Yun Pei raised his hand to touch his slightly warm earlobe, then lifted his head to look at the man beside him, who remained calm and composed as usual. The expression on Qin Mingyuan’s face was as indifferent as ever.

Was he really not teasing him just now?

“What’s wrong?” Qin Mingyuan seemed to just notice his gaze, lowering his head to meet Yun Pei’s eyes. His face showed no flaws, completely serious.

Yun Pei shook his head, feeling the heat in his ears subside a little. To avoid running into the two girls from earlier again, he suggested, “Why don’t we go to the second floor first?”

It wasn’t that they had really bothered him. It’s just that Yun Pei was unaccustomed to such straightforward compliments and admiration. After his mother passed away, malice surrounded him almost exclusively, and that’s what he had grown familiar with.

Instinctively, he felt the need to avoid the situation, thinking it would be better to maintain some distance.

Qin Mingyuan nodded casually and watched as Yun Pei immediately controlled his wheelchair to move forward. His speed was noticeably faster than before, with a few strands of hair floating up. Qin Mingyuan’s fingers twitched slightly, and he felt a faint urge to do something again.

To reach the second floor, there were both stairs and an elevator. Since most people preferred to use the stairs, the elevator was nearly empty.

In the narrow elevator, it was just the two of them, and it felt as if they could hear each other’s breathing. The sense of oppression, like being next to a crouching beast, made Yun Pei a little uneasy again. Fortunately, the elevator rose quickly, and the sensation vanished as the doors slid open.

The layout of the second floor was more refined than the first. The first floor was categorized by general styles, while the second floor was almost precisely divided by individual artists. There were fewer works here, but the quality was higher.

Even someone like Qin Mingyuan, who had only a superficial understanding of art, could sense the distinct difference. What had reached this level was not just about technique; it was more about the emotions and stories woven into the works.

The last time he visited an exhibition, most of the abstract pieces he saw were a jumble of lines and colors, which only made him feel dizzy. But here, a few of the works were rather meaningful.

Qin Mingyuan, however, was not fond of abstract art. He had seen many masterpieces in the real world, and while he could appreciate them, he never had the desire to collect any.

Yun Pei was much more focused than he had been on the first floor. He hardly spoke and spent more time in front of each painting.

The more paintings there were, the more the faint smell of oil ink filled the air, similar to the scent Qin Mingyuan had detected in Yun Pei’s room. It seemed that Yun Pei truly loved painting.

But beneath that passion, there seemed to be something else, something repressed, like the contrast between the beautiful works he posted online and the darker reality behind them. Each of his pieces, bathed in sunlight, was undeniably beautiful, yet they carried a sense of artificial perfection.

Perhaps it was because Qin Mingyuan had seen Yun Pei’s darker works that he felt Yun Pei’s current paintings were like fairy tales constructed for others—quiet and healing to view.

But what about the artist himself? Did he truly paint with that mindset? He healed others, but had he healed himself?

Yun Pei was a character with very little written about him in the original novel. Despite being the antagonist responsible for the second male lead’s death and the protagonist’s injury, only a few scattered fragments mentioned him, as if he were just a passerby.

The more Qin Mingyuan interacted with him, the more curious he became. He was eager to understand why this person, who blushed at the slightest compliment, ended up on such a dark path.

Lost in thought, Qin Mingyuan stared at Yun Pei for too long, and the intense gaze became impossible for Yun Pei to ignore. He finally turned his head and asked, “What is it?”

“Nothing.” Qin Mingyuan naturally shifted his gaze, his face betraying nothing.

Yun Pei didn’t think too much about it and continued maneuvering his wheelchair into another section. He had noticed Qin Mingyuan observing him a few times during their encounters.

That observation puzzled Yun Pei—it seemed like curiosity, like exploration. There was no malice, nor was there any overwhelming discomfort.

Yun Pei really couldn’t understand what about him could possibly be so intriguing. The dirty laundry of the Yun family was common knowledge in high society. What else could possibly interest the dignified President of the Qin Corporation?

If anything, Yun Pei had his own curiosities about Qin Mingyuan, especially regarding Yun Yuexian. What was that about?

Even someone like Yun Pei, who rarely left the house, had heard about President Qin’s deep affection for Yun Yuexian. Though most of it came from the mouths of Yun Yuexian and his mother, the benefits the Yun family reaped were very real.

At the time, Yun Pei had thought Qin Mingyuan was just a lovesick fool.

But once he met Qin Mingyuan, he completely changed his mind. A man this mature and composed had a sharp mind. Yun Pei was certain that Qin Mingyuan was fully aware of Yun Yuexian’s manipulations.

Even if Qin Mingyuan had truly been that in love with Yun Yuexian, someone as predatory as him would have already dragged the person back to his lair long ago. How could he be strung along, unable to let go, and still willing?

Qin Mingyuan wasn’t that kind of person.

So why had he acted like that before? The Yun family didn’t seem to have anything worth scheming for.

This confusion had existed since their second meeting, when Qin Mingyuan sent him home, and it remained unsolved to this day. But Yun Pei wasn’t someone who liked meddling in other people’s business, nor did he enjoy prying, so he hadn’t thought much about it.

“Do you want something to drink?”

Qin Mingyuan spotted a vending machine at a corner and turned to ask the young man who seemed lost in thought.

