Undercurrents and Foreshadowing in Beijing
[Hu Li Apartment Art Studio, Beijing, morning]
The early autumn light fell on the walls of the apartment studio, filtering through the half-drawn curtains and illuminating the edges of the stacked picture frames. Hu Lizheng squatted down to inspect the framing, her fingertips tracing the edges of the wooden frames to check for any burrs that might scratch the canvas during transport. Ten of her selected works were displayed against the wall, each carefully wrapped in kraft paper and affixed with a temporary label and a back tag.
My phone screen suddenly lit up with a message: "Your throat's probably starting to feel uncomfortable again this autumn. Remember to make some warm honey water; avoid anything cold."
Those words felt like a fingertip pressing on the softest spot in her throat. She stared at them for two seconds, her fingertip lingering on the edge of the picture frame. After a moment of silence, she replied softly: "I'm busy preparing for an overseas exhibition, things are complicated, so it's not convenient for us to meet right now."
The other party didn't press further, only replying with a brief "Okay." The screen went dark, and she brought her stirred emotions back into order, getting up to place the canvas back on the table and adjust the corner protector, as if returning her thoughts to their proper place.
[Beijing Mu's Headquarters, Afternoon]
The air conditioning in the conference room was barely audible, and the floor-to-ceiling windows sliced the city into geometric shapes. Mu Tianlang stood before the conference table, coldly reviewing the investigation progress. The tracing of the source of the anonymous information remained stalled, with only some vague clues remaining.
The assistant reported in a low voice: "We still can't trace the real owners of the several IPs we've identified; the proxy redirects are too clean. We suspect someone is covering for us."
His brow furrowed, and his fingertips tapped rhythmically on the table like a wolf's claws: "Continue the investigation, starting with the financial accounts. Filter through those who misappropriated outsourced funds; trace those that match the timeline first."
He paused, then added, "Internal access permissions will be downgraded by two levels, and any abnormal logins will result in account locking. The official statement to the outside world will be consistent with that from the legal department."
"Yes." The air in the conference room was thick and oppressive until he raised his hand to signal everyone to leave.
The door closed, and he stood alone by the window, his phone vibrating. It was a system notification: the access control had been swiped once outside of working hours. His eyes turned cold; he forwarded the notification to the security team, adding, "Check the surveillance footage. Report back within thirty minutes."
[Evening in a hospital ward in Beijing]
As dusk settled outside the hospital room window, Mrs. Xu entered carrying a flower basket, her smile impeccable: "Aunt Fang, I heard you've been feeling better these past few days, so I came to visit you."
Mother Mu leaned against the headboard, her gaze cool and her voice calm: "Thank you for your trouble."
The Hsu family's daughter placed the fruit basket on the table, unwrapped the bouquet to reveal a bunch of pale pink roses and white lisianthus, and said in a perfectly timed tone: "It's gotten cooler these past few days, so I had someone prepare a few mild sweet soup recipes. If you don't have an appetite, just have the nursing station heat one up."
Mother Mu glanced at him indifferently, neither refusing nor being overly enthusiastic: "Thank you for your kind words."
Mu Tianlang stood by, his expression indifferent, and remained silent. Mu's mother glanced at him, said nothing more, and simply looked away. The ward fell silent for a moment, broken only by the beeping of the monitor and the distant traffic outside the window.
After leaving the ward, Mr. Mu and Mrs. Xu walked together down the corridor, exchanging a few polite words. Once she was out of sight, he turned to his son, his voice steady: "A girl like that knows her place and is pragmatic. You should spend more time with her; it will make your cooperation more stable."
Mu Tianlang's gaze darkened, and he said coldly, "I will handle official business myself; there's no need to discuss personal matters further."
Father Mu frowned slightly, but did not argue further. He simply patted his son on the shoulder and turned to leave.
[A small restaurant in southern Beijing in the evening]
The small restaurant was bathed in warm yellow light as night fell. Several old photographs hung on the walls, and an overly lush pothos plant sat by the window. Hu Li arrived early and ordered two signature dishes and a pot of warm tea. The wind chimes at the door rang, and Xiao Min rushed in, bag in hand, laughing as she sat down: "Fox finally asked me out? Before France steals you away, he'll give me some time first!"
Hu Li poured her tea: "Your information network is better than anyone else's, why would I need to make an appointment?"
Xiaomin picked up a piece of side dish, squinted at her, and said, "You've been looking great lately, your face is glowing. Tell me, has Senior Zhang shown up again?"
Hu Li chuckled and tapped her bowl lightly with his chopsticks: "So what if he showed up? He helped me with the insurance list, customs declaration, and crate dimensions, and he even wanted to be on the same flight as me."
"Hey, what else would you call this if not trying to get attention?" Xiaomin joked, resting her chin on her hand. "But he's actually quite reliable. Do you remember back in freshman year, when you were cutting paper in the printmaking classroom at 2 a.m. until your hands were shaking? He was the one who went to buy you glucose water."
Hu Li laughed out loud: "I even got caught by the security guard and had two points deducted from my conduct score."
