8 08
◎08◎
The inter-school design salon and that rain were like a watershed moment.
Lin Ruoyin began to appear in Xu Jia's life more openly, and Xu Jia tacitly accepted this presence.
In the library, they still occupied the same window seat. Occasionally, Xu Jia would push his newly completed sketches, which he thought were quite good, in front of her without saying a word. Lin Ruoyin would put down her jewelry design drawings, examine them carefully for a moment, and then, under Xu Jia's quietly waiting gaze, give him an approving smile.
When sketching by the lake, she no longer simply sat quietly reading. Sometimes, she would bring her sketchbook and sit not far from him, capturing the scenery, or... secretly sketching his profile as he focused on his work. Once, Xu Jia inadvertently walked behind her and saw a lifelike drawing of himself on the paper. When Lin Ruoyin was discovered, she frantically tried to close the sketchbook, but he gently pressed it down.
"It's a good painting," he commented, his voice devoid of emotion, though a faint smile played at the corners of his mouth.
Their conversations increased, ranging from art movements to obscure painters, from color usage to spatial structure. Lin Ruoyin discovered that Xu Jia, seemingly taciturn, possessed an extremely rich and profound artistic world within him. His unique and insightful perspective often provided her with unexpected inspiration. Xu Jia, in turn, gradually realized that Lin Ruoyin was not merely a spoiled young lady with fleeting whims; her professional aptitude far exceeded his expectations.
Over the weekend, Xu Jia was working on the background of a large painting in his rented studio.
The canvas was large, and there were some areas he needed to adjust repeatedly. When Lin Ruoyin came to find him, she saw him with a slight frown, looking at an area on the top of the canvas.
"Do you need any help?" she asked.
Xu Jia glanced at her, seemingly hesitant.
“I promise I won’t move,” Lin Ruoyin raised her hand, her eyes sincere. “You give the orders, and I will carry them out.”
Perhaps the expectation in her eyes was too obvious, or perhaps he had subconsciously accepted her approach, but Xu Jia finally nodded. He told her which colors to mix and what brushstrokes to use.
Lin Ruoyin learned quickly and executed the task meticulously. She stood on tiptoe, trying to reach the top of the canvas, her expression focused, and even the tip of her nose was stained with a little inconspicuous cobalt blue.
Xu Jia stood behind her, looking at her earnest profile and that striking touch of blue, and his heart softened for no reason. He reached out and gently wiped away the speck of paint from the tip of her nose with the pad of his thumb.
His movements were very light, with the cool touch of paint that was still wet.
Lin Ruoyin froze, then turned around abruptly to look at him.
The studio was so quiet that only their breathing could be heard. The air was filled with the strong smell of turpentine, and a faint, lingering scent of irises that belonged to her.
Xu Jia was stunned, seemingly not expecting himself to make this subconscious movement. He withdrew his hand, his fingertips curled up, still bearing the trace of that blue mark.
"I got paint on my skin," he explained, his voice lower and hoarse than usual.
Lin Ruoyin felt her cheeks rapidly rising in temperature. She lowered her head, mumbled an "oh," and mechanically continued mixing colors, her mind already wandering far away.
That evening, the setting sun streamed through the studio window, casting long, intertwined shadows of the two men. They didn't exchange any more words, yet something seemed to have subtly changed in the quiet air.
When Lin Ruoyin left the art studio, Xu Jia escorted her to the bus stop.
"Be careful on the road," he said.
"Okay." Lin Ruoyin nodded. Before getting into the car, she turned back and smiled at him. "Xu Jia, see you next week."
The bus slowly pulled away. Xu Jia stood on the platform, watching the bus disappear around the street corner, and lingered for a long time.
He returned to his studio, looking at the background they had completed together on the canvas, the colors blending perfectly. He walked to the easel, where a small oil painting study he had recently begun sat. It depicted a window seat in the library, bathed in sunlight, and the blurred yet gentle profile of a girl looking down at a book.
He picked up his paintbrush, dipped it in paint, and began to carefully depict the outline of the silhouette.
Outside the window, the city lights were just coming on. The city was still bustling, but this small art studio was enveloped in a tranquil and warm glow.
...
Wednesday evening, the art archive was unusually quiet, with only the sound of turning pages and the occasional cough. Xu Jia was examining a collection of 16th-century drawing books, his fingertips just tracing the details of a copy of a Dürer manuscript, when a deliberately soft female voice sounded beside him.
"Excuse me, student?"
He looked up and saw a girl holding several thick picture books, her face displaying just the right amount of surprise and pleading.
“I’m from the design department,” she introduced herself, keeping her voice at a level that was just audible. “I’ve encountered some problems while studying Dürer’s sketches, and I saw you looking up information here, so I’d like to ask you for some advice.”
