Living Together and Traveling: The Light of Provence
[Beijing Apartment Night]
Halfway through the meal, the hot soup was still steaming. Mu Tianlang put down his chopsticks and said in a low voice, "After we finish eating, I'll take you somewhere."
"Where?" She tilted her head back, her eyes crinkling at the corners.
He glanced at her, his tone calm: "I won't tell you yet. If you don't like it, just pretend I didn't make any plans."
After the meal, the steam from the soup and pepper still lingered outside the small restaurant. Mu Tianlang paid the bill and pulled her chair back for her.
Along the way, the neon lights outside the car window were thinned by the evening breeze, and the radio played old songs softly. He gripped the steering wheel, occasionally glancing at her, while she crossed her arms, like a fox whose appetite had been whetted, her lips never drooping.
The night breeze carried the coolness of early autumn, and the streetlights cast long, thin shadows. When the car stopped, he got out and walked around to her side to open the door for her. Hu Li followed Mu Tianlang into the quiet residential area. It wasn't far from the company, but it was far from the noisy main road, so quiet that you could hear the rustling of leaves in the wind.
Mu Tianlang opened the front door, and the lights automatically turned on. To the right of the entryway was a low sideboard, with only a black tray and a small potted plant on its dark wood panel; to the left was a floor-to-ceiling enclosed shoe cabinet and a shoe-changing stool. Further inside, the living room and dining area were connected, with floor-to-ceiling windows bringing the night into the house. By the window was a row of custom-made bookshelves and display cabinets, with several architectural yearbooks and black-and-white photographs arranged alternately, the shelves left empty, as if waiting for a new owner to place their stories there; around the corner extended into the open kitchen, with a simple induction cooktop and partial LED strip lighting embedded in the island, the intersection of metal and stone cold yet clean and crisp.
He placed the key on the tray on the sideboard in the entryway, his tone unusually gentle: "I've prepared an apartment here, and I'd like... to live with you. I don't need you to agree now, I just want us to have a home together." He was always very assertive, and he swallowed back the words "we'll live here from now on," replacing them with more conversational phrases. He knew he couldn't force her to do something she didn't want to do.
Hu Li blinked, her gaze sweeping across the space. The decor was simple and austere, dominated by black, white, and gray. Track lighting was installed on the wall behind the sofa, seemingly a deliberate choice for displaying artwork; the display cases contained only two or three minimalist pieces, leaving large blank spaces. She walked to the island counter, her fingertips tracing the stone surface, a smile playing on her lips: "A strong sense of home advantage, but—" She looked up at him, "These empty spaces, are they for me?"
He stood behind her, his shadow looming over her, his Adam's apple bobbing slightly. "I can be forceful, but I want you to do it willingly. Put your art books in that empty space on the bookshelf, and you can decide what to put in the display case; I originally chose a four-seater dining table, but if you think it's too small, we'll change it to a six-seater. Tell me whichever you prefer."
She turned to face him, her eyes sparkling, and teased him by lifting her chin: "Foxes aren't kept in captivity."
He chuckled and pulled her fingers closer: "So, are we going to live together, or should I keep waiting?"
Hu Li withdrew his hand, his fingertips tracing a small circle across Hu Li's palm: "Let me think about it."
He nodded, took a step back, and said in a restrained tone, "Okay. I'll wait for you."
——
[The night before leaving for Beijing]
The suitcase lay half-open on the carpet, and the room was filled with picture books, adapters, and a coat for the trip. Hu Li sat on the edge of the bed, stuffed a few snapshots he had taken of her life into her small wallet, and looked up at him with a smile: "I'll take you to the South of France."
Mu Tianlang leaned against the doorframe, his tone calm yet steady: "Let me know when you arrive. If you don't like the place, move out immediately. If you miss home, come back."
She walked up to him, wrapped her arms around his neck, and gently pressed her forehead against his: "I will miss you, but I will also look at the world with care. Wait for me to come back."
He lowered his head and kissed her forehead, his voice low and almost a whisper: "I'm more afraid of going crazy thinking about you."
