Coastal Cultural Season and Foundation
Construction of the Port City Cultural Center is nearing completion.
In the early autumn of the port city, the sea breeze began to carry a chill. The final touches on the cultural center were underway. Hu Li, wearing a work vest, led the volunteers and engineering team, checking and adjusting each of the three installations. She bent down, carefully measuring the wind angle of the glass pane in "The Person Watching the Sea," her fingertips reddening from the friction as she adjusted the screws. She wiped the sweat from her brow with her sleeve, her gaze focused, as if trying to lock in any instability. She then squatted in front of the "Tide Wall," carefully aligning the scale lines and ensuring the gap between the wooden strips and the wall allowed for sufficient breathing space. Finally, she walked to the atrium of "Returning to the Light," repeatedly adjusting the distance between the light guide and the low-level lights. When the last light was turned on, the edge of the glass shimmered, as if pushing the night back. Hu Li breathed a long sigh of relief, knowing she could now complete the task. Someone on the team quietly took a picture of her back as she squatted in the shadows, feeling that this scene was more powerful than the exhibits themselves.
[The Early Autumn Coastal Cultural Season Opens at the Port City Cultural Center]
On the day of the cultural festival, flags fluttered outside the venue, and media cameras focused on it. Local leaders, foundation representatives, and business representatives stood on the stage. As the head of the Mu Foundation, Mu Tianlang delivered a speech under the spotlight, his tone cool and powerful: "This is not a one-off exhibition, but a long-tail project that allows the city to engage in dialogue with the sea. Public welfare and culture are not consumption, but new assets that can bring the sea breeze and people's hearts into the city."
His voice carried steadily to every corner of the venue. Some in the audience were busy taking notes, while others listened intently. Hu Li sat in the design team's section, her heart trembling with the echo of the microphone. She wasn't invited onto the stage until the host introduced the work. The spotlight shone on her, and all eyes turned to her instantly. She used simple language to describe how glass reads the wind, how wooden strips record the tides, and how light and shadow alternate between day and night. "These materials all come from the seaside, honestly recording the expression of the sea." Her voice wasn't loud, but it calmed everyone down.
Applause erupted, but the camera quickly returned to Mu Tianlang. Standing behind her, he added, "The design team's efforts have allowed more people to see the story of this city." His words acted like a shield, protecting her. The applause grew louder, and his calm, unhurried tone silenced the entire room.
As the event ended, the side corridor was briefly cleared. He put away his lapel microphone and paused for half a second beside her: "Long time no see."
She looked up, her gaze sweeping across the room like a passing breeze: "Missed me?"
He didn't tease, but said in a low and direct voice, "Yes."
Her smile deepened, and she lowered her voice: "I'm going back to Beijing in a few days. I need to pack my luggage and paintings, which is hard work."
He asked naturally, "Do you need any help?"
She turned her head to look at him: "Who will you send, or will you do it yourself?"
He paused for a moment, then said, "The two of you go and move it first. If I can spare the time, I'll go myself."
She nodded, as if putting a small stone into her pocket: "Then I'll send you the itinerary."
He added, "Don't force yourself, and don't push yourself too hard." She hummed in agreement, glanced back at him before turning away, her eyes flicking like a fox's tail, before leaving with the staff.
[Evening at the Mu Foundation Hall in Beijing]
A few days later, the Beijing Municipal Foundation's charity launch event began at its headquarters. Hu Li's artwork, "Little Lighthouse," hung in the center of the hall, serving as the main visual element for the charity project. The venue was filled with media and board members. Mu Tianlang stood at the front of the stage, the sole focus of attention. "This year, the foundation's funds will be invested in community education and coastal protection projects. We hope that charity is not just about donations, but is integrated with culture, tourism, and urban development."
Media outlets pressed further, asking, "With such a large investment, where are the returns? Can room bookings and brand traffic keep up?"
A reporter at the scene then asked, "How much actual transformation can the cultural season generate?"
Mu Tianlang's expression remained unchanged, but his speech, though steady, was longer than usual: "The Coastal Cultural Festival isn't a one-off expense; it brings a long-tail flow of individual tourists from the city. Hotel occupancy rates, restaurant revenue, and exposure—all of these generate returns. Collaboration between public welfare and culture isn't just about spending money; it's about building trust and influence. That's the benefit." His words were followed by a two-second silence, then some nodded, and reporters quickly took notes. The board members didn't press further.
The reporter asked for the third time, shifting the focus and becoming more pointed: "There are widespread rumors that Ms. Jiang Rouyin's relationship with the Mu family involves not only cooperation but also a marriage alliance. Is this true?"
The atmosphere inside the room became tense for a moment, with a series of flashes from cameras. Jiang Rouyin remained calm, a smile playing on her lips: "My collaboration with the Mu family is based on a shared professionalism and philosophy. As for the rumors, they are just rumors. I believe everyone is more concerned about how the charity work will be implemented." Her response was gentle yet measured, neither denying nor agreeing, leaving the topic hanging in the air.
Seeing the situation, the host immediately took over, steer the conversation back to the main topic, and direct the focus to the details of the public welfare project.
The focus then shifted to Hu Li on the side of the stage: "Designer Hu has recently been invited to an exhibition in France. Is this because of the resources of the Muller Group?"
