Chapter 5

Mu Jinpei didn’t make things difficult for Ji Xingyao. He stopped staring at her and shifted his gaze back to the paintings, beginning to look seriously at the second one.
“Your still life paintings are no less impressive than your portraits.”

Ji Xingyao replied, “Thank you. That’s too generous.”

Of course Mu Jinpei understood exactly what she was up to by showing him these paintings. He got straight to the point:
“I’m not here today to talk business.”

“Hm?” Ji Xingyao looked at him, slightly surprised.

Mu Jinpei said, “Tang Jiale will discuss the specifics with you later. I’m only here for dinner.”
After a short pause, he added, “The profit split is still fifty-fifty. But we’ll increase your exposure and promotion.”

Ji Xingyao held her ground.
“Let’s talk about the percentage again after you’ve seen all my work.”

That was the real reason she had shown him the paintings in the first place.

There were no less than twenty pieces. It would take time to view them all.
Mu Jinpei asked her opinion:
“How about you make a summary, and I’ll take it home to review?”

“You can, sure,” Ji Xingyao started, but didn’t finish her sentence.

Mu Jinpei looked at her, signaling for her to continue. He had a feeling she was setting a trap.

Ji Xingyao said, “You can borrow them for a month—on the condition that you be my model.”

Mu Jinpei put the painting down and looked at her for a long moment.

Ji Xingyao couldn’t handle his gaze. It was the same from the first time they met. She pretended to casually look at the painting on the coffee table—but from her angle, it was upside down.

Mu Jinpei replied, “Then I’d rather come to the studio to view them.”

Ji Xingyao: “…”
So much for that plan.

Still, if he came over, she’d at least have more chances. Gains and losses, it balanced out.

She took the opportunity to suggest, “Then how about you model while you’re viewing? Just stand there in your suit by the window. I’ll sketch your back. I’ve even got the title figured out.”

“You can forget about modeling, even part-time. That’s not happening.”
But Mu Jinpei was curious about the title and asked, “What is it?”

“Just a random name I thought of,” Ji Xingyao said with a teasing smile, imitating his earlier tone:
“But even if it’s a completely meaningless name, you’re not going to find out. That’s not happening either.”

Mu Jinpei: “…”
She really didn’t let him get away with anything.

Still, she didn’t want to sour their working relationship—they were, after all, supposed to collaborate.
So she answered seriously, “The title is Solitude.”

When he stood by the window earlier, looking out, he looked like someone full of loneliness and secrets.

Perhaps that’s how it is for people at the top of the pyramid—
It’s cold at the summit.

The coffee was ready.
A rich aroma filled the room.

Mu Jinpei shifted the subject, “I’ll take a cup, thanks.”

Ji Xingyao didn’t move right away. She made another attempt:
“Mr. Mu, are you sure there’s no room to discuss the modeling thing? I’m only painting your back.”

Mu Jinpei countered, “If I agree to be your model, will you sign the 50-50 split contract?”

Without hesitation, Ji Xingyao said, “The profit split matters more.”
With that, she headed over to the wine cabinet.

In this round of negotiations, neither of them backed down—so neither of them won.

Ji Xingyao poured two cups of coffee. It smelled good, though she wasn’t sure about the taste.
She didn’t really know how to brew it properly and often misjudged the temperature.

Mu Jinpei wandered over, leaning casually by the wine cabinet.
A few of the wine slots were already empty, and there was half a bottle left on the counter.
It seemed that, like Pei Yu, Ji Xingyao not only shared a similar aesthetic but also similar habits—they both enjoyed drinking wine alone.

Ji Xingyao placed the coffee in front of him.
“I don’t have milk or sugar. Hope that’s okay.”

Mu Jinpei normally drank it black anyway.
He asked, “Why do you only paint yourself in your portraits?”

Ji Xingyao stirred her coffee, letting it cool.
“Because I don’t get inspired when painting other people.”

After a pause to find the right words, she continued,
“To most people, a painting is just a painting—what you see is what you get. But to some, it tells a story. A story with a soul.”

Mu Jinpei looked at her.
“And what kind of inspiration did I give you?”

Ji Xingyao:
“It’s in the painting’s title.”

Solitude.

Mu Jinpei embodied the very definition of solitude.
The kind of solitude that felt so distant was almost untouchable.

He didn’t respond further. Instead, he picked up the coffee cup and took a small sip.
This coffee really didn’t suit the hands of someone as skillful as her.

It tasted terrible.

Ji Xingyao turned slightly and asked, “How does it taste?”
Mu Jinpei replied, “Not as good as your paintings.”

Ji Xingyao suddenly smiled—
A soft, fleeting smile.

The sun dipped below the horizon, and with it, the last of its warm glow disappeared.
The studio dimmed significantly, and the warmth slowly faded.