Yun Pei snapped back to reality and replied, “Just water, thank you.”

Qin Mingyuan nodded and walked over to buy water. Yun Pei waited in place, watching as the tall, long-legged man operated the vending machine. Several passersby were discreetly glancing at him.

One girl hesitated for a moment before gathering her courage to approach him. Yun Pei couldn’t hear what they were saying but saw the girl take out her phone, probably asking for his number.

The girl was very pretty, wearing a long white dress, with delicate makeup and long black hair cascading down her back. She looked pure and artistic, the type of girl most boys would like.

However, Qin Mingyuan shook his head, seemingly refusing. The girl looked a little disappointed as she turned away.

His expression remained indifferent, showing neither pride nor annoyance from the encounter, as though he had long gotten used to such things.

Recalling how the waitress at the restaurant last time blushed at the sight of him, and now this, Yun Pei concluded that Qin Mingyuan must experience this often.

Qin Mingyuan was indeed a very charming man. Yun Pei had known this before. His charm wasn’t just in his looks but also in the calm demeanor honed from years at the top, his steadiness and composure, which drew people in just by standing there.

But Yun Pei always felt that there was more to Qin Mingyuan than what he showed. The man had a mischievous side—Yun Pei had experienced such teasing himself.

Like earlier downstairs, Yun Pei was sure Qin Mingyuan had done it on purpose.

After the girl left, Qin Mingyuan bent down to retrieve the two bottles of water.

Back in college, he hadn’t seemed so aloof. Add to that the fact that many girls liked the cold and handsome type, he had often received love letters and been approached for chats.

Once he joined the company, donning suits and exuding a colder aura to ensure no one underestimated him as the young president, fewer people dared approach him.

Some business partners had even suggested marriage alliances, but Qin Mingyuan wasn’t interested. He had already sacrificed much of his personal preferences to become a competent heir and wasn’t willing to sacrifice marriage as well.

Returning to Yun Pei’s side, Qin Mingyuan handed him one bottle, then opened the other and passed it over.

Yun Pei was momentarily surprised, then accepted it, while Qin Mingyuan took the unopened bottle from his other hand. After a pause, Yun Pei softly said, “Thank you.”

Qin Mingyuan shook his head, took a sip of water, and placed the bottle into the pocket attached to the back of the wheelchair. Gripping the wheelchair handles, he pushed Yun Pei forward. “Let’s go.”

After screwing the cap back on, Yun Pei didn’t stop him. He held the water bottle in both hands.

As he lifted his head, a painting came into view. He froze, his grip on the bottle tightening, the plastic crinkling in his hand.

“President Qin.”

Qin Mingyuan stopped in his tracks. From this angle, he could only see the top of Yun Pei’s head. “What’s wrong?”

Yun Pei raised his hand to point ahead, his expression now unreadable. “I want to take a look at that painting.”

Without any objections, Qin Mingyuan pushed the wheelchair over and stopped in front of the painting. He then stood beside Yun Pei, gazing at the artwork.

In the midst of a hazy rain, a small blade of grass was growing strong, water droplets clinging to its leaves, enhancing its lush green color.

His gaze shifted downward, noticing something interesting. “How amusing, the painting is called ‘Rainy Day,’ but the artist’s name is ‘Sunny Day.’ It seems the artist has already passed away.”

On the plaque beneath the painting, the artist’s name was followed by a note in parentheses: deceased. That must make this painting quite valuable.

When people think of rainy days, most immediately associate it with gloominess, dampness, the inconvenience of travel, and the negative impact on one’s mood.

But this painting portrayed the rain in a vibrant light, capturing the vigorous vitality it brings. The message it conveyed was positive, leaving viewers feeling comforted and healed.

“This artist must have been someone who could see beauty in many things,” Qin Mingyuan mused as he looked at the painting.

But he received no response for a long time. When he turned his head, he saw Yun Pei staring intently at the painting, his gaze not one of admiration, but of nostalgia, tinged with sadness.

Qin Mingyuan paused, asking softly, “What’s wrong?”

Yun Pei didn’t turn to look at him. His eyes traced every inch of the painting, looking as though he was on the verge of tears, but his lips pressed into a faint, lonely smile.

After a long while, he finally spoke, “This was painted by my mother.”

Qin Mingyuan was stunned, momentarily unsure of what to say. He could only remain silent, standing beside him.

They stayed there quietly for a long time. Qin Mingyuan glanced at Yun Pei again and noticed that the corners of his eyes seemed slightly red. Qin Mingyuan pressed his lips together. “Do you want to take it with you?”

To his surprise, Yun Pei shook his head. “No, let it stay here. I’m happy knowing that more people will be able to see it.”

He still had many of his mother’s paintings at home. They were enough to keep as mementos. These scattered works were her wishes, and he would respect them.

“Let’s go.” Yun Pei withdrew his gaze and turned his wheelchair toward Qin Mingyuan, tilting his head to look up at him. “There are still many paintings we haven’t seen.”

He hadn’t cried and seemed calm on the surface, but Qin Mingyuan noticed how tightly Yun Pei was gripping the armrest, his knuckles white.

Qin Mingyuan looked away, pretending not to see it, and nodded. “Alright.”

The two of them walked away, leaving the painting quietly hanging on the wall, eternally stationed there, watching as people continued to pass by.