palette and scraper, and looked out the window at the clouds dyed a brilliant orange-red by the setting sun, like burning flames. His eyes became somewhat distant and empty, as if he saw something not so beautiful from a long time ago through the warm and magnificent scenery before him.

His voice was so soft that it almost blended into the silence of the studio. It carried a heavy sense of relief, like a sigh of helplessness, almost inaudible: "Then...something happened, and I stopped painting."

There was a gloom and...heaviness in his tone that Jiang Yile couldn't describe accurately, but could clearly feel.

It was not just the regret of not painting anymore, but more like a forced and painful separation, closely linked to some deep and unpleasant memories, like a scar that did not heal well.

Is it family opposition?

Or...some other, more serious reason?

Jiang Yile didn't dare to think about it anymore, nor did he dare to ask any further questions, for fear of accidentally stepping into a deeper minefield.

She keenly sensed his sudden drop in mood and the faint gloom that enveloped him again, so she considerately did not ask any further questions.

Everyone has their own secrets and corners that they don't want to touch. She respects his silence, just as she hopes others respect the little secrets of her body.

She then talked about the interesting things that happened when she was learning to paint, such as the first time she got paint all over herself as a child and was scolded by her mother in a both angry and funny way; how she could sit still for an entire afternoon just to paint a still life; how she felt irritable when she encountered a bottleneck and how ecstatic she felt after a breakthrough... She tried to use these light-hearted topics to dispel the slightly heavy atmosphere and bring sunshine back into the studio.

The studio became quiet again, with only the rustling sound of the brush painting on the canvas, like spring silkworms eating leaves, soft and continuous, mixed with the inaudible breathing of each other.

Outside the window, the returning birds chirped their last, contented calls.

In the distance, the vague shouts of young athletes on the playground can be heard faintly, but these sounds seem to be isolated from this small world full of artistic atmosphere, colorful colors and subtle emotional flows.

Jiang Yile continued to perfect a sycamore leaf with his head down, trying to capture the subtle changes in the flow of light and shadow between the leaf veins.

As I was painting, I became a little absent-minded.

Her eyes fell again on Gu Nanxiao's hands which were helping her change the background color tone.

His fingers are long, with distinct joints but not thick, and his nails are neatly trimmed. He holds the paintbrush in a stable and beautiful posture, and his wrist turns flexibly, allowing the tip of the brush to leave just the right amount of vibrant colors on the canvas.

Looking at those hands, at his focused and gentle profile in the warm light and shadow, at his eyebrows that occasionally relaxed slightly as he found the right color, a thought suddenly and strongly emerged from the depths of his heart, like a bamboo shoot breaking through the ground, with a force that could not be ignored -

She wanted to draw him.

It is not the casual, dynamic lines in a sketchbook, but a formal, complete, and painstakingly crafted portrait, capturing the rare, tranquil, real, and even fragile beauty of his state as he temporarily sheds his cold outer shell amidst the unique light and shadow of the studio.

She wanted to capture this unique moment that touched her heart forever on the canvas with colors and lines, freezing this autumn, this evening, and this silent boy who made her heart beat.

The thought came so suddenly and strongly that her heart skipped a beat, and the palm of her hand holding the paintbrush was slightly sweaty and damp.

The thought came so suddenly and strongly that her heart skipped a beat, and the palm of her hand holding the paintbrush was slightly sweaty and damp.

She took a deep breath, suppressed her anxiety and shyness, and spoke softly while her courage was still there. Her voice was exceptionally clear in the quiet studio, even carrying a faint echo:

"Gu Nanxiao," she called his name. He turned and looked at her questioningly, his eyes still tinged with concentration. The caution he had used to blend the colors just now still lingered in his dark jade eyes. "After the art festival is over, can I... paint a portrait for you?"

The moment the words fell, the air in the studio seemed to freeze suddenly; even the subtle sound of the wind and the distant noise outside the window disappeared.

Gu Nanxiao turned his head suddenly, no longer with the calm and slightly inquiring look as before, but with a clear and undisguised surprise!

It was like a huge rock was suddenly thrown into a calm deep lake, causing huge waves and chaotic ripples.

He looked at her, his dark pupils contracted violently, and extremely complicated emotions surged in them - there was undisguised surprise, deep confusion, a hint of bewilderment, and... something that Jiang Yile couldn't understand, something like struggle, panic, or even... the pain of being touched?

That look seemed to say: Why are you painting me? I don't deserve to be watched and recorded like this.

It was as if what she asked was not a simple, appreciative request for a painting, but an interrogation that touched the scars of his soul and pried into his inner secrets.

Time seemed to be infinitely stretched at this moment, and every second was like slowly dripping turpentine, sticky and heavy.

