Chapter 11 Green Malachite
Ningma held a calligraphy brush in her hand, circling around seven or eight small dishes of various colors. After hanging up the phone, she drew back the heavy curtains of her studio.
Ningma's eyes widened, and he muttered to himself, "It really is a sandstorm..."
She rinsed the pen clean, washed her hands, and put on the remaining mask in the studio.
Ningma braved the fierce sandstorm to go out. She had to ride her electric scooter back home, albeit shakily, before driving over to pick up Zhou Qiyan.
It was this phone call that made Ningma realize that she had given Zhou Qiyan free time today, but hadn't given him the car.
Why doesn't he mention it?
Ningma inexplicably felt a little apologetic.
Just as Ningma got into the driver's seat and started the engine, she received another message from the art department. Due to the sandstorm, the meeting had been postponed from tonight to be rescheduled.
Ningma breathed a sigh of relief. She had been worried that picking up Zhou Qiyan would take an hour round trip, and she wouldn't have time to finish the drawing.
That's perfect.
Ningma brushed the sand off the windshield and slowly set off.
On a clear day, it doesn't get dark in Dunhuang until sunset, but when a sandstorm comes, the yellow sand obscures the sun, and the sky becomes gloomy.
Ningma pulled over and waited for Zhou Qiyan to come out at the museum entrance.
I've been taking Zhou Qiyan to see the caves these past few days, it's been very strenuous. Today I painted for so long, and now my back is incredibly sore, and even my lower abdomen is a little sore.
Ningma checked her phone calendar and realized that her period might start tomorrow.
No wonder.
Ningma sighed, looked up again through the car window, and searched for Zhou Qiyan among the people who had come out.
But in the end, it was discovered that even with such low visibility, Zhou Qiyan was still very conspicuous.
He was still dressed in light colors today, and with his head down, he used a black and white scarf to cover his mouth and nose from the wind and sand as he walked briskly toward Ningma.
The most monotonous color is most clearly visible in the dim light.
As Zhou Qiyan drew closer, opened the car door, and got in, he brought with him the smell of sand. The scarf must have been bought from the museum's souvenir shop; he casually shook the sand off, a natural and practiced motion.
Ningma burst out laughing.
Zhou Qiyan looked up at her, raised an eyebrow, and remained silent.
Ningma explained, "Suddenly I feel that you..." She tilted her head, thought for a moment, "are down-to-earth."
The way he shakes the sand looks exactly like the locals.
Ningma added, "I thought you would rest at the hotel or go to Mingsha Mountain. Why did you come to the museum?"
"You should have asked me that this morning," Zhou Qiyan glanced at her. "Who hung up so abruptly?"
Ningma immediately fell silent.
Five minutes later, the car was driving steadily on the road.
All the drivers drove cautiously, their red taillights flashing, looking like some kind of red-eyed monsters in the yellow sand.
"Shall we go back to the hotel?" Ningma asked Zhou Qiyan.
"I don't want to go back," he replied casually. "I want to be with you."
Ningma gripped the steering wheel tightly.
Zhou Qiyan continued to droop his eyelids and slowly uttered the second half of his sentence: "It was quite boring being alone this morning. I felt like I didn't do anything."
Ningma breathed a sigh of relief—thankfully everyone was driving slowly and keeping a safe distance, otherwise he would have been terrified and rear-ended.
But for some reason, Ningma felt as if a line of tiny ants were crawling across her chest, a sensation that was both numb and itchy...
After driving for a while longer, I wanted to say something. But when I turned around, I found that Zhou Qiyan had fallen asleep leaning back in his chair.
Perhaps because of the dim light, he was sleeping soundly, making one reluctant to disturb him.
Ningma sighed and continued to work silently as the young master's coachman.
Just as the car was turned off, Ningma looked at him, hesitating whether to wake him up. Zhou Qiyan suddenly woke up on his own, and his eyes met those of the hesitant Ningma.
His eyes were dark and unfathomable, staring at Ningma until her mind went blank for a moment.
Zhou Qiyan straightened up and glanced out the window, but the yellow sand stretched endlessly, and he couldn't see anything clearly.
He asked, "Where is this?"
“Research Institute,” Ningma answered honestly.
Zhou Qiyan understood: "You haven't finished your work yet?"
Ningma gestured and pinched her fingertips together: "There's only a little bit left."
Ningma unbuckled her seatbelt: "You said you weren't going back to the hotel, so I had no choice but to bring you here."
The parking lot was some distance from the office area, and Zhou Qiyan covered his face with his scarf again.
But Ningma turned around and pulled a helmet from behind the driver's seat and put it on.
Zhou Qiyan was shocked and respectful, but upon closer reflection, he thought the helmet was quite ingenious at blocking the sand.
