Chapter 7

At the studio, Ji Xingyao didn’t rush to open the curtains. Instead, she asked Mu Jinpei what kind of lighting he preferred—she wasn’t familiar with his painting style.

It was Mu Jinpei’s first time stepping into her workspace, which was fully equipped with every kind of art supply imaginable.
“I’ll do it,” he said, pulling open the curtains on the north-facing floor-to-ceiling windows.
“Why didn’t you buy the unit across the hall? You’d be able to see the sunrise from there.”

Ji Xingyao turned on her computer.
“I don’t like sunrises. I prefer sunsets.”

Mu Jinpei rarely heard of anyone disliking sunrise except for his mother, Pei Yu. That was another thing she and Ji Xingyao had in common.
“Just like my mom.”

“Seems like I have more than a little fate with Teacher Pei,” Ji Xingyao said with a smile. Then she explained why she liked sunsets:
“Some relationships begin beautifully but don’t end that way. If the day’s sun is like a romantic relationship, I prefer the sunset—the ending is beautiful, lasting till the end of time, forever and ever.”

Mu Jinpei didn’t know how to respond.

The studio fell into a brief silence.

Ji Xingyao pointed toward the antique shelf.
“Pick whichever vase you want to paint.”

Mu Jinpei walked over. Last time, he had only taken a quick glance from afar and had only noticed the unusually colorful vase—not the others.

He looked through the pieces, from the top row to the bottom. Several of the items were worth a fortune.
That shelf alone, if auctioned off, could probably pay for the entire office building.

“You’ve invested so much in still-life paintings. Why the shift to portrait work?”

“To challenge myself,” Ji Xingyao replied, preparing the painting tools for him before walking over.
“I bet you have way more antiques at home than I do.”

“Mm. My mom collects them.”

“Take your time. I’ll go make some coffee.”

Before she had taken more than two steps, Mu Jinpei stopped her.
“You’re busy. I’ll make it.”
Her coffee was terrible—could ruin inspiration.

Which suited Ji Xingyao just fine. Her hands were only good for painting—anything else, not so much.

While Mu Jinpei made the coffee, she sat down at her worktable. Looking into the mirror, she began sketching the draft for Xingyao IV.
She used to require complete silence and solitude to conceptualize new work. But with Mu Jinpei in the room today, it didn’t disturb her at all. In fact, her thoughts flowed more freely than ever.

She was so focused that not even the scent of fresh coffee pulled her out of her trance—until Mu Jinpei handed her a cup.
“Try this.”

Even just the aroma was far better than what she usually made.
Ji Xingyao took a few thoughtful sips, frowning slightly.
“Still my coffee beans?”

“What else?”
Mu Jinpei walked to the liquor cabinet to get his own cup and added,
“From now on, I’ll handle the coffee.”

Ji Xingyao glanced at the mirror. He hadn’t said anything unusual, but somehow, she picked up on something more in his words.
Steadying herself, she quickly calmed down and stirred her coffee gently.

The whole morning passed.
Mu Jinpei had only managed to position the vase, while Ji Xingyao had fully conceptualized Xingyao IV.
The painting now had a complete structure in her mind.

The two of them stayed busy in their own worlds.
Every now and then, Mu Jinpei would refill her coffee, and not a word was exchanged between them.

That was, until Uncle Zhang messaged Ji Xingyao to ask what she wanted for lunch.

She rubbed her neck and turned to look for Mu Jinpei.

He hadn’t painted in a long time and was currently warming up with some sketching.
His trench coat was draped over the back of his chair, and he wore only a white shirt. The fitted shirt accentuated the sharp, strong lines of his back.

Previously, she had wanted him to be her model—not just because his back gave her a sense of story, but because of the definition in his lines. As soon as she picked up her brush, she wanted to paint his back.

Mu Jinpei had rolled up his sleeves to his forearms, fully focused on composing his sketch. He didn’t notice Ji Xingyao had been staring at him from a diagonal angle for quite a while.

She hadn’t paid attention before, but now she clearly saw the watch on his wrist. It was the same brand as hers, and even the style was very similar.

Her watch was a gift she gave herself on her eighteenth birthday. On the night of the autumn auction charity dinner, her father insisted she take it off. It was still with him—she had forgotten to take it back.

Ji Xingyao had to reply to Uncle Zhang, so she interrupted,
“Mu Jinpei.”
When discussing contracts, she addressed him as “President Mu.” But since this was a private moment, she used his full name.

Mu Jinpei was slightly stunned. He rarely heard people call him by his full name. Abroad, people either called him “Boss” or by his English name—only family used “Jinpei.”

