The lights in the private gallery are like melted butter painted on Renoir's "Dance at the Moulin de la Galette". The 6500K warm white light is diffused by seven sets of track spotlights, soaking the rose-colored skirt and bronze skin on the canvas as if they were oil paint just scraped from a palette.
Li Zhou's nose is 12 centimeters away from the bulletproof glass, a distance that allows him to see the layers of light and shadow created by Renoir's short and fragmented brushstrokes, but does not trigger the proximity sensor on the glass.
Zhou Hui stood 1.2 meters behind him on the left. This position was precisely calculated: it could fully capture Li Zhou's micro-expressions from the reflection in the glass without making him feel oppressed.
"When Renoir was modeling for Monet, he complained that 'painting muscles takes too much paint.'"
Zhou Hui's voice was mixed with the low-frequency hum of the gallery's air-conditioning system. His right hand was in his trouser pocket, and his fingertips were stroking the pre-prepared art history cards - that was a shorthand table of keywords that he had asked his secretary to print with gold ink.
"But look at this girl's neck..." He suddenly took a half step forward, the mother-of-pearl buttons on his cuffs almost touching Li Zhou's shoulder blades. "The transition between light and shadow is more precise than an anatomical atlas, just like the canary with its neck tilted back in your graduation project..."
He paused deliberately, watching Li Zhou's eyelashes flutter violently. "The curvature of the neckline is 23.5 degrees."
The young man's sketchbook fell to the carpet with a "plop", revealing a notepaper tucked inside: "Modigliani's Neck Line 23°" was circled in red pen, and next to it was a robin pecking at gold dust, with tiny cage bars traced in pencil under its claws, the distance between the bars accurate to 0.3 cm - exactly the same as the fence of the emperor penguin ornament in Zhou Hui's office.
Li Zhou hurriedly bent down to pick it up, and the canvas bag strap got caught on Zhou Hui's leather shoelaces. He brushed his nose against the fabric of the other's trousers and smelled the scent of cologne mixed with cedar and tobacco, which seemed to be deliberately mixed for this meeting.
"Mr. Zhou even noticed such details?" When Li Zhou stood up again, the tips of his ears were already slightly red, and his fingers unconsciously stroked the rough edges of the sketchbook - it was the sketchbook he had used for three years, and the title page was stamped with the old seal of the Academy of Fine Arts Library.
He didn't dare say that when he was copying "The Long-Necked Girl" in the rental house last night, he had specially measured the angle of the neck and shoulders of the character in the painting, but marked on the draft "The curvature of Mr. Zhou's collarbone is similar."
Zhou Hui's eyes swept across the "LZ" embroidery on the inside of Li Zhou's shirt collar. It was embroidered with three different shades of off-white silk thread, the same material as the carnation packaging rope his mother sold at the vegetable market.
When he handed over the invitation, he deliberately let his fingertips brush the other person's waistline, which was thinner than he had imagined. Through the thoroughly washed cotton fabric, he could count the bulge of the third rib.
"During the appreciation session on Sunday, the painting 'Girl with a Long Neck', on loan from the Centre Pompidou, will be the centerpiece."
Zhou Hui's thumb slid across the embossed logo on the invitation and noticed that Li Zhou's pupils contracted for 0.5 seconds at the word "Pompidou".
"The curator said that the cage background in this painting—" He suddenly leaned in close, his warm breath brushing the tip of her red ear, "and the canary cage you painted, both have bars 0.3 centimeters apart."
Li Zhou's back was pressed against the cold glass, and the vibration of the bulletproof material was transmitted along his spine to his tailbone.
He saw half of Zhou Hui's phone sticking out of his suit pocket. The lock screen was filled with a densely packed schedule. The entry for 10:00 was circled in red with "Prada Art Director Giovanni" and marked next to it with "Cage and Light Theme Emerging Designer."
This discovery reminded him of the bill from his mother's ward. The frequency with which the red outstanding digits on the LED screen were beating was surprisingly consistent with the rhythm of his heart hitting his ribs at this moment.
"Actually, that day..." Li Zhou's voice caught in his throat, the canvas bag strap leaving a red mark on his palm, "It was Xiaoman and I's third anniversary."
He took out his cell phone. The strawberry milk cap on the screensaver shone with a sweet luster under the gallery lights. The photo was taken on November 17, 2023 - the afternoon when he skipped the human anatomy class and waited for three hours in the milk tea shop.
Zhou Hui sighed at the right time, swiped his finger across the screen of his mobile phone, and turned to the next page of the schedule: 18:00 Cloud Restaurant Dinner, the note column read "Giovanni private promotion meeting limited to 3 people".
"Of course, your anniversary is the most important." His tone was filled with just the right amount of regret, but his eyes fell on the sketch that was still wet on Li Zhou's sketchbook - it was the first draft of the bookplate he revised this morning, and the canary's claws were clasped on the same cage bars as in "The Long-necked Girl".
"But Giovanni rarely comes to Asia. The last designer he discovered in Seoul is now having a solo exhibition at the Palace of Versailles."
The gallery's temperature control system suddenly adjusted, and a hint of coolness mixed in with the warm light. Li Zhou couldn't help but shrink his shoulders.
He recalled last week at the hospital, when the attending doctor said his mother's surgery still needed 80,000 yuan, and Zhou Hui's advance payment was exactly that amount. His fingers unconsciously rubbed the edge of the invitation, the jagged pattern of the gilded rose pricking his palm.
"Xiaoman she..." Li Zhou lowered his head and stared at the cat teacher pendant on his canvas shoes. The faded blue color turned white in the warm light.
"Actually, I've always wanted to see Monet's Water Lilies exhibition." He suddenly looked up, his gaze meeting Zhou Hui's deep brown pupils, where his own trembling eyelashes and the pearl necklace around the neck of a dancer in Renoir's painting in the distance were reflected. "If we celebrate early on Saturday, she'll probably agree."
The curve of Zhou Hui's mouth flashed in the reflection of the glass. He reached out to straighten Li Zhou's collar, and his knuckles deliberately rubbed the brown mole below the other's collarbone - that was the mark he circled three times with a red pen in the sketchbook.
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