AVRL 12

“Did I not just say the desire I was talking about was creative desire, for fuck’s sake?”

Watching Yu Tingzhi’s figure disappear into the bathroom, She Shan rolled his eyes and muttered his complaint under his breath. “He’s supposed to be an artist, at least. So little self-control.”

Meng Chi was still seated at the tea table, tidying up the tea utensils. He seemed accustomed to being watched—there was no sign of awkwardness, only composure and natural ease.

She Shan stood in place, looking at him, and suddenly, he could somewhat understand why Yu Tingzhi had needed to cool down.

After all, Yu Tingzhi’s sexual orientation was male, and Meng Chi was a rather handsome man.

Men were all lustful creatures. Even as a straight man, he had to admit that if he were a woman, he might very well have coveted Meng Chi’s physique—after all, as a man, he was already drawn to Meng Chi’s aura. Fortunately, for him, it was only creative desire.

Yu Tingzhi’s cooling-down period didn’t take long. When he came out, he looked no different from before he’d gone in, except that he now wore a pair of gold-rimmed glasses, which made him appear considerably more proper.

“We can start now,” Yu Tingzhi said.

She Shan eyed him with some concern: “Are you sure you’re up for it? Don’t let Meng Chi be perfectly at ease while you end up making a fool of yourself.”

Yu Tingzhi shot him a sidelong glance: “Then I won’t paint?”

“No, no, no,” She Shan shook his head repeatedly. “If you don’t paint, then my money’s been wasted, hasn’t it? Just to coax this kid Meng Chi into coming, I bought a whole houseful of tea.”

Yu Tingzhi glanced at Meng Chi and let out a soft laugh: “He’s worth it.”

She Shan scoffed with a chuckle, offering no comment.

She Shan’s photographic style was eclectic, chaotic, and highly self-expressive. He only photographed things he found aesthetically resonant, relying purely on instinct.

The year he met Meng Chi, She Shan was a senior at the Academy of Fine Arts. He traveled everywhere looking for inspiration for his graduation photography exhibition. He’d been to many places and met many people, and though he’d taken plenty of photographs, none had truly satisfied him—until he encountered Meng Chi.

He couldn’t quite say why, but he was drawn to Meng Chi’s aura, and it was only after persistently pestering him that he finally got Meng Chi to agree to let him shoot a set of photos.

That series, titled Wild Spring, was presented as his graduation work. When exhibited, it didn’t create any stunning, groundbreaking sensation.

Neither classmates nor faculty found She Shan’s work particularly outstanding—at best, they thought it captured a certain essence that made people look twice.

Still, She Shan submitted it to a competition anyway.

The photos ended up lost among countless other entries. To say he wasn’t disappointed would be a lie. But She Shan didn’t take it too seriously either; he’d always done his own thing.

Those who didn’t appreciate it just lacked taste—they weren’t compatible with his worldview.

Then he met Yu Tingzhi.

Among the stream of curious students passing by, only Yu Tingzhi—still a sophomore—stopped in front of that piece, gazing at it in a trance, remaining motionless for a long time.

She Shan immediately perked up and asked him what he’d seen.

The unapproachable Yu Tingzhi ignored him, but She Shan persisted, pulling him into a lengthy discussion about his creative process. When She Shan mentioned that he felt the model had something about him that made people want to do something—that he inspired a strong urge to create—Yu Tingzhi finally let out an “Mm” and reservedly remarked that the series was quite well done and that he rather appreciated it.

From then on, She Shan unilaterally regarded his junior Yu Tingzhi as a kindred spirit, sharing any good photos he took with him immediately. Over time, the two naturally became friends.

In fact, in certain respects, Yu Tingzhi really did share She Shan’s worldview—for instance, both were steadfastly true to themselves in their artistic creations, with distinct personalities and ever-changing styles.

Back at the Academy of Fine Arts, aside from his striking looks, Yu Tingzhi was well-known for both his calligraphy and his paintings. Yet he never took the commercial path; he wrote and painted as he pleased. Only when his maternal grandfather Yu Zhengmao’s friends repeatedly insisted would he sell some of his inscribed works or paintings.

She Shan was insistent on having Yu Tingzhi do the painting—first, because Yu Tingzhi had the skill, and second, because Yu Tingzhi understood him. When Yu Tingzhi proposed that he would only agree if Meng Chi was the model, She Shan readily accepted and pulled out all the stops to get Meng Chi there.

Of course, She Shan himself was also quite fond of Meng Chi, since like Yu Tingzhi, he too could see desire in Meng Chi.

Even if Yu Tingzhi’s desire might have strayed a bit off course, sexual desire was still one source of inspiration for artistic creation.

After cooling down, Yu Tingzhi had a rough idea and, after briefly communicating with She Shan, instructed Meng Chi to lie down and prepare.

