AVRL 14

Meng Chi was utterly tormented.

He had tried very hard to keep himself calm, but that hand on his waist simply wouldn’t let him off.

The pigment piled up on his waist had absorbed the body heat of both of them, no longer cold, only warm and slick. Meng Chi didn’t feel ticklish, nor did he feel pain—he just couldn’t stop thinking about what Yu Tingzhi’s hand looked like right now.

Whether it was dabbing or pressing, smoothing evenly or stretching out lines, Meng Chi felt as though this painting wasn’t being drawn on his waist, but on his nerves, leaving him restless under Yu Tingzhi’s hand, a thin layer of sweat breaking out on his skin.

Until that slick sensation gradually moved downward from his lower back, about to climb onto the curve of his buttocks—Meng Chi’s nerves seemed to be pulled taut as well, unable to tell whether he was anticipating it or dreading it.

But Yu Tingzhi stopped.

Those fingers that had been toying with Meng Chi’s metaphorical second self halted, right at the edge of that cloth.

After about four or five seconds of silence, Meng Chi couldn’t help but turn his head back. He saw the expanse of green on his own back, and also saw that pigment-stained hand, resting right above the cleft of his buttocks.

“What’s wrong?” Meng Chi asked.

Yu Tingzhi, who had been looking down, seemed startled out of a trance. He glanced over at him, then withdrew his hand and said, “It’s done.”

“Hm? You’re finished?” Meng Chi asked. “Didn’t you say you needed to paint all the way to…”

Out of some inexplicable embarrassment, Meng Chi didn’t finish the sentence, but Yu Tingzhi clearly understood.

“Not for now,” Yu Tingzhi said, looking at the colors on his back. “This is enough as it is.”

Meng Chi let out an “Oh” and didn’t press further. After all, the painter had the final say on how it was painted—he was just a canvas.

Yu Tingzhi: “Stand up. Let me see the effect.”

“…”

The corner of Meng Chi’s mouth twitched almost imperceptibly. His metaphorical second self was still standing at attention—if he got up now, wouldn’t that be utter social annihilation? How was he supposed to explain that he’d gotten a reaction just from watching Yu Tingzhi’s hands?

“What’s wrong?” Yu Tingzhi asked when he didn’t move.

“Um…” Meng Chi looked at his own back and thought for a moment before saying, “It’s not dry yet. If I move, won’t that affect the result?”

Yu Tingzhi: “That’s fine. I need it in this half-dry state—it makes adjustments easier.”

Meng Chi: “…”

After a moment of silence, Meng Chi had no choice but to steel himself and prepare to get up. He had just bent his knee and arched his back when Yu Tingzhi suddenly leaned in toward him. Startled, Meng Chi jerked his head to the side, coming face to face with his dream crush’s features at close range.

The suddenly shortened distance made their breaths mingle on each other’s faces. While reeling from the assault of that handsome face, Meng Chi also caught a hint of ocean-fresh fragrance amid the pungent smell of paint.

“What, what are you doing?” Meng Chi stammered.

Yu Tingzhi lowered his gaze, sweeping past Meng Chi’s slightly parted lips, then landing on the gray-blue blanket clutched in his hands: “I’m worried you might be exposed.”

Meng Chi snapped back to reality and then noticed that Yu Tingzhi’s clean left hand was holding a corner of the blanket, tucking it forward toward his crotch.

With the light blocked out, everything in front of him fell into shadow. Even though he knew Yu Tingzhi couldn’t see anything, Meng Chi still suddenly felt a wave of embarrassment.

“I’ll do it myself.” He put his long legs down on the floor and somewhat eagerly snatched the blanket from Yu Tingzhi’s hand, wrapping it around his waist, then quickly added, “Thanks.”

Yu Tingzhi stared at him for two seconds, let out an “Mm,” his eyes sweeping past the covered part of his body, then withdrew his gaze and his hand.

Fortunately, the painting was on his back, so once Meng Chi stood up, he could just keep his back to Yu Tingzhi. Even so, the gaze behind him made Meng Chi feel as though needles were pricking his back—he couldn’t find his calm.

Meng Chi suddenly regretted agreeing to She Shan and taking on this thankless task.

Just as his thoughts were wandering, the blanket around his waist suddenly tightened, followed by a cool sensation on his buttocks. Yu Tingzhi’s low voice sounded beside his ear: “It got rubbed off here. I need to touch it up.”

Meng Chi caught that scent from Yu Tingzhi again as the blanket tightened around his waist. As if affected by it, Meng Chi’s abdomen unconsciously tensed, and the distinct blocks of his abdominal muscles became visible.

After touching up the pigment that had been rubbed off his lower back, Yu Tingzhi moved around to Meng Chi’s side and added a few more strokes to his flank, the brushwork curving all the way to the edge of his abs.

“Are you painting the front too?” Meng Chi asked.

To make the shape in front less obvious, Meng Chi hadn’t tucked the edge of the blanket into his waist like a bath towel. Instead, he’d gathered two little bunches of fabric and tied a knot just below his lower abdomen, so the folds of the fabric completely concealed his metaphorical second self. With that, even when Yu Tingzhi moved in front of him, he had nothing to fear.