Hu Li felt a lump in his throat, but still smiled, twirling his finger around Hu Li's shoulder: "A farewell during the honeymoon phase should be sweet, not so heavy."
He reached out and hugged her tightly, saying in a deep voice, "It's sweet, but I still can't bear to part with her."
She leaned against his chest, feeling his heart pounding, and replied in a muffled voice, "Then let's hug a little longer."
He nodded, his fingertip pausing briefly at her hairline: "I'll wait for you."
[Departure Day at Beijing Airport]
The departure hall was brightly lit but cold. Hu Li, dragging her suitcase, stopped in front of the security checkpoint and turned back. Mu Tianlang stood outside the crowd, met her gaze for a moment, reached out to straighten her scarf, and said in a low, husky voice, "Let me know when you arrive."
She smiled and nodded, then suddenly tiptoed and planted a kiss on his cheek, whispering, "Don't miss me too much."
The crowd slowly pushed her toward security. He stood still, only raising his hand at the last moment, his fingertips making a very light imprint—as if pressing her shadow onto his heart. She smiled, gave a small "OK" sign, and turned to leave.
A cell phone camera quietly lit up and then went out in the corner.
——
[Afternoon at the Mu's headquarters in Beijing]
The meeting had just ended, and only the crisp sound of heels tapping on the marble floor remained in the corridor. My phone vibrated; it was Jiang Rouyin calling.
"Were you secretly photographed?" she asked bluntly.
Mu Tianlang stopped, lowering his voice: "What do you mean?"
"Paparazzi captured images of you seeing her off at the airport. According to my journalist friends, several entertainment media outlets are scheduling their appearances. You've been negotiating collaborations recently, which might be used as material for your stories."
Mu Tianlang paused for two seconds, then said, "I understand, thank you."
"I'm not being nosy, I just don't want your private affairs to be written about indiscriminately." She said calmly and hung up.
He put down his phone, rubbed his temples, and called his assistant: "Go and calm her down. First, file a report with a law firm. Make sure she knows the source, copyright, and composition distance. Don't let her come back and see this mess."
——
Provence, in southern France
Huli plans to stay in Provence for a month. In the days leading up to the exhibition, while helping with the setup, she also took time, led by Emma, to attend gatherings with artists from nearby wineries. Some were creating light and shadow installations in an abandoned church, while others were sketching passersby at a market. Walking among the grapevines in the afternoon, the wind billowed her sleeves, and a winery owner offered her some freshly made wine. Emma laughed at her, saying she looked like a curious fox, to which Huli responded with a wink: "Foxes only care about interesting things."
On the evening of the third day, Zhang Qijie transferred from Lyon, saying he had just finished discussing a collaboration and stopped by to see her. Emma misunderstood their relationship and smiled as she told her colleagues, "Her boyfriend has arrived." Hu Li chuckled and shook his head, "Senior." Zhang Qijie also chimed in, "It's an honor to be her senior and friend." The misunderstanding quickly dissipated.
Life settled down in this atmosphere. Hu Li was busy preparing for the exhibition during the day, and returned to the guesthouse at night. The wind blew through the gaps in the blinds, and the paper rustled. She spread the sketches she had made during the day on the table, applied a thin layer of mineral blue to the sketch paper, and outlined a hazy silhouette of water ripples and distant mountains. She used the picture instead of words to leave that calm feeling on the paper.
The exhibition opening day finally arrived. Against the backdrop of cobblestone paths and limestone walls, the exhibition hall lights came on, and Hu Li's works shimmered under the spotlight. Crowds poured in, and she was surrounded by visitors asking about her inspiration. She answered confidently, earning applause. Curator Emma introduced the guests and led her to several local artists for discussions. A few hours later, a gallery curator from Paris approached, sincerely handing her his business card: "Ms. Hu, I really like your style. If there's an opportunity in the future, I hope to collaborate with you." She accepted the card and replied, "I look forward to it."
During the ten-day exhibition, her work was highly praised, and she received invitations from numerous galleries. As applause rang out, she felt for the first time that her name was remembered, that she was no longer just an appendage to someone else, but an independent creator.
