AVRL 15

Because of She Shan’s interruption, Meng Chi suddenly realized that what he’d said carried a subtle hint of intimacy. When he looked back at Yu Tingzhi, his gaze was no longer as unguarded as before.

After all, he’d just been fantasizing about Yu Tingzhi’s hands and had reacted inappropriately under his touch.

Meng Chi quickly averted his eyes, staring hard at Song Min to banish those untimely thoughts. Then, under Song Min’s bewildered gaze, he was dragged over to the backdrop by She Shan.

For this shoot, She Shan’s approach relied almost entirely on light and shadow. He had Song Min and Yang Zile draw all the curtains in the room. Once the interior was plunged into darkness, a single powerful lamp illuminated only the parts of Meng Chi’s body that She Shan needed.

The dim lighting gave Meng Chi a sense of security, sparing him the awkwardness of full exposure. He couldn’t understand Yu Tingzhi’s painting, let alone She Shan’s various maneuvers. But he didn’t really care—he simply followed She Shan’s instructions, constantly adjusting his poses to cooperate with the shoot.

Meanwhile, Yang Zile, watching from the sidelines, was utterly awestruck.

As all the light in the room focused on Meng Chi’s back, those veins and petals became vivid and radiant under the intense beam, as if they were growing out of his very body. The untamed vitality that rushed forth nearly made Yang Zile forget to breathe.

The room was steeped in darkness, with only a single beam of light gathering on Meng Chi. Whether he stood or sat, bent forward or leaned back, he commanded everyone’s gaze.

Standing in the shadows, Yu Tingzhi also watched him, and as he watched, he suddenly recalled the feeling he’d had when he first saw the series Wild Spring.

A boy entwined in brambles, his face dirty and unkempt yet still unmistakably handsome. He rose and fell among the thorny vines like driftwood carried by the current, his face wearing a numb calm. Yet Yu Tingzhi had seen a stubborn light in his eyes.

It was a feeling difficult to put into words. As if something about him was summoning something, or perhaps clamoring for release. Yu Tingzhi found himself irresistibly drawn in—something deep inside him broke through the surface, vibrating with an urge to pour forth.

It was after that moment that Yu Tingzhi, who had always been clear-minded and restrained, realized that he had developed an uncontrollable desire just from looking at a photograph—and harbored unspeakable, sordid thoughts about a boy he had never met.

He wanted to torment, to tear apart, to do something to him.

At this very moment, seeing Meng Chi vivid and alive, Yu Tingzhi still felt that same urge—exhilarating and agonizing all at once.

“I can see now that it’s a camellia,” Song Min said, having come up beside Yu Tingzhi at some point, his gaze fixed on Meng Chi.

“Holy shit, that’s incredible,” Yang Zile, fully converted, murmured in utter admiration. “An artist really is an artist.”

Yu Tingzhi said nothing, but a hint of a smile appeared in his eyes.

Meng Chi was completely naked, yet amid the interplay of light and shadow, others could only make out his blurred silhouette, witnessing the miracle of the painting coming to life on his body.

“I feel like that flower is alive—blooming,” Song Min said, a little dazed. “Tingzhi gege, your painting is so vivid.”

“It’s not me,” Yu Tingzhi said, looking at Meng Chi, his voice soft. “It’s him making that flower bloom.”

Song Min froze, slightly startled, and turned his head to look at Yu Tingzhi.

The faint light wasn’t enough to illuminate Yu Tingzhi’s features clearly, and the glare on his lenses happened to obscure his gaze toward Meng Chi. Song Min couldn’t see clearly, but through the slight upward curve of Yu Tingzhi’s lips, he could sense the appreciation in his eyes.

He had never heard Yu Tingzhi praise anyone like this before.

“Tingzhi gege,” Song Min said, a little lost. “You seem to really like Teacher Meng.”

Yu Tingzhi withdrew his gaze and turned to look at Song Min. As his angle shifted, the light flickered across his glasses, and Song Min finally caught the slight lift of his brow, as well as the calm, unruffled eyes beneath—seeming to hold no emotion, yet somehow brimming with so many that Song Min couldn’t read them, but felt an inexplicable sense of awe.

“I, I don’t mean that kind of like—just the appreciative kind,” Song Min said, forcing a dry smile at the corners of his eyes, then continued, “It’s just that it feels like you’ve only met twice, but you seem to get along really well.”

They’d even mentioned Auntie Yu while painting just now.

Song Min thought this to himself but didn’t say it out loud.

In truth, Song Min had arrived at an inopportune moment. By the time he got there, Yu Tingzhi hadn’t yet finished painting on Meng Chi’s body. When he pushed the door open, he’d overheard Yu Tingzhi and Meng Chi chatting.