The light of the setting sun moved across his face, illuminating every subtle, uncontrolled change in his expression with incredible clarity: his pale complexion, his suddenly tense jawline, and the surging, almost overflowing intense emotion in his eyes.

His lips moved slightly, as if he wanted to say something, wanted to refuse, wanted to question, but it was as if something was strangling his throat and he couldn't make any sound.

Those eyes that were always calm and bottomless now seemed to have stirred up a violent storm, with all kinds of emotions colliding and fighting fiercely in them, showing the great shock in his heart.

His fingers gripping the paintbrush tightened unconsciously, his knuckles turning a bloodless white from the force, as if he was about to crush the poor paintbrush.

Jiang Yile was frightened by his violent and abnormal reaction, and his heart sank.

She hadn't expected that a seemingly simple, heartfelt request would cause him such shock and...resistance.

She began to regret her abruptness and rashness. Did she cross the line?

Did he accidentally touch some heavy forbidden area that he didn't want to be touched?

About his past, about why he stopped painting?

She opened her mouth, wanting to take back what she had just said. Her voice was clearly flustered and apologetic, and she spoke faster: "Well... if you don't want to, just pretend I didn't..."

.

She wanted to say, "Just pretend I didn't say that," in an attempt to save the awkward and tense situation.

"good."

A voice so low and almost hoarse, as if squeezed out from the depths of her throat, interrupted her unfinished words.

Gu Nanxiao looked at her, and the turbulent waves in his eyes seemed to be suppressed by a strong willpower as he said this word, and returned to a bottomless, almost sad silence. But beneath that silence, there seemed to be a more turbulent undercurrent surging wildly, about to break through the dam.

He nodded slowly, almost imperceptibly, his movements stiff.

"good."

He repeated it again, his voice clearer than before, but with a complex, almost compromising, and even a hint of determination, as if he had made an extremely difficult decision that required all his courage.

Jiang Yile was stunned. He couldn't react for a moment and his mind went blank.

She looked at him. The astonishment and pain on his face had quickly faded, replaced by a deep calmness that she could not fully understand, as if he was carrying a heavy burden.

Did he agree?

When she thought he would flatly refuse and might even become more distant from her, he actually agreed?

This was better than the best outcome she had expected, but his expression, as if he was being judged, or even a little bit like being sacrificed, made her heart inexplicably tight. She did not feel the joy she had expected, but instead a sense of uneasiness.

"Really...really?"

She asked uncertainly, her voice soft and tentative, afraid of disturbing anything.

"Um."

Gu Nanxiao looked away, no longer meeting her gaze, and looked back at the warm-colored "Autumn Whispers" in front of him, which was almost completed. He picked up the paintbrush, as if the violent and uncontrollable emotional fluctuation just now had never happened. However, his slightly tense shoulders and the fingers that were still tightly holding the paintbrush still revealed his inner unrest.

"Draw it."

He added, his tone becoming cold again, as if he was talking about something that had nothing to do with him.

Although his attitude became cold again, the heavy word "good" fell into Jiang Yile's heart like a seed full of vitality, and began to take root and sprout quietly.

She looked at his profile, which had regained its composure but seemed even lonelier, and her heart was filled with all kinds of questions, but more of a complex emotion, a mixture of unexpected surprise, deep confusion, and some secret expectation.

She didn't know why he finally agreed to her after such a fierce inner struggle.

Is it because you don't want to embarrass her?

Or is it because... he is also looking forward to something?

She also didn't know what kind of heavy worries and painful struggles he had behind this seemingly simple word "good".

She just vaguely felt that the invisible thin ice between them seemed to have been cracked by a subtle but deep crack because of the quiet time they spent together in the studio and this sudden, heavy-hearted agreement.

There is more light trying to penetrate through the crack, illuminating his deep world and her ignorant thoughts.

In the studio, the afterglow of the setting sun stretched the shadows of the two people long on the paint-stained floor, quietly intertwining them.

The rustling sound of the brush hitting the canvas rang out again, mixed with the barely audible but rhythmic breathing of each other, forming a quiet and unique melody that belonged only to the two of them.

The painting for the art festival has begun to take shape thanks to the tacit and efficient cooperation of the two. The golden sycamore leaves shine with a warm and rich luster on the canvas, and you can almost hear the rustling sound of the autumn wind blowing through the leaves.

Another portrait painting, which has not yet begun, has already quietly spread out a white canvas in Jiang Yile's heart, waiting for the arrival of color, and also foreshadowing a deeper but more tortuous emotional entanglement.

But she didn't know at the moment that this painting would not only be a portrait, but also a key that would completely change the trajectory of their destiny.