The wind is still blowing
The morning light streamed in through the window sill of Crescent Moon Cottage, step by step, illuminating the paint that hadn't quite dried the night before, revealing a lustrous sheen.
Hu Li didn't wake up early; the warmth of his palm still lingered on her pillow. She sat up, pulling at her collar—a silver pendant adorned her collarbone, depicting a fox and a wolf intertwined, lying quietly. She rubbed it between her fingertips, her heart feeling as if it had been gently struck by a rhythm.
She heard the sound of milk heating up in the kitchen. She walked over barefoot; he was lifting the lid and reheating the leftover milk tea from last night. Seeing her, he looked away and said softly, "Good morning. Have a sip first."
She held the cup, its warmth touching her lips: "Mmm."
The two sat facing each other. On the table were simple bread and eggs. It was an ordinary meal, but it felt like home.
She poked the egg yolk with her fork, lowered her eyes and smiled: "Mr. Mu, if you can't keep that promise from last night, 'Stand behind my heart, don't block my light,' I'll deduct points."
He grunted in response, as if accepting a military order: "Received."
His phone vibrated twice beside him. He glanced at it; the screen was lit up: Xiao Zhou's name and three unread messages. She saw it too, but didn't ask any questions. She simply raised the rim of her glass an inch to cover the barely noticeable shadow between his brows.
"I'll go and do a couple of strokes first, then I'll wait for you to leave," she said.
"Okay." He silenced his phone, and as he stood up, he glanced back at her, his gaze seeming to remember some reassuring gesture.
——
At 9:00 AM sharp, on the 26th floor of the Mu Group headquarters. The cold white light of the conference room shone on everyone's faces, and the edges were neatly outlined.
The major shareholder's video feed was displayed on the screen; his voice, though not loud, carried an undeniable force: "Public opinion is still escalating. Give me a timeline."
"It will be brought under control within three days and return to normal fluctuations within seven days."
"On what?"
"Relying on information gaps, partner endorsements, and cash flow."
Someone sneered: "You can convince yourself, but people outside won't buy it."
Mu Tianlang didn't argue. He tapped his fingers three times under the table, his tone flat: "The war room is fully operational, and the data is being updated in real time."
Immediately after the meeting, a phone call came in. The father's voice was as cold as ever: "Take care of your personal feelings; the board of directors isn't a kindergarten."
He grunted "Oh," and didn't say anything more. He hung up. The ceiling light left a white ring on his retina.
Xiao Zhou knocked on the door and came in, handing over the latest trend charts and the disposal timelines for the three platforms, as well as the contact times for the two medium-sized shareholders: "The external liaison has been established, and the Qi family is waiting for our reply."
He flipped through two pages, put away the documents, and said, "Follow the milestones." He paused, then added, "Inform me immediately of any significant changes."
Xiao Zhou responded and turned to leave. The moment the door closed, the room was so clean that you could almost hear the change in his breathing.
He rubbed his temples, tapping his knuckles lightly on the edge of the drawer, when he suddenly remembered the chain that was currently fastened under her collarbone—it wasn't on her body, but it gave him a sense of peace.
He withdrew his hand and closed the drawer. A wolf doesn't have to bite forever; sometimes it must learn to lower its teeth.
——
At the same time, at Crescent Moon Cottage, Hu Li turned her easel so that the light fell perfectly on the canvas. She didn't rush to apply color, but instead used a charcoal pencil to draw a very light line along the edge. The line seemed to circulate in the room like wind, returning to her chest.
Her mother's caller ID appeared. She stared at it for two seconds, then answered, "Mom."
There was a moment of silence on the other end, then a familiar female voice asked, "Are you free right now?"
Mother.
"I'm free." Hu Li slowed his breathing and made his voice steady.
"I'm just asking one question: what are you planning to do? With the whole world watching, do you think you can stand your ground? Do you really think his mother will agree to your relationship?"
"Mom, you've already said all this." Hu Li walked to the window, his gaze falling on the osmanthus tree in the community. "We'll handle it ourselves."
"You say you'll handle it yourself—what makes you think you can?" The mother's smile was faint and cold. "You've never experienced the hardships I've endured. I don't want you to be trampled on by others again."
"I know you're afraid," Hu Li said slowly, pressing down on the window handle. "But I won't let your fear dictate the direction of my life anymore. I'll choose whoever you want me to stand on."
There was a moment of silence on the other end of the phone, as if someone was gritting their teeth or swallowing something. "Whatever." The call ended.
Hu Li exhaled and flipped her phone back to the home screen. The silver pendant twitched slightly beneath her clothes. She placed her fingertip on it, as if pressing down on the fire in her heart, making it burn steadily instead of chaotically.