He thought and thought for a while, then spoke up from inside his scarf: "Why didn't you bring me a helmet?"
Inside the helmet, Ningma stared wide-eyed, pointing to her head: "Are you sure?"
Wearing a helmet while riding a bike is fine, but wearing a helmet while walking is... a bit silly.
Zhou Qiyan laughed, his drowsiness vanishing.
The two ran into the office building and brushed the sand off their bodies at the entrance.
“Put your hair down, your scarf isn’t even covering your head,” Ningma said.
Zhou Qiyan ran his fingers through his hair roots and could indeed feel the texture of fine grime, like he had used a scalp scrub.
He bluntly said, "You take the picture for me."
As he spoke, Zhou Qiyan lowered his head towards her, revealing the back of his neck.
Ningma was stunned, but his hair looked very fluffy, and after looking at it for a while, you really wanted to pluck it.
She hesitated, then slowly reached out and gently brushed the ends of his hair, unsure if she had managed to remove the sand.
Ningma only knew that she could feel his body temperature in her hands.
Her fingers twitched slightly, then she suddenly grabbed the scarf from Zhou Qiyan's hand and roughly wrapped it around Zhou Qiyan's head a few times.
"Oh dear, your hair is too thick to take good pictures. Go back and wash your hair," Ningma said dismissively.
Then Ningma turned and left without lingering at the door. Zhou Qiyan smiled and followed her.
Nyingma's studio is small, with only a long table, but there are no paintings on it, only colorful little plates pressed on the felt.
Behind the long table was a shelf that almost reached the ceiling, piled high with paints, brushes, and rice paper, and even hung a huge set square. The shelf wasn't very tidy, but she always seemed to be able to find exactly what she wanted.
Nyingma also placed a large easel opposite the window, with a life-size painting of a Bodhisattva pinned to it, its compassionate eyes lowered. The cinnabar was vibrant, the lapis lazuli subdued, and there were still many blank spaces left.
It's probably not finished yet.
Only then did Zhou Qiyan realize that this was not a printed copy, but a painting by Ningma himself.
Ningma washed and dried her hands, then picked up the small dish on the table and used her fingertips to grind the bone glue and pigment together again.
There were no unnecessary formalities between the two. Ningma naturally began her unfinished work, and Zhou Qiyan naturally found a chair, sat down, and watched Ningma paint.
The curtains were drawn, and the fluorescent lights emitted a steady glow; time slipped by unnoticed.
Ningma filtered out the excess color from the tip of her brush, then suddenly paused, finally remembering Zhou Qiyan behind her.
She turned around and asked, "Are you bored?"
Zhou Qiyan propped his head up and replied, "It's alright." Actually, it wasn't boring at all; he even found it somewhat interesting.
He even suddenly understood why some people really enjoy watching live streams.
Zhou Qiyan watched as Ningma tilted her head back and raised her arms, sometimes moving closer and sometimes further away, slowly sketching and filling in the picture, a very peaceful and serene sight.
Just like the elm tree where he suddenly turned around yesterday and saw the seeds falling everywhere.
Zhou Qiyan couldn't remember the last time he had drawn a picture with pen and paper. He had done the same when he was a child.
But Nyingma mistook his emptiness and peace for boredom and daydreaming.
Ningma muttered, "Are all you people from outside really that easily bored? You even find traveling boring."
"What did you say?" Zhou Qiyan laughed.
“You don’t know how lucky you are,” Nyingma sighed. “Traveling is so great, I’ve never even traveled.”
Zhou Qiyan wanted to ask her why she didn't go, but quickly realized that his words were like asking, "Why don't they eat meat porridge?"
So he changed the question: "Where do you want to go?"
Ningma thought for a while and said seriously, "Anything is fine, I just want to go out and see more of the world."
Ningma believes that people will have more opportunities only by going out more.
If she hadn't traveled over mountains to go to school, she wouldn't have had the opportunity to work in Chengdu. If she hadn't worked in Chengdu, she wouldn't have met her aunt, and she wouldn't have come to Dunhuang.
Ningma snapped out of her daze, licked the last bit of paint from the dish with the tip of her brush, and continued painting.
But it's still a little short.
So she ended the conversation and said to Zhou Qiyan, "Since you're bored, come and help me grind the paint."
Ningma bent down and took out a small glass bottle from the drawer. Inside were green powdery bits. She poured the powder into a mortar and handed it to Zhou Qiyan.
Zhou Qiyan took it, poked at it with the pestle, looked at the familiar color, and asked, "Malachite?"
Now it was Ningma's turn to be shocked: "You know him?"
"I know a little about rock painting, but I've never actually done it."
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