When the sitting room had been converted into a temporary photography studio, the sofas had all been moved to the adjacent room. To facilitate Yu Tingzhi’s painting, She Shan had to move a backless long sofa back in with Yang Zile’s help.

“I’ve realized something—I’m basically just a gofer today,” Yang Zile said.

Meng Chi: “We could always switch.”

Yang Zile glanced at his nearly entirely bare body and waved both hands in front of his chest so fast they blurred. “No, no, no—I’ll stick to being a gofer. Gofer suits me better.”

“Being a gofer is great,” She Shan said. “For now, you can be my assistant.”

Yang Zile looked at him: “Is there pay?”

She Shan: “…”

In Yu Tingzhi’s conception, he needed to paint from Meng Chi’s shoulder all the way down to below his gluteal line, covering a large area of his back, so even Meng Chi’s underwear couldn’t stay on.

===Chapter 11===

To this, Meng Chi let out a helpless “Tch”: “That’s gonna cost extra.”

She Shan clicked his tongue: “You’re sacrificing yourself for art. Talking about money is so vulgar.”

Meng Chi sat on the sofa, eyeing him sidelong, and said leisurely, “Art is priceless, but good looks have a price tag.”

Hearing this, She Shan burst out laughing: “Are all you people from Youran Teahouse money-grubbers? Every single one of you is so calculating.”

“Not exactly money-grubbers,” Yang Zile said. “We can afford not to earn, but we can’t afford to lose. There’s no harm in fleecing a little extra when you can.”

She Shan: “Wow, so you’re treating me like a sheep to be sheared?”

“Mhm.” Meng Chi raised an eyebrow, neither confirming nor denying.

“We don’t actually need to include your face in the shot,” Yu Tingzhi interjected as he walked over with his palette, leaving Meng Chi momentarily speechless—he couldn’t help but glare at him.

Catching that glare, a trace of amusement appeared at the corner of Yu Tingzhi’s mouth: “Though physique does count as part of your looks.”

She Shan looked at him speechlessly, feeling more and more that Yu Tingzhi had been bewitched and was now rooting for the other side.

“Alright, let’s get started already.” She Shan pulled a small piece of black fabric from his gear bag and tossed it to Meng Chi. “If you don’t want to be completely naked, put this on.”

Meng Chi caught it instinctively, and only when he unfolded it did he realize that the thin scrap of fabric was a thong, with the back straps made of delicate silver chains—extremely sexy.

Meng Chi’s eyes nearly popped out again. He stiffly turned his gaze toward She Shan: “Are you some kind of pervert? You carry this thing around with you?”

“I bought it specifically for this,” She Shan said with complete justification. “It’s super convenient—it covers things up and doesn’t get in the way of his painting.”

Meng Chi: “…”

Damn, he had to admit the guy had a point.

But wearing that thing in front of Yu Tingzhi was a bit much, not to mention there was a high schooler present.

When the high schooler had seen what it was, he’d already retreated as far away as possible out of sheer embarrassment, forgoing any talk of extra pay or fleecing—after all, it looked like his Ge was the one about to be sheared now.

Just as Meng Chi was frozen and speechless, a hand with long, slender fingers reached over, its index finger hooking the silver chain and snatching that sexy thong away.

“There’s no need for that,” Yu Tingzhi said, glancing at Meng Chi’s slightly reddened ears. “Just lie down properly.”

Meng Chi’s gaze swept across Yu Tingzhi’s face and then back to the silver chain dangling from his fingertip. The sensation of the chain brushing against his palm seemed to linger still, and inexplicably, Meng Chi felt his palm grow hot, his thoughts beginning to wander.

Those hands of his dream crush—perfect not only for holding a lidded cup in the art of tea, but also for some more risqué activities.

“Fine, whatever you say—it’s your thing anyway.” She Shan snatched the item back unceremoniously and stuffed it back into his gear bag. “Just get on with it. I’m going out for a smoke.”

Meng Chi: “…”

Can you not use such vulgar language!

With She Shan gone, Yu Tingzhi turned back to continue preparing his pigments, giving Meng Chi space to get ready.

By the time Yu Tingzhi had mixed his colors and turned around, Meng Chi was already lying completely naked on the sofa.

Probably worried that the paint would stain the fabric sofa, Meng Chi had taken the white cloth that had been covering an easel and spread it over the sofa before lying down on top of it.

He lay there quietly, as if sinking into a soft cloud—peaceful and docile. The kind of sight that made people want to protect him, yet also made them want to shatter him.

As his gaze traced the elegant line of his spine downward, sweeping past the firm curve of his buttocks and his long, slender legs, Yu Tingzhi found himself growing a little less composed once again.

Author’s note:

Teacher Yu: Agreeing to take on this job—I’m not sure if it’s enjoyment or torment.