He saw Yu Tingzhi’s eyes full of laughter as he joked with Meng Chi, the relaxation and natural ease on his face reminding Song Min of how Yu Tingzhi used to act when he was with his own gege, Song Chen.

He couldn’t quite explain why, but when Song Min saw that warm scene inside the room, a feeling of retreat arose in his heart. He didn’t go in to disturb them—as if that picture could not accommodate a third person.

“Maybe,” Yu Tingzhi said. “He’s a very interesting person.”

This answer was ambiguous and vague—neither clarifying which question he was responding to, nor whether it counted as a definitive reply.

Song Min looked at him for a while, then lowered his head and said nothing more.

“What do you think?” Yu Tingzhi asked suddenly.

“Ah? Um,” Song Min said, “Teacher Meng is very professional in tea art, and he’s easy to get along with.”

“Do you like him?” Yu Tingzhi asked again.

Song Min was taken aback and immediately answered, “No, I don’t like him.”

He hadn’t even considered which kind of like Yu Tingzhi meant—he just instinctively felt that Yu Tingzhi was referring to the same thing he was thinking. After a pause, he took a deep breath and added, “I like—”

“Tingzhi, come over here and touch this up.”

She Shan called out loudly, and Yu Tingzhi walked over at once, leaving Song Min with his unfinished sentence.

Song Min watched as Yu Tingzhi slowly stepped from the darkness into the light, walking up to Meng Chi.

Because Meng Chi had been constantly shifting positions, some of the dried pigment on his body had cracked along the lines of his skin, so Yu Tingzhi had to apply more wet pigment over it.

He used his fingers again, but now Meng Chi was too tired and hungry to entertain any fantasies. Though the sensation on his waist was intense, he didn’t have any inappropriate reactions this time.

After the touch-ups, the shoot continued, and Yu Tingzhi retreated back into the darkness.

After a few more close-up shots, She Shan had Yang Zile turn on the lights and open the curtains.

“We’ll shoot the rest in natural light,” She Shan said.

From the start of preparations to now, the entire morning had passed. Meng Chi was genuinely hungry, and very thirsty too. He wanted to ask Yang Zile to bring him a glass of water, but the high schooler was too busy running errands to pay him any attention. In the end, it was Song Min who brought him a cup of water.

“Thanks, I’m dying of thirst,” Meng Chi said. “I’ll treat you to a meal when we get back.”

Song Min smiled: “It’s just a glass of water—no need to treat me to a meal.”

“How can you say that?” Meng Chi downed it in one go, his parched throat finally soothed, feeling much better. “A drop of kindness should be repaid with a gushing spring. This glass of water is definitely worth at least one meal.”

Song Min let out a helpless laugh. Just then his phone rang, so he took the empty cup from Meng Chi and stepped aside to take the call.

Song Min hadn’t come specifically to watch the shoot today—he’d truly just been passing by. His roommate had already finished his own business and was texting him to come back and complete their group project. Song Min didn’t stay any longer. Before leaving, he cast another glance toward where Yu Tingzhi was.

By now it was past noon, the sun at its most intense. Yu Tingzhi sat on the long sofa where Meng Chi had been lying earlier, his head bowed as he gazed at something, his expression deeply focused. The sunlight fell obliquely across him.

Song Min walked over and followed his line of sight. On the white cloth, covered in creases and scattered with bits of pigment, Yu Tingzhi’s paint-stained finger was dabbing at a damp spot. With a few touches, he sketched out a pink camellia bud in full bloom against the off-white fabric.

“Why are you painting on the cloth?” Song Min asked, puzzled.

Yu Tingzhi: “My fingers itched.”

Song Min: “Alright.”

Yu Tingzhi withdrew his hand, rubbing the moisture between his fingertips, and once again turned his gaze toward Meng Chi.

“By the way, my Ge called me yesterday,” Song Min said, eyeing Yu Tingzhi’s expression—half probing, half informing. “He’ll be coming back to the country soon.”

Yu Tingzhi glanced at him out of the corner of his eye and said casually, “Is that so?”

“Mm,” Song Min said. “This time when he comes back, he probably won’t leave again.”

Yu Tingzhi’s expression remained unchanged: “That’s good—saves the family from worrying about him.”

“Yes, it’s good.” Song Min forced a bland smile.

Neither of them spoke again. Yu Tingzhi lowered his head and, using his finger dipped in green pigment, traced two green leaves beneath the pink camellia flower, making the bud look even more charming and adorable.

His roommate sent another WeChat message urging him to come back. Song Min didn’t linger any longer; after saying goodbye to Yu Tingzhi, he left.

An hour later, She Shan’s shoot finally came to an end.

“That’s a wrap!”

Meng Chi collapsed directly onto the floor, letting out a long, drawn-out sigh.

“You’re tired already?” She Shan’s eyes and brows were brimming with joy—clearly, he’d had a very satisfying shoot.

