AVRL 16

After washing the pigment off his body and filling his stomach, the uncomfortable feeling that had been clinging to Meng Chi finally disappeared completely. He rubbed his belly contentedly, thinking that Song Min was right—the shrimp from Xian Ji really was very fresh.

“Ge gege ge,” Yang Zile ran over excitedly, grabbing him and pulling him along. “Come take a look, quick.”

“What are you, a rooster laying an egg?” Meng Chi said, then rinsed his mouth with tea before asking leisurely, “Look at what?”

“The final shots!” Yang Zile said. “She Shan has already edited some of them. Aren’t you going to take a look? Damn, they’re seriously incredible.”

It would be a lie to say he wasn’t curious—after all, just two hours ago, Yang Zile had been scoffing at the whole thing, and now he was raving about the finished product. Clearly, She Shan really did have some skills.

Yu Tingzhi’s house had been prepared as a vacation retreat, equipped with not only an indoor swimming pool but also a media room with top-of-the-line display screens.

She Shan’s excitement hadn’t worn off yet. Eager to start editing, he had commandeered the media room and was already doing preliminary processing on his laptop.

As soon as Meng Chi walked in, he saw the screen filled with images of himself—standing, sitting, lying down, leaning back—most of them close-ups of his back, with only a few showing his full face as he turned his head.

She Shan moved his mouse and brought up the center image, clicking his tongue in admiration. “This one, really—tsk, tsk, tsk—a work of art, a true work of art. I’m putting this as the centerpiece of the exhibition!”

This photo was the only one where Meng Chi was fully nude and standing. In the shot, his back faced the camera, his body slightly turned, his head angled back in a half-glance that revealed his profile.

The entire image was almost pitch black, showing only the silhouette of the side-and-back lines of his body, traced by light and shadow, along with half of the painted design on his back.

It was as if he was both emerging from the darkness and about to merge fully into it. Amid this simple contrast of light and dark, the vibrant green on his back was the only color.

Both the lighting and the shooting angle had been chosen with great skill by She Shan. As a result, whether it was the serene, composed aura emanating from Meng Chi’s half-visible face or the smooth, graceful flow of his body’s lines, everything was rendered to perfection. And the finishing touch of the painting—the camellia flower—stood out brilliantly.

Meng Chi even felt a strange illusion, as if the painting had grown out of his own body, and his existence served solely to nourish that camellia plant, allowing it to grow and bloom.

Inseparable, indispensable.

Meng Chi didn’t know how to describe what he felt when he saw this image. Before, he’d only thought it was a messy jumble of pigment, but at this moment, that pile of paint suddenly seemed to come alive, delivering a powerful impact.

It was beauty, it was art—a refined, ethereal highbrow creation.

It was thanks to both She Shan’s masterful photography and Yu Tingzhi’s exquisite painting skills.

With that thought, Meng Chi’s gaze unconsciously scanned the room in search of Yu Tingzhi, but he didn’t spot him—he wasn’t there.

“So?” She Shan said, looking at Meng Chi with great smugness. “Are you amazed by your own beauty?”

What beauty—a grown man couldn’t exactly be described as “beautiful.”

Though, not that it couldn’t be said—Yu Tingzhi was rather beautiful.

Meng Chi grumbled inwardly but gave a sincere compliment out loud: “It’s Teacher Yu’s painting that’s good.”

She Shan nodded in agreement. “Tingzhi really is good. If he went into painting professionally, there’d be no room for all those mediocre artists out there.”

Meng Chi sat down beside him and asked casually, “Then why didn’t he become a painter?”

She Shan glanced at him and smirked slyly. “Because he became a calligrapher instead.”

“…”

No kidding.

“His calligraphy is excellent too,” Meng Chi said.

“Of course—his grandfather is a bona fide master of calligraphy,” She Shan said. “Tingzhi grew up by his side and studied for so many years, so naturally he’s no slouch.”

Meng Chi listened, but his thoughts began to wander.

Yu Tingzhi’s upbringing seemed somewhat unusual—he’d grown up by his maternal grandfather’s side, took his mother’s surname, didn’t have a harmonious relationship with his mother, and his father’s side was almost entirely invisible.

After letting his thoughts drift for a few seconds, Meng Chi pulled them back. After all, this was someone else’s family matter, and he didn’t ask further.

“Actually, at first Tingzhi followed his grandfather’s wishes and studied traditional Chinese painting. Watercolors and the like—he just picked those up in his spare time for fun.” She Shan paused, then added, “Truthfully, if you ask me whether he really likes painting, I don’t think he’s particularly passionate about it. He doesn’t care much about being a painter either, and it’s about the same with calligraphy.”

Picked up casually and still able to paint this well—that was nothing short of natural genius.

His dream crush wasn’t just a stunning looker—he was a prodigy.

Meng Chi couldn’t help feeling inwardly awed. He looked at the camellia on his back in the photo and said, “Actually, it didn’t necessarily have to be me as the model. With Teacher Yu’s ability, he could achieve this same effect with any other tea master.”

She Shan shook his head repeatedly, but before he could speak, another low voice answered in his place.

“No,” Yu Tingzhi said, having appeared from somewhere, his tone leaving no room for doubt. “It has to be you.”

Meng Chi turned at the sound and met Yu Tingzhi’s gaze head-on.

Yu Tingzhi had already taken off his glasses. Beneath his long lashes, his light-colored pupils held a dim glow, making his expression hard to read. All Meng Chi knew was that his gaze was intensely focused, as if there was nothing in his eyes but Meng Chi—nothing else.

Under such a gaze, Meng Chi’s heartbeat suddenly began to race, and that familiar warmth seemed to return, stirring his heartstrings.