"And then there's that fixed-gear bike you borrowed from him. The two of you rode it from the Academy of Fine Arts to the Second Ring Road to eat wontons in the middle of the night, and when you came back, your skirt got caught in the chain."
"Don't even mention it, I still instinctively lift my skirt to check." Hu Li's eyes crinkled at the corners of her eyes as she reminisced, then she suppressed her laughter. "He's much more careful with his words now, and he knows his boundaries better. If I say I can handle it myself, he backs down a bit."
Xiaomin nodded: "That's actually quite good. Friends can help, but don't let their help lead you to be controlled by others." As she spoke, she casually added, her tone as natural as a junior's greeting: "Have you gone back to see your aunt recently?"
Hu Li shook his head, softening his tone: "I haven't been back recently; I had too many things to do before going abroad."
Xiaomin didn't press further, only humming in response, and the conversation drifted back to the side dishes on the table and our trivial matters.
Halfway through their meal, Xiaomin suddenly remembered something: "Oh right, do you remember that 'White Wall Wednesday' exhibition we did in our sophomore year? You wrote the title by hand on the wall, and the cleaning lady wiped it all off the next day."
Hu Li laughed so hard he couldn't stand up straight: "I even went to buy chalk and rewrote it. After I finished, it started raining, and the whole wall looked like it was crying."
"Back then you said, 'The painting can be wet, but the calligraphy must be dry,'" Xiaomin mimicked her tone, and the two smiled at each other. After the laughter subsided, Xiaomin toned down her teasing, "You understand what you want now better than you did back then. Just remember one thing—don't force yourself."
Hu Li nodded, slowing her voice, "I will." She put down her chopsticks, then suddenly added, "And thank you for always being there."
Xiaomin raised her chin, pretending not to care: "Nonsense, I want to be by your side to witness the day you are loved by France."
The two refilled the teapot and chatted about the last song before the small restaurant closed. As they parted, Xiaomin hugged her and whispered, "It's autumn now, remember to drink warm tea, don't drink iced tea anymore."
Hu Li blinked: "Received."
[Night at Hu Li Apartment in Beijing]
Hu Li had been busy all day, and only after sealing the last frame did he lean against the table and let out a long sigh. His phone vibrated again; it was that person: [The north-facing window in the studio is windy at night; you often forget to turn it off. Don't catch a cold tonight.]
Her pupils contracted slightly, her fingertip hovering over the phone screen for a long time. Finally, she simply replied: "Thanks for the reminder."
A deep voice suddenly came from behind: "Whose message?"
She turned around and saw Mu Tianlang standing in the doorway, his shadow stretched long by the corridor lights. She pursed her lips and placed her phone face down on the table: "It's just a reminder from a partner."
He approached, put his arm around her shoulder, and said in an unquestionable tone, "Don't drag yourself into unnecessary relationships."
She looked up and smiled, her eyes sparkling with a provocative glint: "And you? Is there someone who wants to push you onto someone else?"
His eyes darkened, and he replied in a low voice, "I only have you."
Sweetness and repression mingled in their breaths. His hands tightened, pulling her into his embrace. She tilted her head back, a smile playing on her lips, her fingertips tracing a circle around a button on his shirt: "The wolf is so domineering, shouldn't the fox obediently submit?"
He leaned down and whispered in her ear, "Don't provoke me again tonight."
Her laughter was crisp and clear: "Provocation is in the nature of a fox."
He lowered his head and kissed her, restrained yet passionate. Their shadows intertwined on the wall. Just as he was about to lose control, he suddenly loosened his grip, holding her even tighter, his forehead pressed against her hairline, his breath rising and falling.
[The next morning at Hu Li Apartment Art Studio in Beijing]
Sunlight streamed into the studio, illuminating the frames of ten artworks. Hu Lizheng checked the back labels one by one, confirming the customs declaration documents were correct. His phone vibrated again; it was a new message from that person: "The temperature difference between day and night is significant these past few days. Turn the humidifier to level one before bed; it'll make your throat feel better."
She paused, a vague emotion welling up inside her. Ultimately, she didn't reply, simply saving the message and then flipping her phone over and placing it on the table. She heard Mu Tianlang's footsteps behind her, looked up, and smiled, "Where's the coffee?"
He handed it to her, his gaze deep, as if he could see through all her secrets: "Don't tire yourself out."
She reached out and took his arm, her eyes bright and untamed: "Don't worry, the fox knows what he's doing."
He glanced at her, then draped his coat over her shoulders: "The temperature difference between day and night is significant."
She chuckled softly, clutching her coat tighter: "Yes, ma'am."
Under the sunlight, the two stood side by side, the air in the studio filled with a mixture of sweetness and undercurrents. Just then, Mu Tianlang's phone lit up; a message from his assistant popped up: [The flow of funds has been clearly identified; the account behind it may be linked to anonymous information.]
His gaze darkened slightly, and his fingers tightened. The information, like a pebble dropped into water, spread outwards with ripples, laying deeper groundwork for the future.
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