He set his pen down and turned toward her.
“What is it?”

“It’s almost noon. Should we go out for lunch or order in?” she asked.

“Let’s order in. I’m not picky,” he replied.

Ji Xingyao had already eaten with him twice and had a general idea of his taste. She placed the order and sent it to Uncle Zhang.

Since returning to the country, she had been ordering from the same restaurant across the street nearly 80% of the time. Uncle Zhang always picked it up himself. Other than her family, Mu Jinpei was the first outsider to enter her studio.

She was a regular customer at the restaurant, so the manager would often include a small complimentary dish—about a third the size of a regular portion. Today, they sent her two cheese-baked mushrooms.

Seeing the mushrooms, Ji Xingyao immediately recalled the first time she had dinner with Mu Jinpei—he had fed her one of those mushrooms and then eaten the half she didn’t finish.

Ji Xingyao was eating very slowly, so much so that even Mu Jinpei—who normally ate at a leisurely pace—thought she had no appetite. He assumed she didn’t like the mushrooms.
“If you don’t like them, give it to me.”

Snapped out of her thoughts, Ji Xingyao realized she had already taken a few bites. There was no way she’d feel comfortable handing him her half-eaten food.

She explained,
“I order this dish nearly every day. But today, it tastes different—maybe they changed chefs.”
She took another bite and confirmed her suspicion: the flavor was indeed slightly different, a bit sweeter than usual.

After lunch, Mu Jinpei didn’t rush back to his sketching—he went to brew coffee.

Now that she had free time, Ji Xingyao felt relaxed. She had originally planned to spend the entire month developing Xingyao IV but unexpectedly finished two weeks early. The process had flowed naturally and effortlessly.

She grabbed an art journal and sat in the rocking chair by the west-facing floor-to-ceiling window.

In the afternoon sunlight, warm beams filtered into the room, with a few rays landing softly on her body.

The window was half-open. A breeze lifted the off-white sheer curtains, billowing them upward. Before they could fall back down, another gust blew in.

Mu Jinpei walked over with the coffee and suddenly stopped in his tracks.

Behind the rocking chair were a few potted green plants and some lazy little succulents basking in the autumn sun.
The moment froze—like a painting.
By the window, Ji Xingyao bathed in the warm autumn light and breeze, looking like a figure forgotten by time.

Rustle. Ji Xingyao turned a page in her art journal.

Mu Jinpei stepped forward and placed the coffee on the low table in front of her.

“Thanks,” Ji Xingyao said. Then casually asked,
“Did you learn how to brew coffee somewhere?”

“My mom taught me,” Mu Jinpei answered, glancing at the journal in her hand—it was a professional art periodical published by the M.K. Gallery.

“Do you brew coffee often?”

“If we sign the representation contract, your work will be displayed in the gallery’s best spot,” he replied.

They spoke almost at the same time.

“I’ve only ever made coffee for you and my mom.”
“As for the commission split, I still insist on my previous terms.”

Again, they spoke in unison.

This time, Mu Jinpei stayed quiet, letting her finish what she wanted to say.

Ji Xingyao repeated her words from earlier,
“Regarding the commission, same as I said before.”
She looked directly at him.
“I’ve never compromised with anyone.”

She had never lacked sales channels to begin with. What she wanted now was simply a higher-end platform to save herself time and effort.

Besides, she had the confidence to demand such a high split.

But Mu Jinpei held his ground too:
“In business, I’ve never made concessions either.”

They locked their eyes for a few seconds.

A breeze drifted in.

Mu Jinpei walked over and closed the window.
“Get some rest,” he said, then returned to his workspace to continue sketching.

Ji Xingyao was the kind of person who slept randomly even at night, so she’d never taken naps—nor did she feel tired now. After flipping through the art journal, a sudden idea struck her.
“President Mu, can I borrow your watch?”

“Come take it,” Mu Jinpei replied without even looking up, fully focused on his sketch.

He didn’t ask what she wanted it for. Ji Xingyao explained on her own:
“I want to draw it.”

“Mm.”
Mu Jinpei took off the watch and set it aside, continuing to work.

Ji Xingyao didn’t want to disturb him. Her footsteps were light as she picked up the watch and returned to her work desk.

The metal band still carried his body heat.

She examined it carefully. Compared to hers, it was slightly different, the markings were shaped differently. What the men’s watch lacked, the women’s had, but both still told time just fine.

So, it turned out her watch and Mu Jinpei’s were a couple’s set.

