AVRL 39

Early the next morning, Meng Chi followed Jiang Hong to the tea factory. The batch of green tea she mentioned was indeed of quite good quality, so Meng Chi accepted it directly. Part of it was sent straight to clients who had placed orders, and part was packed and shipped back to You Ran Tea House to be sold in the shop.

After finishing the busy work he returned to his room as usual to catch up on sleep. This sleep was peaceful, until he was woken by the playful noise of children. Meng Chi got up, took a shower, and when he came out wiping his hair he glanced toward the balcony and saw Jiang Hong’s two little nephews playing a game of “you chase me, I chase you, shouting to the heavens” in the garden. One held a paintbrush dipped in paint, the other held a palette of paints. Under the rose trellis nearby stood two easels.

Amid the clamor there occasionally came Jiang Hong’s helpless scolding, telling them to behave.

Meng Chi put on his clothes and went downstairs. The two little radish sprouts broke into grins the moment they saw him and ran over, asking him to come look at the pictures they had drawn and see who had drawn better.

“These two little rascals really like you, huh,” Jiang Hong teased him with a smile. “Handsome Ge is just popular.”

Meng Chi smiled. Seeing that Jiang Hong was still wearing an apron, he said, “You go busy yourself. I’ll watch the two of them.”

Jiang Hong left behind the words “There’s a share of dinner for you” and turned back into the kitchen.

These two radish sprouts clearly hadn’t learned how to paint. Apart from a pile of messy paints on the paper, nothing could be made out. Their sudden desire to paint was most likely because they had seen the art students next door carrying drawing boards and found it novel, so they had made a fuss until Jiang Hong got these things to humor them.

Meng Chi was not by nature someone good at coaxing children. He ruthlessly mocked their drawings, which provoked the two radish sprouts into defiantly challenging him to try. Meng Chi gave a snorting laugh, took the paintbrush, and was just about to show off his skills when out of the corner of his eye he spotted Yu Tingzhi passing through the courtyard.

To avoid being mocked again by Yu Tingzhi for bickering with children, Meng Chi flicked his wrist and pointed at Yu Tingzhi: “I can’t draw, but he can.”

With that he called out toward Yu Tingzhi: “Teacher Yu, hurry over and show these two a thing or two.”

Seeing that Meng Chi was teasing the children again, a trace of a smile surfaced on Yu Tingzhi’s face, and he lifted his feet and walked over.

If these two radish sprouts were close and unrestrained with Meng Chi, toward Yu Tingzhi they were respectful and restrained. But after Yu Tingzhi took the paintbrush and with just a few casual strokes outlined a little dog, the eyes of the two radish sprouts were filled completely with worship.

Meng Chi asked: “How about it? Isn’t Teacher Yu amazing?”

The two radish sprouts nodded repeatedly: “Amazing, amazing.”

Meng Chi smiled smugly. Yu Tingzhi turned his eyes and glanced at him: “They’re praising me—why are you smiling so happily?”

Meng Chi arched a brow: “If I don’t smile, should I cry instead?”

“Don’t,” Yu Tingzhi laughed softly. “I’m not good at coaxing people.”

A child’s interest came quickly and left just as quickly. After holding the paintbrush for less than ten minutes they went off again to play on the swing in the garden. Meng Chi was afraid they might fall, so he watched from the side, occasionally also serving as free labor by pushing the swing for them.

Only when Jiang Hong finished cooking and called the two little radish sprouts to go bathe did Meng Chi finally rest.

Turning his head, he saw that Yu Tingzhi had already “occupied the magpie’s nest,” standing in front of the easel with a paintbrush painting on the paper.

“You’re… painting me?” Meng Chi walked over and clearly saw the unfinished half-body portrait on the paper.

“Mm. Didn’t you say to let me paint?” Yu Tingzhi’s hand never stopped as he filled in that tiny mole on the brow bone.

“I did say to let you paint, but I didn’t expect you’d paint right now,” Meng Chi said.

Yu Tingzhi’s movements paused: “Then when did you want me to paint again?”

Meng Chi looked at Yu Tingzhi for two seconds and thought to himself that smart people really knew how to talk. With just this one question he had not only confirmed that Meng Chi would still let him paint once more, but had also hidden a bit of other probing.