Hu Li was gestured to approach the microphone by the host. She smiled slightly and said, "First of all, thank you to the Mu family for giving me the opportunity to showcase my work at the resort, and thank you, Mr. Mu, for appreciating my abilities. This invitation was extended by the curator to my work email address and has nothing to do with any corporate resources. I understand that everyone is concerned about resources and relationships, but I hope the focus will return to the artwork and the charity. Regarding the exhibition, I will explain the artwork at the exhibition venue. I will also step down as a designer after this season to focus on my personal creations." Her tone was gentle, but her words were sharp.
There were murmurs of admiration from the audience. She returned to the design team's seat, and the lights were brought back to the stage.
During the artwork presentation, Hu Licai was once again invited to the stage to explain the concept of "Little Lighthouse": "It was originally an installation at the Port City Cultural Center, symbolizing guidance. It was extended to the main visual for public welfare because the lighthouse always stands by the sea, reminding us not to forget our original direction." Her voice was clear and bright, with a lively and unrestrained quality.
From the crowd below, a familiar figure raised a hand in greeting—it was her senior from the design academy. He exchanged a brief greeting with her at the edge of the media area: "I just got back to Beijing and heard you were here. Emma also wrote to me, saying the early autumn exhibition is worth seeing." He added with a smile, "Want to go to Provence together?"
Hu Li nodded politely, but a hint of gust of wind seemed to flash in her eyes: "It depends on my schedule. If you're going, we'll meet at the exhibition." She left her words perfectly timed.
Under the stage lights, she and he stood on the same side, but far apart. To outsiders, she was just a junior designer, and he was the master. Their paths never crossed, yet they occasionally glanced at each other through the beams of light—she was certain he saw her; he knew she understood. Only she knew that at this moment, the aloofness he displayed under the cold lights of the stage, and the suppressed, wolf-like protectiveness he displayed in private, were the same person.
[Night at the Clubhouse Underground Parking Lot]
After the press conference ended, a cold wind blew in from the ramp. Hu Li was about to open the car door when someone behind him stopped.
He said, "Give me your hand."
She turned around, and in the dim white light, his coat was still a cool color. He grasped her fingertips, looked down and saw a small, old scratch on the back of her hand, and frowned: "Another busy day."
"Thank goodness. The glass didn't bite me." She looked up and smiled like a fox.
He pressed a bottle of room temperature water into her hand, his tone calm but no longer concise: "Drink a couple of sips before you get in the car. Drive carefully. Let me know when you get home."
She nodded: "You too. Don't keep the lights on tonight."
He seemed about to say something, paused for half a second, and simply raised his hand to tuck her sideburn behind her ear, his movements restrained. "Let's go."
"Okay." She got into the car, glanced at him one last time before starting the engine, and tapped the steering wheel twice with her fingertips, echoing his earlier rhythm. "Goodnight, Mr. Mu."
He gave a soft "hmm" and stepped aside. The car slowly drove off the slope, and he stood there until the red of the taillights was faded by the night wind.
Each person's own night
After the press conference ended, silence fell over Beijing that night.
As Mu Tianlang flipped through the board report in his office, Hu Li's name flashed across his mind's eye. His fingers paused, but he didn't dial her number. He knew he couldn't easily stray from this path, but his heart felt like it was on fire. The night outside was dark, and the noise of the city traffic acted like a soundproof barrier, making his breathing even heavier. He reached up and pinched the bridge of his nose, murmuring softly, "Wait a little longer."
Hu Li returned to her residence and first organized the photos from the cultural festival and foundation activities. The night air was still cool outside, so she half-opened the window to let the breeze carry away the smell of paint. A new email lay at the top of her inbox:
Theme: Provence Summer Group Exhibition | Formal Invitation We cordially invite you to participate in this year's autumn group exhibition. Number of works: 3–5…
After reading it, she didn't reply immediately. She turned to a new page in the book, first drawing a very straight line, then another one next to it—the two lines were so close they seemed to draw each other's gaze, yet they didn't overlap. She wrote in the corner: "Blank Space and Boundaries".
She spread a sticky note on the table, listed three important things, and then replied with two lines:
I'm willing to participate. I'll send you the proposal today.
Before sending it out, she picked out a few more images from the cultural center’s “Tide Wall” and “Back to the Light”, added a brief description, and sent them to Emma: “This is a project we just completed, and it still has the feel of the sea.”
Emma quickly replied: "The light is so pure. Your work can reach not only local audiences but also a wider audience. Early autumn in Provence is waiting."
She had just closed her email when her phone lit up with a sarcastic message from an anonymous account: "You only get noticed overseas because of the Mu family's reputation, right?"
She did not explain her personal matters, but only added a line to the automatic reply in her personal studio's email: "This joint exhibition is an invitation to personal creation and has nothing to do with company affairs; everything is subject to the works and the organizer's procedures."
After posting, she added a few small stars and a thin moon beside the two lines of "Blank Space and Boundary," as if to give herself a breathing space. She backed up the photo to her computer and finally wrote a line in her notes:
— Waiting for him to return, and also waiting for the next journey to begin.
She closed her laptop and went to the balcony. The night breeze carried the scent of osmanthus, and the distant lights blurred into a hazy blur. She raised her hand and gripped the railing tightly, quietly telling herself: Wherever I go, my work must first reach a wider audience.
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