——
In the afternoon, she went to the art supply store, bought two tubes of blue gelato and one tube of nickel yellow gelato, and also replaced her charcoal pencils. As the clerk handed her the bag, he whispered, "Ms. Hu, good luck." She paused, then smiled and said, "Thank you."
Back home, she placed the first stroke of blue in the center of the canvas, as if drawing the shape of the wind. The second stroke was gold, not to dazzle, but to lock in the blue.
She suddenly remembered what the elderly couple in the neighboring city had said—"They may argue, but they must trust each other." She drew that sentence into her drawing, hiding it between the two colors.
A message popped up from Emma: "The curatorial plan for the fall season has been updated. There are three slots available from September to November next year. Please give me your one-month feedback after you confirm."
She replied, "Received. I'll choose October first, once I've arranged everything on my end." Her fingertip paused on the screen for a moment, then she added, "Thank you for waiting."
——
He returned home at 6:30 PM. As soon as he closed the door, he looked at her—she was by the window, a half-inch of the chain peeking out from her collar, the light lingering on it for a moment. He locked the door behind him, his tone flat: "I'm not going to the company tonight."
She hummed in agreement and turned the canvas toward the wall. He understood what she meant—let's not talk about work tonight, let's get our rhythm in sync first.
There was nothing fancy on the table, just two bowls of noodle soup and a small box of osmanthus cake that he had brought back. She opened them, and the aroma of the noodles filled the air, as if smoothing out the rough edges of the day.
"The board of directors—" she began.
"I'll handle it and keep you informed." He looked at her, his voice lowering. "I won't let you find out later again."
She looked up and found the closeness she longed for in his eyes. "Okay."
After they finished eating, he offered to clean up. She leaned against the table and suddenly raised her hand slightly, making a small "come here" gesture. He walked over and stopped an arm's length away from her.
"Lower it," she said.
He leaned down. She placed her palm on his chest, feeling his steady beating. "Remember this rhythm," she said, looking up. "Not just appearing by the door, but here, standing beside me."
He didn't speak, but simply enveloped her hand, his knuckles tightening around it. It was slow, as if he were bringing their breaths together.
——
Night fell, and the wind in Beijing slowly thinned the clouds. They didn't turn on many lights; only a wall lamp remained in the living room. She leaned against the sofa, her legs curled up, while he sat to one side, neither too close nor too far. This distance was the comfortable space for her to breathe.
He recounted the events of the day. Not in detail, but by clarifying the key points that were most likely to affect her, pausing at points requiring her to make a choice and waiting for her opinion.
"The PR department wants to issue a statement that is straightforward, emotionless, and simply says that you are an independent artist, without commenting on anything else," he said.
She shook her head: "No need. Let the work speak for itself. If you want to publish something, just publish the progress of the charity project."
He nodded: "Okay."
"Also, the property management said there are two media outlets staking out outside," she mentioned. "Security reminded me to avoid going out alone recently. They've also arranged for someone to keep an eye on things outside your area, but please don't let them disturb the neighbors."
"Know."
She suddenly smiled and said, "See, I can handle this too. I don't need to be hidden away."
He looked at her, the coldness in his eyes slowly softening: "I know."
He reached out and gently smoothed a stray strand of hair behind her ear with his fingertips, the movement so light it seemed to disturb no light. She didn't flinch; instead, she turned her face slightly, letting his fingertips slide from behind her ear to the side of her neck, then stop—the silver chain lightly touched her collar.
She lowered her head, smiling like a fox hiding its tail: "Don't think you can touch it."
He muttered, "I couldn't touch it anyway."
"That's good."
They both laughed, their laughter so soft it seemed to soothe even the night breeze.
——
The next morning, in the Mu's Situation Room. The whiteboard was covered with arrows, timelines, and feedback points from various platforms. Xiao Zhou reported: "Several keywords are gaining momentum on the trending topics: 'resources,' 'backing,' and 'parachute in.'"
We've been directing content from several professional accounts to the "Artworks & Exhibitions" section, and it's already working.
"What about the board of directors?" he asked.
"There will be a briefing at 2 PM this afternoon. Two medium-sized shareholders will want to hear your proposed course of action. Our accounting is complete, and the legal department will follow."
"External liaison?"
"The Qi family will have a meeting tonight and will give a response tomorrow morning."
He nodded: "Follow the established steps. No press conferences, and the media should maintain a unified tone. Regarding anything about her, focus only on her work, not her public image."
Xiao Zhou wrote down: "Understood."
After the meeting, he asked someone to stay behind with his legal department. "I need a list: all acts of privacy violations, unauthorized filming, and harassment, from evidence collection and proof to platform handling and legal proceedings, a complete breakdown of the entire process. Give it to me today."
