He looked at the young man's instantly tensed shoulders and suddenly realized that he might not have heard of this allusion - the 22-year-old art school graduate was probably more familiar with Murakami's Sunflowers or KAWS's Companion.
But Li Zhou quickly lowered his eyelashes, his fingertips unconsciously stroking the edge of the proposal booklet: "I just think that gold is more suitable to be hidden in the shadows." His voice was like cotton soaked in water, with a hint of milk.
As the elevator descended, the mirror reflected Li Zhou's tense shoulders. Zhou Hui stared at the flickering red light on the digital display and suddenly caught a faint whiff of lemon dishwashing liquid—the scent of the shared kitchen in the rental apartment, mingled with a faint hint of minty toothpaste.
He took out a pen and wrote the address on the back of the business card. Amid the rustling sound of the pen tip sliding across the paper, he noticed that Li Zhou's eyes were fixed on the Patek Philippe on the inside of his wrist.
It was a Ref. 3940 that had been out of production for ten years. There was still half a rose petal stuck in the gap of the bracelet, which was left over from the luncheon hosted by a real estate developer's wife this morning.
"As for the private work, it's mainly about helping me design a few bookplates." The elevator stopped on the 38th floor, and Zhou Hui blocked the closing door. "The compensation will be five times the industry standard. Bring your drawing supplies tomorrow."
He watched as Li Zhou's fingers trembled as he hurriedly took the business card. The edges of his nails were bitten and rough, and there was still unwashed ultramarine paint on his fingertips - the kind of almost paranoid persistence that could only be seen in art school students.
As the elevator door slowly closed, the young man's reflection was staring down at the gold-plated letters on the business card, with the corners of his lips slightly raised, like a canary that accidentally stumbled into a gilded cage.
When Zhou Hui turned around, his heel rolled over a rose petal on the carpet, and the fragrance mixed with the aftertaste of champagne spread on his tongue.
He remembered the note paper in Li Zhou's proposal booklet, with a penguin wearing a bow tie drawn on the corner - exactly the same as the dusty emperor penguin ornament on his desk.
His cell phone vibrated in his pocket. It was information sent by his secretary: Li Zhou, 22 years old, graduated from the Illustration Department of the Academy of Fine Arts, from a single-parent family, his mother sold flowers in the vegetable market, and his bank account balance was RMB - just enough to pay three months' rent.
The musicians in the banquet hall changed to jazz music, and the tail notes of the saxophone swept across the crystal chandelier. Zhou Hui shook the wine glass and watched the bubbles rise and burst.
He suddenly remembered the temperature of Li Zhou's palm when he shook hands with him. It was 0.3 degrees higher than the room temperature, with the unique and inexperienced heat of young people.
The last time he felt this kind of temperature was on a rainy night in Bangkok, when a rain-soaked stray cat curled up at his feet, and he felt an almost pious warmth coming from its paw pads.
And the prey always begins to fall from the first warmth of trust.
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