Mu Jinpei glanced at his watch. “You pick the restaurant—my treat.”
Ji Xingyao understood why he insisted on paying. He and her father were the same type—men who hated owing others anything. It always had to be the other way around.

Mu Jinpei took his coffee back to the sofa, the paintings still quietly lying on the coffee table.
“I don’t have time to come to the studio often, so I’ll take these home. After I finish looking through them, Tang Jiale will talk to you about the contract.”

Ji Xingyao didn’t add any more conditions. He had already declined her request to be her model, albeit politely.
Someone of his status probably couldn’t be persuaded anyway.
Pushing it any further would be pointless.

“All right. I’ll pack them in a storage tube.”
She went to the workbench and brought over a tube, along with a pen, paper, and red ink for a seal.
She took photos of each painting and carefully logged them by date on the paper.

Mu Jinpei quietly sipped his coffee, watching her without a word.

There were twenty-one paintings in total. After writing down the names of each piece, Ji Xingyao said,
“Mr. Mu, I’ll need you to sign a borrowing receipt.” She handed him paper and pen.

Mu Jinpei noticed she was now addressing him with formal language—purely businesslike.
He took another sip of coffee.

Ji Xingyao added, “I’ll also need a photocopy of your passport.”

It was the first time Mu Jinpei had ever been asked to sign a receipt—let alone provide ID for it.
Did her paintings add up to ten million? Maybe twenty million at most?
Even so, to him, that was a small amount—less than what he’d pay for half a decent piece in his collection.

He put down his coffee and called his assistant.
“Bring my ID up to room 5202.”

Before Shu Zheng could even respond, the call ended.
He grabbed Mu Jinpei’s documents and hurried upstairs.

Shu Zheng was utterly confused.
Why the hell do you need ID just to have dinner?

The boss was obviously busy but still found time for a meal with Ji Xingyao.
Knowing him, Shu Zheng was sure his boss wouldn’t stoop to using a woman as a pawn—not even to set a trap for Ji Changsheng.

In the elevator, Shu Zheng stared at his reflection in the mirror.
The floor indicator blinked: 19.

Then he noticed the button just before 19—
4.

Shu Zheng’s mind jumped to: For one night.

Hotels require ID for check-ins.

He pinched his forehead hard with two fingers.
The boss had come to Beijing to settle old grudges, to take revenge on Ji Changsheng.
So why did he look like he was falling in too?

Lost in thought, he didn’t even notice the elevator had reached the 52nd floor.

The doorbell rang.

Mu Jinpei went to open it. Shu Zheng stood there, looking hesitant.
“Did you lose the ID?” Mu Jinpei asked, seeing the concern on his face.

“No.” Shu Zheng handed it over.
As if he’d dare lose something like a passport.

Mu Jinpei motioned for him to come in.

Shu Zheng let out a quiet sigh of relief—he had clearly overthought things in the elevator.
There was no way someone as cold-blooded as his boss could possibly be emotionally entangled with Ji Xingyao.
Now that the boss was initiating contact with her, there had to be a calculated reason behind it.

Ji Xingyao turned to Shu Zheng and asked, “Would you like something to drink? I have coffee and plain water.”
Shu Zheng politely declined, “Thank you, no need to trouble yourself.”

Mu Jinpei handed his ID to Ji Xingyao. “I don’t have a photocopy. You can just take a picture.”
Then he began writing the loan receipt.

Standing to the side, Shu Zheng glanced at the list of painting titles and suddenly realized—Mu Jinpei was borrowing Ji Xingyao’s artwork to take home and study.

Ji Xingyao snapped a photo of his passport info.

When Mu Jinpei reached the “return by” date, he paused for a moment before writing: “To be returned in two months.”
Ji Xingyao responded with a half-joking tone, “The interest-free period is only one month.”

She was smiling, but her eyes made it clear:
For that second month’s interest—you better figure something out.

Mu Jinpei had expected this. He knew she never made a deal unless it was worth her while.
His gaze swept over to her antique shelf. “Second row, second vase from the right. I’ll come by and paint it sometime. When it’s finished, it’s yours.”

His unexpected generosity caught Ji Xingyao off guard.
It felt like she had won this round.

Mu Jinpei signed his name. The next second, Ji Xingyao opened the red ink pad and placed it by his hand.
He looked at her. “You’re just like my mother.” Then he pressed his fingerprint next to his signature.

Ji Xingyao handed him a wet wipe and asked, “In what way?”

Mu Jinpei replied, “In many ways. Your personality. Your way of doing things.”

Ji Xingyao carefully examined the receipt—everything was in order. She continued the thread of conversation,
“You mean like Professor Pei? Rational to the point of being cold, and obsessive to the point of self-destruction?”

Mu Jinpei slowly wiped the red ink from his thumb and tossed the used tissue into the trash.
Her words had hit the mark.

Ji Xingyao tucked the receipt away, half-smiling.
“To us artists, our work is our life. And life should be treated with seriousness and caution. Don’t you think so, Mr. Mu?”