He glanced at the spring scenery outside the window: “If it weren’t for the low temperature, I’d really want you to roll around in that patch of tulips.”

“Hey, hey, don’t even think about it,” Meng Chi said, rolling his eyes. “I wouldn’t do it even if you paid me extra—I’m exhausted.”

She Shan laughed heartily twice, then gazed out the window with some regret: “With today’s weather, it’s a real shame we couldn’t shoot outdoors.”

Meng Chi: “You can keep regretting that, but your gege here isn’t going to play along.”

“Get lost,” She Shan said, giving him a light kick on the leg. “You little brat—you haven’t even grown all your hair yet, and you’re calling yourself ‘gege’ in front of me?”

Meng Chi sneered, sprawled out with his long legs, and cast a glance down at the part of his body covered by the blanket. “Want to check if it’s all grown or not?”

Hearing this, She Shan immediately jumped up and cursed at him: “You fucking pervert! I’m not gay.”

Meng Chi laughed uncontrollably. Just as he was having a great time laughing, a shadow suddenly fell over him. A tall figure appeared above Meng Chi’s head—Yu Tingzhi looked down at him with a condescending gaze. “Aren’t you hungry?”

Hungry—starving, in fact.

“Go take a shower, then come eat,” Yu Tingzhi said.

Maybe it was the angle, but Meng Chi felt that Yu Tingzhi’s expression was somewhat gloomy. His stomach was growling, so he had no choice but to get up, grab his clothes, and head off to shower.

Yu Tingzhi hadn’t used acrylic paint but plant-based pigments, so they were relatively easy to wash off—Meng Chi could clean himself without any help.

This house probably wasn’t occupied regularly, as all the toiletries were single-use. Meng Chi was used to unscented body wash; he rummaged through the options and finally settled on an ocean-fresh fragrance. After washing, he smelled just like Yu Tingzhi.

Just as he was wrapping a towel around himself and getting ready to put on his clothes, Meng Chi suddenly noticed that his white briefs had gotten stained with quite a bit of pigment—clearly unwearable.

Just as he was debating whether to just go commando, a knock came at the door.

It was Yu Tingzhi.

“Your underwear seems to be stained. Wear mine,” Yu Tingzhi said, holding out a pair of black briefs. When Meng Chi didn’t take them, he added, “They’re new—I’ve never worn them.”

With that said, Meng Chi naturally reached out and took them. But after the exchange, Yu Tingzhi showed no sign of leaving.

Meng Chi glanced at him sideways, thinking, Are you not leaving—do you expect me to put on your underwear right in front of you?

Yu Tingzhi was indeed looking at him, but his gaze was fixed on the side of Meng Chi’s face, near his earlobe.

“You…” Meng Chi had barely started speaking when Yu Tingzhi suddenly stepped forward, reached out, and rubbed his finger behind Meng Chi’s ear.

The shower had just ended, and warm steam still hung in the air. Compared to Meng Chi’s current body temperature, Yu Tingzhi’s fingers felt cool.

That coolness, tinged with moisture, delivered a fleeting sting that made Meng Chi’s brow twitch sharply.

“You didn’t wash this spot clean,” Yu Tingzhi said, speaking first.

“Really?” Meng Chi reached up and rubbed the spot behind his ear himself—his fingers came away wet, and indeed, he felt some remaining pigment. “Couldn’t see it—didn’t notice. I’ll wash it again.”

Yu Tingzhi looked at him and asked, “Do you want me to help?”

“No! No need to bother,” Meng Chi refused immediately. Realizing his tone had been too harsh, he softened his voice and added, “It’s not like I’m crippled.”

Yu Tingzhi didn’t move. He still stood there quietly, watching as the skin behind Meng Chi’s ear shifted from pink to crimson.

“You’re very sensitive,” Yu Tingzhi said suddenly.

Meng Chi’s heart jolted. Thinking of his earlier reactions, he couldn’t help feeling a twinge of guilt. But when he turned his head and saw the hint of a smile on Yu Tingzhi’s face, that guilt instantly turned into indignation.

“Teacher Yu,” Meng Chi called out, then stepped closer—half provocation, half retaliation—while his eyes swept downward toward Yu Tingzhi’s lower body. “You don’t seem to have much self-control either.”

Watching me pose for photos got you hard.

Yu Tingzhi narrowed his eyes, studied him for two seconds, then let out a light laugh: “Hurry up and wash.”

With that, he turned and walked out. As he closed the door, he suddenly glanced back and added, “The underwear might be a bit big, but it shouldn’t be a problem.”

Meng Chi: “…”

Huh?

Is he looking down on me?

After a moment of silence, Meng Chi held up the briefs to compare, then abruptly tossed them back.

Damn. They really are bigger than his.