One evening, the orange-gold sunset bathed the hillside. She sat on the stone steps, opened her phone, and looked at her chat with Mu Tianlang, which ended at the airport line, "Let me know when you arrive." Her finger hovered for a long time before finally typing: "[I've made up my mind. When we get back, let's try living together.]"
The moment she sent the message, she felt a pang of nervousness, like a needle piercing her heart. Soon, the screen lit up with his reply: [Received. Waiting for you at home.] She had originally planned to stay an extra week after the exhibition, packing her artwork and connecting with local artist friends, but now she suddenly changed her mind—closing her portfolio, she began packing her bags, preparing to fly back to Beijing early. She didn't tell him the exact time, but instead sent another message: [Come to my house early the day after tomorrow evening; I have a package arriving that day, please receive it for me.] She pressed send, a smile playing on her lips—this time, it was her turn to surprise him.
[Huli Apartment, Beijing]
The plane landed ahead of schedule. Around noon, she dragged her suitcase back to her apartment, first opening the window to let in some fresh air, then changing out of her travel clothes. She cleaned up the wisps of dust in the room, the little notes on the table, and the dried flowers in the cup. She only unpacked half of her luggage, deliberately leaving the other half unpacked, as if temporarily hiding the scent of her distant home in a corner.
She tied her hair up simply, put on an apron, and went to the supermarket to pick up some fresh ingredients. In the kitchen, a low flame simmered, the soup bubbled, and tomatoes and herbs slowly released their aroma; the baguette in the oven was gradually crisping. She arranged two sets of cutlery on the counter and adjusted the living room lights to a soft color temperature. With each task she completed, she couldn't help but wonder: what would he see first when he opened the door? Would he smell the aroma first, or see her first? Would he frown first, or smile first?
Time seemed to stretch out. At 5:45, she tied her hair up even more neatly again and applied a touch of color to her lips. At exactly 6:00, the lock turned and the door opened.
She took a deep breath and didn't speak immediately, letting the soft sound of the door opening linger in the room for two seconds before quickly walking over.
The person outside was always punctual. She turned the lock, and the moment the door opened, the living room lights were already on, and a rhythmic rustling sound came from the kitchen. Mu Tianlang was taken aback at first, then smelled the warm aroma in the air, and saw her standing in the entryway—an apron tied around her waist, her eyes shining like the moonlight that had just fallen to the ground.
His Adam's apple bobbed slightly, his voice low and menacing: "Fox?" He took a step forward, placing his palm on her waist, pulling her firmly into a tight embrace, his eyes filled with the longing and unease of the journey: "When did you return? Why didn't you tell me?"
She pointed into the house, smiling brightly, "Welcome home. I wanted to see you just in time." She pulled him inside, took his coat and hung it up, her voice light but trembling slightly, "I missed you."
He lowered his head and kissed the top of her head, his voice even lower: "I missed you more." His fingertips slid down her cheek to her chin, as if to make sure she was really standing there.
The fire in the kitchen was still simmering. She scooped up a spoonful of soup, blew on it to cool it, and brought it to his lips: "Try it first."
He drank it, and his expression finally relaxed: "It tastes like home."
She held his hand, their fingers intertwined, and looked up at him: "From now on, the sooner you come back, the sooner I'll start cooking."
He hummed in agreement, pulled her into his arms, and pressed his forehead against hers: "Don't disappear suddenly again."
She laughed: "I haven't disappeared. I'm back."
He stared at her, as if still not satisfied, and finally planted a kiss on her forehead, saying in a hoarse voice, "Welcome back. Let's eat, and then—make up for the hug you owe me."
——
[Early Winter in My New Home in Beijing]
Fallen leaves carpeted the streets, and the temperature gradually turned cold. Hu Li draped his coat over the back of a chair and squatted down to unpack box after box. Books, paints, brushes, daily necessities... everything was being moved into this place that would soon be "their home."
Mu Tianlang pushed open the door, carrying the newly purchased coffee machine. Seeing the mess on the floor, he frowned slightly: "You have too much stuff."