Mu Jinpei had no comeback.

Shu Zheng looked back and forth between his boss and Ji Xingyao.
He was truly worried that his boss was falling too deep.
Ji Xingyao was like a poppy—beautiful and dangerous.
Once you got too close, there was no turning back.

Ji Xingyao’s phone started playing music.
Mu Jinpei stood up. “I’ll wait for you downstairs.”
He and Shu Zheng left with the paintings.

The studio fell silent.

A faint trace of his clean, cool scent still lingered in the air.
Outside, night had fully settled.
The city was just beginning another kind of lively chaos.

Ji Xingyao closed the curtains and answered her father’s call.

Ji Changsheng was on the way to a banquet and asked what time she’d be arriving.
Ji Xingyao looked momentarily blank, as if she had amnesia—trying to remember what banquet he was even talking about. Had he ever mentioned it?

“Xingyao?”
“…”

Ji Changsheng sighed. He knew she wasn’t reliable.
He had told her two days ago that she was to accompany him to a charity gala tonight.
There would be an auction—not as high-profile as the fall art fair, but sometimes you could find good pieces there.

Buying something wasn’t the main goal.
He just wanted her to see more of the world, meet people, and stop living in her own little bubble.
And yet here she was—she’d completely forgotten.

“You still have time to do your makeup. The banquet starts at seven. Just arrive by eight. If there’s anything good, I’ll start bidding for you first.”

Ji Xingyao: “Dad, I’m sorry, I already made plans.”
Ji Changsheng: “With Galai?”

Ji Xingyao didn’t respond.
Ji Changsheng took her silence as confirmation.
“Your Uncle Tang said he was bringing Galai. Did you two plan this together to ditch us?”
He sighed in resignation. “Letting you both meet more people isn’t a bad thing. I’m doing it for your own good.”

When Ji Xingyao heard that Galai-jie would be attending, she quickly explained,
“Dad, I’m meeting with M.K.’s boss to go over the contract details. I’m still sorting through my older works, so I’ll have leverage in the negotiations.”

As soon as Ji Changsheng heard it involved Pei Yu, he stopped nagging her.
“Work comes first. I’ll take you out next time.”

But who would’ve thought—at the charity gala, he ended up seeing Pei Yu, but not Galai. Only Old Tang was there.

Tang Hongkang glanced at Ji Changsheng—he, too, had come alone.
The two men exchanged a knowing, helpless smile.

“You’re not in the same boat as I am. Xingyao’s thoughtful and still young. But look at Galai—she’s turning thirty this New Year. I don’t even know what’s going through her head these days.”
Everyone has their own worries.
Ji Changsheng said, “I just worry that Xingyao’s too out of touch with society. She barely socializes these days.”

As they chatted, Tang Hongkang gestured, “Old Qi is here.”

Chairman Qi, the host of the evening, had been busy entertaining guests and had only just now found time to greet them. He gave them both a pat on the arm.
“Sorry for the lack of hospitality.”

Ji Changsheng: “No need to be so formal with us.”

Chairman Qi: “My secretary just told me Mu Jinpei’s car arrived. I went out to greet him myself, but it turned out to be just his assistant. Said Mu Jinpei was entertaining important business clients and really couldn’t get away.”
He paused. “He’s hard to pin down.”

—

Meanwhile, not far from there, in a nearby restaurant…

Mu Jinpei and Ji Xingyao were already halfway through their meal.
They weren’t talking much, just exchanging a few words here and there.

Ji Xingyao: “You and Dr. Luo are friends?”
She glanced at him but looked back down to her plate before his gaze could meet hers.

Mu Jinpei: “Mm. We’ve known each other for many years.”
Ji Xingyao nodded.

After a brief silence, Mu Jinpei set down his knife and fork and brought up the incident at the restaurant the other day, when he used her as an excuse to avoid another woman.
“Sorry—I didn’t think it through. She knew who you were. If you had a boyfriend, that could’ve caused unnecessary misunderstandings.”

Ji Xingyao looked up and held his gaze for a few seconds.

The lighting in the restaurant was dim, just right. A large window beside them framed the boundless darkness outside.
His profile, bathed in the low light, looked even more chiseled and striking.
The air around him was charged—more dangerous and more alluring than ever.

Almost instinctively, Ji Xingyao turned her gaze away, settling it on the side of his face.
“It didn’t affect me. I’m buried in painting every day for a boyfriend.”

Mu Jinpei looked at her.
“In that case, I’ll bring you along to business events in the future. That way people will stop trying to introduce me to their daughters and nieces. I don’t have time to entertain all that.”

Then he added,
“I don’t like owing favors—especially to women.
Fair trade: if you ever need to get out of an awkward situation, call me in advance. No matter where I am, I’ll come.”

It was the first time he had ever made such a promise to a woman.
No matter where he was—he would come.