AVRL 17

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

Hearing these words, Meng Chi was stunned for a moment, then the corner of his mouth twitched almost imperceptibly.

Today’s shoot had already been nerve-wracking enough. If there were a second time, he couldn’t guarantee that something embarrassing wouldn’t happen.

Meng Chi: 【Are you also putting on an exhibition?】

Yu Tingzhi: 【No】

Meng Chi clicked his tongue, glanced sideways at the exquisitely framed painting, and inexplicably felt that Yu Tingzhi had ulterior motives. The thought he’d tossed to the back of his mind suddenly resurfaced, but he quickly pushed it down again.

Meng Chi looked down and thought for a moment, then typed: 【She Shan said you don’t actually enjoy painting that much. So why do you want to paint again?】

Yu Tingzhi replied quickly—another voice message.

“I just want to paint you, to satisfy myself… my creative desire.”

When he said “myself,” he paused for a second before completing the sentence. During that one-second pause, Meng Chi heard the sound of running water, and vaguely felt his own heartbeat falter for an instant.

Meng Chi stared at his phone screen, suddenly at a loss for words. He looked at the flowers in the painting, then remembered the sensation of Yu Tingzhi’s hand tracing the camellia on his back—that slick, warm touch, like a cat’s paw scratching at the tip of his heart.

A vibration—”buzz”—pulled Meng Chi’s wandering thoughts back.

【If that painting isn’t enough, I can pay you other compensation.】

【Name your terms.】

Seeing these two lines, Meng Chi’s brow furrowed slightly, and whatever romantic notions he’d been entertaining vanished. Only a faint, unpleasant feeling of being disrespected remained.

As if he really were nothing but a mercenary.

Meng Chi picked up his phone, held it to his lips, and pressed the record button, speaking slowly: “I don’t really know what’s so special about me that caught your eye, but Teacher Yu, my profession is a tea master, not a life model.”

After sending that voice message, there was no reply for a full minute. Meng Chi thought for a moment, then added: “I agreed to help She Shan for two reasons: one, because he’s persistent to the point of being annoying, and two, because back then, it was thanks to him that I came to Youran Teahouse and was taken in by my master. Doing this one favor for him counts as repaying that old debt.”

After sending that, Meng Chi glanced again at the painting on his desk. Remembering that Yu Tingzhi had painted it to show his mother how well the tulips were blooming, he added another message: 【It’s not appropriate for me to keep this painting. When your mother comes back, it would be better for you to give it to her.】

Having sent that, Meng Chi felt he’d finally settled the matter. He put down his phone, picked up the novel from his nightstand, and opened it to the page marked by his bookmark.

Two or three minutes passed, yet he remained stuck on the same page. His mind wandered—one moment to the rear garden of Yu Tingzhi’s house, the next to the image of his own back in the photo. Unusually, he couldn’t seem to concentrate.

Until his phone vibrated. Meng Chi shifted his gaze to the screen. This time, it wasn’t a text or a voice message—it was a voice call.

Meng Chi picked up the phone and had barely answered when Yu Tingzhi’s low voice sounded in his ear: “Are you upset with me?”

He certainly wasn’t angry—it wasn’t that serious. Meng Chi wasn’t that short-tempered either, and besides, he found it hard to stay mad at someone who appreciated him. So he gave a very amiable smile: “Why would I be upset? What’s there to be upset about?”

Yu Tingzhi was silent for a second, then asked, “If you’re not upset, why are you refusing? And why won’t you take the painting either?”

“That painting—you painted it for your mother to see. It’s not appropriate for me to keep it,” Meng Chi explained. “As for being your model, I really don’t have the time. Spring tea season is coming up soon, and I’ll be very busy.”

Yu Tingzhi: “I’m not in a hurry. It doesn’t have to be right now.”

Meng Chi felt a bit helpless inside. He called out, “Teacher Yu,” and his tone grew more serious: “I genuinely have no interest in being a model.”

Hearing the refusal in his words, Yu Tingzhi was silent for a moment, then said, “Sorry. That was presumptuous of me.”

“It’s fine,” Meng Chi replied politely. “It’s my honor to be so appreciated by you.”

To this, Yu Tingzhi made no comment. A heavy silence fell on the other end of the line, and Meng Chi could only hear his breathing—soft and steady, beating against his eardrum. It made his ear tingle, and he unconsciously pulled the phone a little farther away.

It was precisely at this moment that Yu Tingzhi spoke again: “Are you really not upset?”

“Ah?” Meng Chi let out a laugh. “Really, I’m not.”

Yu Tingzhi let out an “Mm” and abruptly ended the call.

Meng Chi stared at the screen, now back to the chat window, and was speechless for a long while.

How rude was that? Hanging up without even a word??

Just as Meng Chi was silently complaining, his phone began to vibrate again. Yu Tingzhi had dialed a video call.

Meng Chi assumed he’d accidentally hung up just now. After a moment’s thought, he pressed answer.

The screen instantly shifted from black to white, the image a bit blurry as the camera moved. When he finally made out what was on the screen, Meng Chi’s breath caught in his throat, and he instinctively gripped his phone tighter.

Yu Tingzhi was wearing only an indigo-blue bathrobe, the front hanging wide open. As the camera had shifted just now, it had briefly captured the defined contours of his chest and the faint hints of abdominal lines beneath.

Judging by the angle, he was holding the phone casually, the camera pointed upward, capturing his body from below. He’d clearly just showered—droplets still fell from the hair hanging over his forehead, and his fair face was flushed a delicate pink, while his slightly pursed lips glistened with moisture, full and vividly red.

Meng Chi was completely transfixed. It wasn’t until the sound from the phone grew louder that he snapped back to reality and released his finger from the volume button.

“What’s wrong?” He adjusted his focus, forcing himself to ignore the exposed skin on the screen.

“I wanted to see if you were upset,” Yu Tingzhi said.

Meng Chi: “…”

There was really no need for that, okay?

Meng Chi gave a helpless smile: “Teacher Yu, do you really think I’m that petty?”

The corner of Yu Tingzhi’s mouth curved into a light smile: “Not petty, but very sensitive.”

Meng Chi: “…”

That word “sensitive” immediately brought back all sorts of memories from the daytime. His ears began to burn, the heat spreading relentlessly.

“I’m not upset. You’re overthinking it,” Meng Chi said, his words coming a little faster. “That’s it—hanging up now. Going to sleep.”

Without waiting for Yu Tingzhi to respond, Meng Chi ended the video call.

He took a few deep breaths, chased away the jumble of thoughts in his head, then got up and poured himself a glass of cold water, downing it all in one go to quell the restless heat inside.

Meng Chi thought he’d have trouble falling asleep, but after a long day, he drifted off not long after lying down. And then he had a dream.

In the dream, he lay on a bed—or perhaps floated on clouds. Swaying gently, a pair of hands—white as jade, with distinct knuckles—roamed over his body. Sometimes clean, sometimes stained, they teased his nerves, kneading his restlessness.

Just as those hands traced down his lower back and gripped his buttocks, Meng Chi jolted awake, coming face to face with his metaphorical second self.

Oh no.