Hu Li looked up, still holding a stack of picture books in his hand, and retorted with a grin: "Who told you to live with a fox? A fox's den should be full of holes, of course."
He walked over, took the sketchbook from her hand, and whispered, "What a mess."
She raised an eyebrow, her tone light: "Isn't chaos what creates warmth?"
Together, they hung paintings, installed lights, and chose colors for the walls. When picking out a rug, he pointed to a dark gray cashmere one, but she picked up a warm beige one. He wanted to say, "Dark colors are more practical here," but stopped himself, asking instead, "Which one do you prefer?" She smiled, laid the two rugs on the floor to compare, and finally chose the beige one, turning to look at him. He nodded, "This one."
When choosing dining chairs, he habitually picked a minimalist metal model, while she pushed out a wooden, curved-back chair: "This one won't make you tired after sitting for a long time." He pondered for a moment: "How about a mixed style for the living and dining rooms?" She snapped her fingers: "Deal."
Hu Li insisted on hanging one of her paintings in the living room. He was initially silent, but eventually nodded and took out a level and nail gun. That night, she leaned against the sofa, watching him bend over to assemble the bookshelf, and suddenly felt that this moment was more real than any awards ceremony.
He suddenly stood up and waved down the corridor: "There's one more place I haven't shown you yet."
[Exclusive Art Studio for Your New Home]
Pushing open the innermost door, you first encounter a short transitional workspace. Against the wall is a row of stainless steel brush sinks and a tool table, with pegboards on the walls for nailing and hanging. Further in is a brightly lit studio—a floor-to-ceiling window lets in natural light, and to the right connects to a large balcony with a non-slip floor, allowing easels to be pushed directly outside for some fresh air. Three easels of different heights stand in the corner, and various brushes and paints are neatly arranged on a long table. The floor is covered with easy-to-clean, durable gray vinyl flooring.
"You have full authority to decide the layout here," he said, stepping aside to make room for me. "I only did the basics."
He pointed to a sealed glass door next to him: "This is the art storage room. It has independent temperature and humidity control, and the interior walls are all movable shelves. It can hold paintings up to 1.8 meters tall. I've already set the temperature control range. You can change it if you don't think it's suitable."
Hu Li stood by the window, gazing at the clouds and light illuminating half the city outside. Her fingertips lightly tapped the balcony doorknob, her eyes seeming to glisten with tears. She turned back, her tone restrained yet bright: "When did you start preparing?"
Mu Tianlang looked at her, his Adam's apple bobbing, his tone calm yet sincere: "You said you wanted to paint the light into that day."
She laughed, walked back to him, and poked his chest: "From now on, this studio is mine. The living room, dining table, bedroom... I'll make it exactly as I like."
He nodded: "You can manage the home. I'll take care of making everything the way you want it to be."
——
[Beijing's First Snow Night]
Snowflakes drifted down outside the window, casting a cold, white glow under the streetlights. Hu Li sat by the window, wrapped in a blanket, a cup of hot tea in her hands. Her phone vibrated; she opened it to find a message: "Come back."
Those four simple words felt like a knife cutting into her chest. She subconsciously recalled her mother's erratic emotions and hysterical screams over the years—from childhood, "home" had never been a safe haven for her, but a door that required courage to step through.
Mu Tianlang pushed the door open and entered. Seeing her strange expression, his brow furrowed: "Whose message?"
Hu Li held his phone in his palm, looked up and forced a smile: "Something came up at home, I have to go back."
Without hesitation, he said, "I'll go back with you."
She gently shook her head, her tone soft yet firm: "Not yet. She doesn't know I have a boyfriend yet, now is not the time."
He suppressed his instinctive assertiveness and lowered his voice: "Okay. Just let me know if you need me. I'll arrange everything."
He walked over, wrapped his long arms around her, and said in a low voice, "Fox, don't carry this alone."
Her eyelashes trembled, and she finally buried her forehead in his chest. Outside the window, snow fell silently, but the temperature inside gradually rose with their breath. Yet, she knew in her heart that this winter wouldn't just be filled with snow and wind; an inescapable truth awaited to be revealed.
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