“Mm.” Yu Tingzhi nodded, crouching down in front of him as he painted, explaining, “He wants to capture the side curve of your body, so the front is needed as well.”

From their very first meeting, Meng Chi had always looked up at Yu Tingzhi—slightly, due to the height difference, but also because of Yu Tingzhi’s natural, aristocratic bearing, which made people unconsciously look up to him.

This cold, aloof aura, tinged with pride and sharpness, wasn’t likable. Meng Chi very much disliked it.

But now, because Yu Tingzhi was kneeling on one knee, half-crouched, Meng Chi found himself looking down at him for the first time from this angle. He could still see that cold pride in Yu Tingzhi, yet alongside his dislike, there arose a strange sense of satisfaction.

It was as though the person before him had already been conquered, willingly submitting. Meng Chi even felt an impulse to reach out and press down on his head.

“It’s done.”

Yu Tingzhi’s voice suddenly cut through Meng Chi’s reverie.

After finishing the last stroke, he stood up, took a slight step back, and admired his work.

Meng Chi could also look down and see the pattern on the right side of his abs.

Honestly, he couldn’t make sense of it. All he could see was something long and slender—green in varying shades, like leaves.

“All done?”

She Shan, who had finished his smoke, emerged from nowhere again, and the temporary assistant Yang Zile had also returned: “Looks like it’s finished.”

“Wow, looks like I came at just the right time.”

Another voice—young, with a hint of excitement—rang out. Meng Chi immediately turned his head and saw Song Min walking in as well.

“What are you doing here?” The sight of his crush suddenly appearing cleared away all the lingering romantic thoughts in Meng Chi’s heart.

“I had some business nearby with my roommate, so I swung by on the way,” Song Min said, lifting the takeout bags in his hands. “You haven’t eaten yet, have I? I packed lunch from Xian Ji.”

Only then did Meng Chi notice that not only Song Min, but Yang Zile also carried several takeout bags.

“You can eat later. We’re shooting first,” She Shan said to Meng Chi.

Meng Chi was a bit hungry, but he had no choice but to comply.

“Tingzhi gege, I also bought your favorite tempura shrimp,” Song Min said, running over to Yu Tingzhi with a smile. “Xian Ji’s shrimp are very fresh.”

Yu Tingzhi nodded, then discussed with She Shan how the lighting should be set up for the shoot, using the painting on Meng Chi’s body as reference.

With this interruption, Meng Chi’s physical reaction had already subsided, allowing him to face everyone’s gazes with composure. Still, when he heard that Song Min had specially bought Xian Ji’s signature dish for Yu Tingzhi, he couldn’t help feeling a pang of annoyance for a second.

“What is all this painting supposed to be?” Yang Zile asked, looking at the artwork on Meng Chi’s back with a twisted expression that plainly said, “I really don’t get it.”

“I don’t know either,” Song Min said. He studied the large swaths of dark green on Meng Chi’s back carefully, then looked at Yu Tingzhi. “It looks like trees? And flowers?”

Staring at that odd, misshapen patch of white amid the vast dark green, Yang Zile said incredulously, “You’re calling that a flower? What kind of flower is that?”

Yu Tingzhi: “Camellia.”

Yang Zile’s eyes widened, and the look he shot Yu Tingzhi clearly said, “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Ge, did you recognize it?” Yang Zile asked Meng Chi, deliberately emphasizing his tone. “That’s a camellia!”

Using the surface of the fill light as a mirror, Meng Chi could also see the condition of his own back, but he hadn’t been able to make out a camellia either.

He let out a light laugh and said, “This kind of art isn’t something us common folk can appreciate. Whatever Teacher Yu says it is, that’s what it is.”

As soon as he finished speaking, everyone turned their eyes toward Meng Chi—this time looking at his face.

Song Min and She Shan couldn’t help bursting into laughter, leaving Meng Chi bewildered about what was so funny.

“What are you laughing at?” Meng Chi asked, confused.

“Ge,” Yang Zile said, the corner of his mouth twitching with a look of distaste. “‘Common folk’ isn’t a word used to describe people.”

“Huh?” Meng Chi, who hadn’t even finished high school, genuinely didn’t know that—he’d just thrown it out casually.

“‘Common folk’ and ‘highbrow art’ are both terms for works,” Song Min explained with a smile. His tone was gentle, without the slightest hint of condescension toward the less-educated Meng Chi.

Still, Meng Chi felt a bit embarrassed inside, though he maintained a perfectly composed face. He turned to look at Yu Tingzhi, still wearing his habitual roguish smile: “I wasn’t wrong, was I? Right now, I am Teacher Yu’s work.”

Teacher Yu’s. Work.

Hearing those words, Yu Tingzhi’s eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly at the corners, his gaze at Meng Chi unconsciously growing deeper, as if gathering countless lights—and then, with a silent bang, bursting into bloom in his heart.

The two of them locked eyes—one with bright, cunning, lively eyes, the other with deep, calm, ocean-like ones. Their invisible gazes clung to each other, as if sparks were flying.

Just then, having laughed enough, She Shan glanced at the two of them and called out impatiently, “Stop fucking flirting and get the hell over here for the shoot.”

Meng Chi: “…”

Who the hell was flirting?

Author’s note:

Teacher Yu: I can testify—he came on to me.