The legal representative nodded: "Received."
——
At the same time, Hu Li met with the gallery manager. The manager stated, "We will maintain the exhibition period, unaffected by external interference. You just focus on painting."
She simply said, "Thank you."
Back home, she started a new painting next to "Side by Side". In this one, she painted the wind tunnel more realistically - the wind is not gray, but has light, and as long as the two people stand close enough, the wind becomes a deity that elongates their shadows.
She was halfway through painting when the doorbell rang. It was a delivery; sure enough, it was a canvas sent urgently from the art supply store. She signed for it and put the box against the wall.
My phone vibrated; it was a message from Mu Tianlang: "My mom said there's a charity event next week, and she asked me to come back and ask you—do you want to go? Two tickets. No pressure, but you can decide if you want to."
She glanced at the painting and replied, "Okay. Let me think about it, I'll tell you later."
He quickly replied, "Okay. Whatever you choose is fine."
She put down her phone, and the room was filled with the smell of paint again. She turned to a blank page in her sketchbook, stood in front of the drawing, and suddenly wanted to draw the fox's tail a little longer—not out of pride, but to let it block some of the wind.
——
At 2 PM, the briefing session began. The room lights shone harshly on the podium. Mu Tianlang closed his notes, his gaze flat. During the Q&A session, someone steered the focus to "whether emotions affect management." He neither dodged the question nor elaborated on it.
"The company is operating according to plan, and its finances and projects are on the balance sheet and are unrelated to my personal life. Regarding art and philanthropy, I will provide transparent progress reports and audit reports. I will not respond to other questions."
When pressed for details, he repeated, "No comment."
Those two words were spoken softly, yet they seemed to hold a door firmly shut in the wind.
Shortly after, the news arrived: Emma had confirmed the October dates, and the gallery sent her the exhibition press release for review, which contained no mention of "emotion." She added a sentence at the end of the document—"The work itself is the answer."
She returned the file, shut down the computer, and opened the window. A breeze blew in, carrying the sweet scent of osmanthus blossoms. She suddenly felt like sending him a message:
"I'm painting a new wind. Come back and see."
The other party didn't reply immediately. Five minutes later, the screen lit up: "Go back after the meeting."
She stared at those four words, smiled, and replied, "Okay."
——
As evening fell, the clouds over Beijing seemed to be brushed by the sunset. He turned the lock, entered the house, and slowed his pace. She was standing before the painting, the pendant in her collar pressed against her skin, her profile like a clean line. She didn't turn around, only saying, "You're back."
He walked over to her. He just stood there and watched.
The vent in the painting was depicted as a transparent arc. The fox and wolf didn't shrink back; their shoulders were slightly leaning together, and behind them was a smoothed-out patch of light. He stared at that light for a long time.
"What's your name?" he asked.
"Within the Wind"
He hummed in agreement, turned his head, and placed a very light kiss on her hairline, his voice even softer: "Okay."
"What's so good about it?" she raised an eyebrow.
He looked at her, his gaze deep and steady: "Fortunately, we're still inside; we didn't run away."
She smiled and reached out to hook his finger: "Pinky promise."
He lowered his head and placed a lighter kiss on her fingertips: "I won't go back on my word."
——
The night grew deeper. The wind outside the window swept through the buildings like a long arc. She packed up the canvas, turned around, and gently pressed her forehead against his chest. "I talked to my mom on the phone today."
"Um."
"I told her I would choose where to stand."
He pulled her closer, his fingertips slowly sliding down the back of her head, as if he were conveying all the unspoken words of the day in that one gesture: "I know."
She looked up and blinked: "Did you get stabbed twice today too?"
He chuckled: "It wasn't just two cuts."
She took a half step back and looked at him: "Does it hurt?"
"I'm used to it." He paused, then added, "But now, I'll tell you."
She looked at him, the light in her eyes seeming to draw the night closer: "I'm listening."
He told her about all the troubles and risks of the day, neither exaggerating nor concealing anything. She leaned against him and listened. As she listened, she grew sleepy, and the two of them fell asleep together on the sofa.
——
My phone vibrated before dawn. It was a message from Xiao Zhou: "The source of the third wave of images has been confirmed; it's an old telephoto lens from the hotel's side entrance. We've already sent an official letter, and the platform will handle it. The public opinion level has been downgraded to level two."
He didn't reply, but simply pulled her closer to his arms so she could sleep more peacefully. The sky outside the window was pale, like a promise just beginning to lighten.
The city is still in a precarious situation, rumors will continue to circulate, and there's no escaping the inevitable turning points. However, the voices from inside and outside the city are no longer mutually exclusive at this moment.
They stood on the same side, facing forward.
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