“Of course, all of these auxiliary features are just for psychological comfort and don’t fully prove anything. You understand that, right?” Su Qingran looked at Pei Jingyan. “The most important thing is still one’s own mindset.”

“As for jade, it’s more expensive, with the best gloss, and comes in many different qualities. If you’re interested, you can take your time choosing…”

Pei Jingyan nodded slightly, gently rolling the three types of beads in his palm.

The blue amber looked amber-yellow but turned a deep, mysterious blue at certain angles.

The sea willow had the color of wood with dark brown patterns, as if marked by the solitude of growing in the deep sea over the years.

Jade was the most beautiful, but it had a strong sense of being a luxury item. He only glanced at it before turning his eyes away.

“Sea willow,” Pei Jingyan said.

Su Qingran also felt that sea willow somehow suited Pei Jingyan better, so she nodded. “A string of 108 sea willow beads, and for the pendant under the guru bead, I think an amber carving would be fitting.”

As she pondered Pei Jingyan’s request for “calming restless thoughts” instead of “eliminating restless thoughts,” an image flashed in her mind.

Under a bodhi tree, a man held a bead string, gazing at the falling leaves.

“Bodhi is not a tree, the clear mirror is not a stand. Originally, there is nothing, so where can dust alight?”

She blurted out, “I’ll base the carving on the theme of ‘Enlightenment.’ I’ll sketch a design, and you can decide if you’re satisfied.”

Pei Jingyan nodded. “Alright.”

He sat there quietly, yet his presence carried an inexplicable sense of pressure.

Meanwhile, in the break room, Jiang Chenlin had already heard Pei Jingyan’s voice.

At first, he didn’t come out, but after a few minutes, hearing that Su Qingran was going to draw a design for Pei Jingyan, he couldn’t stay still.

“Ranran, don’t forget the time. The food’s getting cold.” Jiang Chenlin stood at the doorway of the studio, reminding her.

The man sitting on the intricately carved wooden stool suddenly looked up.

Their eyes met, and Pei Jingyan’s expression showed no emotion.

Jiang Chenlin’s breath tightened slightly before he quickly redirected his gaze to Su Qingran.

Su Qingran had long known that these two brothers rarely interacted, so she didn’t pay much attention and quickly responded to Jiang Chenlin, “I’ll just sketch a quick drawing, it won’t take long.”

Jiang Chenlin nodded and cast one more glance at Pei Jingyan.

Pei Jingyan had already ignored him, his eyes now fixed on Su Qingran, seemingly waiting for her to draw.

For some reason, Jiang Chenlin felt slightly displeased.

Su Qingran paid no mind to the undercurrent between the two and sat down to continue drawing.

The theme of “Enlightenment” was simple for many, but the difference between a master and an average artist wasn’t in the design, but in the spirit captured.

Su Qingran was now in her senior year of college, majoring in post-production for broadcasting and television directing.

Her father loved antique carvings, and Su Qingran was influenced by this passion. She started learning to draw at age 5, began carving at age 9, and at age 11, she became a student of Hong Yiru, a contemporary master of carving. Now, at 22, she had been carving for 13 years.

Her lifelong goal had always been to pass down this traditional craft, so she had chosen post-production in college, planning to create documentaries on the subject in the future.

With just a few simple strokes, Su Qingran sketched the essence of a formless Buddha.

He stood beneath a tree, gazing at the bodhi tree before him, as if in prayer, or perhaps with no desires at all.

“Achieving enlightenment in a single thought.”

She handed the drawing to Pei Jingyan. “Mr. Pei, does this look good to you?”

Pei Jingyan looked at it for a few seconds, then picked up the pen from the table.

His hand, cold and pale like porcelain, exuded a deep, chilling aura.

With a single stroke, he added something to the original drawing.

Su Qingran glanced over and noticed that the previously calm and desireless lines of the formless Buddha now seemed torn, all because of the single backward stroke Pei Jingyan had added.

It was as if the Buddha was striving toward enlightenment, yet also fighting an inner struggle.

Su Qingran looked up. “Mr. Pei, this conveys a sense of conflict and struggle. Are you sure you want it like this?”

Pei Jingyan nodded, his eyes as dark as a starless night. “Yes.”

“Alright.” Although Su Qingran had her own artistic vision, she wouldn’t impose her preferences on a customer.

She pulled out a soft tape measure. “Mr. Pei, I’ll need to measure your wrist to choose the right bead size.”

Pei Jingyan extended his hand as requested.

His hand, pale like bone china, appeared even clearer to Su Qingran this time.

She was a sculptor, and when it came to contours, joints, and lines, her eyes were like a pen, instinctively measuring and sketching.

Stunning, perfect—those were her first impressions of his hand.

Su Qingran suppressed the urge to draw and wrapped the soft measuring tape around Pei Jingyan’s wrist.

As she tightened it, her fingertips accidentally brushed against his skin.

For a brief moment, she was surprised. Instead of the coldness she expected, it felt warm and resilient.

Of course, it was just human skin—she had been lost in thought.

His wrist measured 17 cm, which seemed slim compared to his 187 cm height.

Noting this, she recorded the data and said, “I’ll pair it with 10 mm diameter beads. Does that sound good to you?”

Worried Pei Jingyan might find them too small, she added, “If it were a single strand, I’d recommend beads larger than 13 mm for you, but since it’s multiple strands, smaller beads will be more convenient to wear.”

Pei Jingyan nodded. “That’s fine.”

Apart from his specific request for “restless thoughts,” he was easygoing about everything else.

Su Qingran wrote up the order and handed it to him. “The total cost, including the carving, is 17,580 yuan. You’ll need to pay a 3,000 yuan deposit, and it should be ready in about a week. I’ll contact you then.”

Pei Jingyan glanced at the payment code on the counter and scanned it without hesitation.

“By the way, leave me your contact info, so I can notify you once it’s finished,” Su Qingran said, just as she heard the payment notification. “Wait, did you just pay the full amount?”

Pei Jingyan didn’t respond to that. Instead, he handed her his phone. “Contact information.”

Su Qingran looked at the screen—it was his WeChat QR code page.