She opened the sketchbook and pointed to a figure study: "For example, here, how do you handle the lines of the folds in the clothing while maintaining both the accuracy of the structure and the lines themselves? I've looked up a lot of information, but it still seems difficult to fully understand."
Xu Jia's gaze lingered on the picture album for a moment. This question itself is worth exploring.
“The lines here are not depictions, but refinements.” He picked up a pencil and quickly sketched a few lines on a scrap of paper, drawing a few simple folds in the clothing. “Try to capture the points of stress and the essence of the fabric’s drape.”
The girl nodded thoughtfully, leaning forward slightly, bringing with her a faint scent of perfume.
"I see... So, if we're dealing with reflective materials like silk, can this linear language also be used?"
Xu Jia continued to answer her questions, his tone calm. But as she prepared to ask her third question, he gently pushed the scrap paper with the demonstration lines in front of her.
“In this area of research, Hogwitz’s ‘The Will of Lines’ provides a more systematic exposition in Chapter 3.” After he finished speaking, he lowered his head again and brought his attention back to the present.
His demeanor was polite, yet he maintained a clear sense of boundaries, keeping any attempts beyond the academic realm at bay.
The girl's subsequent attempts to ease the tension and close the distance were all swallowed by his silent profile. In the end, she could only hold the sketchbook, maintain a polite smile, and turn to leave.
The archives returned to its previous silence. Xu Jia turned a page of his book, not giving the unexpected interruption a second thought. To him, it was just another girl trying to strike up a conversation, using a slightly more sophisticated method than directly asking for her contact information.
On Saturday afternoon, Xu Jia came to the bookstore. He was browsing a book on street photography composition in the photography section when a somewhat familiar voice rang out beside him: "Bresson's theory of the decisive moment is actually quite similar to the idea of capturing the dynamic spirit in sketching."
Xu Jia looked up and saw the girl he had seen in the archives a few days ago. Today she was dressed in an artsy style, holding a book titled "On Photography," and giving him a perfectly timed smile.
“What a coincidence,” she said casually, “you like coming here too.”
Xu Jia nodded slightly as a greeting, then turned his gaze back to the pages of the book in his hands.
“While Daido Moriyama’s roughness is very impactful,” the girl thought for a moment and continued, “I always felt it lacked warmth. On the other hand, your sketches capture the moment in a way that is both realistic and imbued with a certain poetic gaze.”
Xu Jia paused almost imperceptibly as he turned the pages of the book.
Seeing this, the girl took a half step forward and said, "Actually... I've always admired your work."
"Thank you." Xu Jia interrupted her, closed the book in his hand, and turned to walk to the counter to pay.
The girl stood there blankly for a long time before she came to her senses.
After her setback at the bookstore, Shen Yuqing rushed to Lin Ruoyin's dormitory, threw her bag on a chair, and collapsed onto the bed opposite her.
"I can't take it anymore! Is Xu Jia made of ice?!" she wailed. "I researched so much, memorized so many technical terms and art criticisms, and he just looks at me like I'm an idiot. Aren't I an art student? Shouldn't he treat people who understand art differently?"
Lin Ruoyin was drawing when she heard this, her pen paused, and she looked up abruptly: "You went to see him?"
"Of course, isn't it my turn to go on stage?"
Lin Ruoyin waved her hand and said, "Forget it, I still think it's too childish. The bet is canceled."
Shen Yuqing sat up: "Who canceled it with you? I've already started."
Lin Ruoyin: "..."
Shen Yuqing looked at Lin Ruoyin's strange expression with suspicion, "Strange, you wouldn't be... feeling sorry for her?"
“Who feels sorry for me?” Lin Ruoyin retorted subconsciously, but her voice unconsciously rose a little. She put down her pen, trying to make her tone sound more rational. “I just think what we did was pretty unethical.”
Shen Yuqing's eyes lit up instantly, as if she had discovered a new continent. She leaned closer to Lin Ruoyin, staring at her evasive gaze, "Lin Ruoyin, something's wrong with you. Where did that attitude go when you said 'all men are the same'?"
She grinned mischievously and poked Lin Ruoyin's arm with her finger: "You've fallen for him?"
Do you like him?
These three words shot through Lin Ruoyin's spine like an electric current, instantly freezing her in place.
"What nonsense are you talking about?" She stood up abruptly, turned her back to Shen Yuqing, and went to the corner table to pour water.
As Shen Yuqing watched her feigned composure as she walked away, her smile became even more meaningful.
"Oh. You don't like it?" she drawled. "Then there's nothing I can do. The bet continues."
Lin Ruoyin turned to look at Shen Yuqing, who had already reached the door. Shen Yuqing made a face at Lin Ruoyin, then left with high spirits.
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