Ji Xingyao pulled out pen and paper and began sketching.

Time flowed quietly like a river.
Golden sunlight spilled across the liquor cabinet—it was already evening.

She spent the entire afternoon drawing the watch, capturing every detail. She casually wrote the date in the lower right corner.

She went over to check on Mu Jinpei—his sketch was mostly done. His foundational drawing skills were nearly as good as hers.

Outside, the sunset gave off its final glow, and dusk settled in. The lights in the studio hadn’t been turned on, and the dimming natural light only made Mu Jinpei’s profile appear more chiseled, radiating the charm of a mature man.

As if sensing her gaze, Mu Jinpei suddenly turned around.

Ji Xingyao had gotten used to these sudden eye contacts by now. She walked over with his watch.
“Sketch is almost done, right?”

“Almost,” he replied, continuing his work.

“Your watch.”

Mu Jinpei didn’t respond, didn’t even look at her. His attention remained entirely on the sketch.

He lifted his left hand slightly, palm down, fingers curled into a loose fist.

The message was clear—he wanted her to put it on for him.

Ji Xingyao appeared calm and poised as she fastened the watch onto his wrist.

Unavoidably, their hands touched. The entire time, Mu Jinpei didn’t look at her.

After securing the watch, Ji Xingyao looked at it again and suddenly had an idea.
“President Mu, if you ever need help with something I’m capable of doing, just let me know.”

Only then did Mu Jinpei lift his gaze. He spoke bluntly,
“What, you’ve taken a liking to my hand now? Want to draw that too?”

“…Kind of,” Ji Xingyao admitted.
“I haven’t figured out how to approach it yet.”
—Not that she hadn’t thought of it, but she felt it wasn’t the right time. What came to mind was holding hands.

Mu Jinpei didn’t comment. He put down his pen.
“I’ll come by another time to make adjustments.”

All day, he didn’t have a single headache.

Then he offered,
“Let’s go out for dinner tonight.”

Ji Xingyao was quite happy to go.
Being around him felt like an endless source of creative inspiration.

Mu Jinpei stood up and put on his trench coat.
When he was sitting earlier, she had felt at ease talking to him. But once he stood, the pressure from his height hit her instantly, and she instinctively took a small step back.

He locked the studio door, and the two walked out side by side, occasionally exchanging a few words.

Tonight, Ji Xingyao picked the restaurant again—it was on the 22nd floor.

As fate would have it, while waiting for the elevator, Ji Xingyao spotted the man who had pestered her at the hospital the other day—Qi Chen.

Standing beside Qi Chen was likely his fiancée. The two stood very close together. The woman was looking at her phone, and with many people waiting for the elevator, Qi Chen instinctively used his hand to shield her.
Ji Xingyao only caught a glimpse of the woman’s side profile.

Two elevators arrived at almost the same time. After letting people exit, Mu Jinpei and Ji Xingyao stepped into the elevator on the right, while Qi Chen and Xu Rui entered the one on the left.
Mu Jinpei and Xu Rui didn’t see each other.

On the 22nd floor, all four of them ran into each other.

There were two restaurants on that floor, in opposite directions.

The only one who looked surprised was Mu Jinpei.
He hadn’t expected that the man who had harassed Ji Xingyao at the hospital would be Xu Rui’s fiancé.
In that moment, he also understood what Xu Rui had meant by “not good, not bad.”

As they drew closer, Xu Rui gave a professional smile.
“President Mu, what a coincidence.”
Mu Jinpei nodded slightly. “Hello.”
Neither of them had any intention of introducing the person beside them.

The four passed by each other, heading to different restaurants.

Once they had walked a distance away—

Ji Xingyao asked quietly,
“You know Qi Chen’s fiancée?”
Mu Jinpei replied,
“My former assistant, Xu Rui.”

So that’s how it was.

Since she was a former assistant, it was likely things didn’t end well when she left, which explained his cool demeanor.
Ji Xingyao didn’t press further, but she did feel a bit sorry for Xu Rui—Qi Chen was clearly trash. If only he weren’t such a flirt, the two of them actually looked like a fitting pair.

A classic “ice queen and wolfish guy” combo.

Once at the restaurant, the server led them to their table.

This time, Mu Jinpei didn’t sit across from Ji Xingyao. Instead, he motioned for her to sit further inside the booth.

“?” Ji Xingyao gave him a puzzled look but moved anyway.

Mu Jinpei sat beside her.

If he sat across from her, he would inevitably find himself looking into her eyes—
Eyes that held a kind of pure beauty he could never reach.