“With anyone else, I couldn’t paint it,” Yu Tingzhi said as he walked toward Meng Chi, “nor would I want to.”

“Why?” Meng Chi blinked. He was surprised to find himself hoping for an answer, though he couldn’t explain why.

Yu Tingzhi turned his gaze to the photo on the screen and said slowly, “Your aura is very special—it awakens the desire to create in me.”

“Exactly,” She Shan interjected. “Why else do you think I went to all that trouble to drag you here? I could easily find models with better physiques than yours.”

Meng Chi: “…”

You could have left out that last part.

Seeing Meng Chi’s blank expression, She Shan clicked his tongue and tried to make up for it: “You’re not bad either—otherwise, Tingzhi wouldn’t have looked at you so… uh, felt such a strong urge to create.”

Catching Yu Tingzhi’s cold glance, She Shan forced himself to change the phrase “couldn’t stay calm” into something more proper.

“Is that so?” Meng Chi said softly. He didn’t really see anything special about himself, but since these two artists both said so, he certainly didn’t mind hearing it.

He had a little flaw—he couldn’t stay mad at anyone who complimented him.

After all, no one disliked being praised, especially when the person doing the praising was exceptionally outstanding themselves.

After looking at the photos, it was already close to evening. She Shan suggested Meng Chi stay for dinner at a nearby private kitchen restaurant, his treat. Yang Zile had heard of that place—its dishes were delicious—and he wanted to go, but Meng Chi declined.

Du Feng called, saying his daughter had a fever and he needed to stay with her while she got an IV drip, so he couldn’t make it to the shop tonight. However, two regular customers were coming in for tea, and he asked Meng Chi to host them in his place.

Since he had actual work to do, She Shan didn’t try to keep him. He said to Yang Zile, “Then how about you come along, little brother? You’ve worked hard all day—you deserve a reward.”

Yang Zile swallowed, looking at Meng Chi like an eager puppy.

Meng Chi laughed. “Go ahead, but come back early.”

“Don’t worry,” She Shan said with a smile. “I’ll drive him back after we eat.”

Meng Chi had no concerns—Yang Zile was an adult and wouldn’t get lost. He said his goodbyes and got into his car, ready to head back.

As he started the engine, Yu Tingzhi knocked on his window. When Meng Chi rolled it down, Yu Tingzhi said, “Drive safe.” Meng Chi gave him a smile in return and drove away from Zhaomu Li.

That evening, Youran Teahouse wasn’t too busy—aside from a few regulars, there were only some female college students. Meng Chi served the regulars that Du Feng had mentioned, then returned to the main hall.

His recent innovation, “Peach Treasure,” had been quite popular. The college students ordered a pot of black tea, and while Meng Chi brewed it for them, they asked why there were no fruit teas on the menu.

In fact, the fruit teas Meng Chi had developed weren’t for sale—they were usually given as complimentary drinks. Sometimes when customers brought children, and the kids preferred sweeter drinks, he’d offer them a cup of fruit tea.

The young women showered Meng Chi’s “Peach Treasure” with praise. Seeing that the place was quiet at the moment, Meng Chi put on a little fruit-tea performance right in front of them, even telling them they could easily make it at home themselves.

“You’re so interesting—you don’t sell this tea, and you even teach it for free,” one of the girls said with a laugh. “Are you running a business or a charity?”

Meng Chi smiled: “Why not both?”

The girls laughed endlessly at his quips and stayed until past nine, only leaving when the shop was about to close.

By the time Meng Chi left the teahouse and returned to his place, Yang Zile had just gotten home as well—and brought back a large paper bag nearly half a meter wide.

“What’s this?” Meng Chi took it. “Late-night snacks?”

“No idea,” Yang Zile said with a burp. “Teacher Yu gave it to me just now.”

“Yu Tingzhi drove you back?” Meng Chi asked as he opened the paper bag and saw a painting inside.

It was the garden scene with the crabapple tree and tulips, capturing the spring colors. The piece, which had previously been casually clipped to an easel, was now framed in a simple, natural wood-colored frame—clearly mounted specially after he’d left.

So Yu Tingzhi had actually meant it when he said he’d give it to him.

Holding the exquisitely framed painting, Meng Chi felt pleasantly surprised.

He pulled out his phone and sent Yu Tingzhi a WeChat message.

【Teacher Yu】

【You actually gave me the painting—I thought you were joking.】

Yu Tingzhi didn’t reply immediately. Meng Chi guessed he was probably driving, so he put his phone down and took another shower. By the time he brought the painting into his room, placed it on his desk, and lay down on his bed, Yu Tingzhi had responded.

【I wasn’t joking】

【If you like it, keep it】

Meng Chi thought to himself, I don’t think I said I liked it—I just said it was beautifully painted.

But it would be rude to say outright that he didn’t like it, so he sent back: 【Thank you】

But I can’t accept a gift for nothing, I…

Before he could finish typing, the other side replied: 【No need to be polite with me】

Meng Chi: …

What exactly is our relationship that I don’t need to be polite?

For some reason, Meng Chi found Yu Tingzhi a bit strange. He deleted everything in the input box and changed it to: 【It’s not a matter of politeness—it’s that I can’t accept a gift for nothing.】

As soon as he sent that, Yu Tingzhi replied with a three-second voice message. Meng Chi didn’t play it—out of habit, he converted it to text.

【Besides, it’s not entirely a gift.】

Meng Chi raised an eyebrow slightly, waiting for Yu Tingzhi’s follow-up.

Two seconds later, another three-second voice message came through. Meng Chi was about to convert it to text again, but his fingertip touched the screen, and Yu Tingzhi’s clear, cool voice came through the speaker.

“I hope you’ll let me paint you one more time.”