“Depends on my mood,” Meng Chi curved his lips in a smile. After speaking he glanced at that half-finished piece. “Do you need me to go stand back over there?”

Yu Tingzhi stared at him for two seconds and told him to sit on the rattan chair by the rose vines.

In the distance the horizon was dyed crimson by the evening glow. The emerald-green vines and the flowers dotted among them were all covered with a soft sunset filter. Meng Chi sat there quite casually, gazing at the sun gradually being covered by clouds, his whole person calm and deep.

The paints in the box had already been ruined by the two little rascals until not much remained. Halfway through painting, Yu Tingzhi had no choice but to return to his own room for another tube.

When he came back to the garden again, Meng Chi was still sitting on that rattan chair, only now in front of him there was an extra bottle of wine and two small crystal frosted glasses.

“Finished painting?” Meng Chi heard the footsteps, turned his head, and asked Yu Tingzhi.

Yu Tingzhi: “Still a little short.”

“Take a break,” Meng Chi said. “Sister Hong’s own homemade wine—come try some.”

Yu Tingzhi nodded, set the paints aside, walked over opposite Meng Chi, and sat down.

Meng Chi poured him a glass. The peach-pink liquid filled the frosted glass, giving off a clear, sweet wine fragrance.

“What kind of wine is this?” Yu Tingzhi asked.

“She said it’s peach-blossom wine—drinking it attracts peach blossoms,” Meng Chi’s mouth corners curved in a smile. He lifted the glass, took a sip, savored it for a moment, then clicked his tongue in comment: “Pretty sweet.”

Yu Tingzhi also took a sip. The wine was cool and refreshing on entry; the rich floral fragrance, along with the wine’s spiciness, shot straight up the mouth and nose. After a sharp prick, there came a long, clear sweetness and aftertaste.

Meng Chi downed one glass directly, poured himself another, and after two glasses in succession Yu Tingzhi suddenly opened his mouth to ask: “What’s wrong with you?”

“Hmm?” Meng Chi was stunned. “What’s wrong with what?”

“You’re in a bad mood,” Yu Tingzhi said.

Although Meng Chi’s face had been wearing a smile the whole time and his tone when speaking was also very light, his emotions were lower than just now. Before Yu Tingzhi left earlier he had noticed Meng Chi take out his phone; after reading the messages he seemed to have kept his head lowered, staring blankly at the phone screen.

Meng Chi lifted his eyes and met Yu Tingzhi’s probing gaze. He set down the wine glass in his hand and opened his mouth: “It’s not exactly a bad mood—just a bit… annoyed.”

Yu Tingzhi didn’t continue asking. He lifted his wine glass and sipped a couple of times, waiting for Meng Chi to organize his thoughts.

After about half a minute Meng Chi opened his mouth again: “Do you know what the first sentence my master said to me after he found out I went to take photos was?”

“What was it?” Yu Tingzhi asked.

Meng Chi laughed once: “He asked me if I was short of money. I said I wasn’t short of money, but he didn’t seem to believe it. Just now the shop’s dividend came in—what I received was double what it was last quarter.”

Back when Meng Chi was still an apprentice he had no wages; even the earnings from going out to participate in activities would still be taken a cut by the shop. Only after Meng Chi graduated as a master and won a silver award in a tea-art competition did the activity earnings all belong to Meng Chi himself.

This meant he could leave You Ran Tea House. But Meng Chi didn’t leave. Every time there was an activity he would still take out a portion of the money and hand it over to Yang Zhengfeng. Yang Zhengfeng couldn’t argue him down, so he treated this money as Meng Chi’s investment of shares in the tea house, and every quarter he would draw a corresponding dividend for Meng Chi from the tea house’s total profits.

Meng Chi’s personal expenses weren’t large; by rights it was impossible for him to be short of money to use.

The reason Yang Zhengfeng would ask this way was because last year Meng Chi had spent all his savings to buy an Audi.

This Audi actually counted as the tea house’s dedicated vehicle, mainly to make it more convenient for Yang Zhengfeng when he went out to attend tea-art seminars or other activities.

Yang Zhengfeng was somewhat stubborn by nature and retained the previous generation’s fine quality of thrift and frugality—thrifty to the point of excess. Back when You Ran Tea House was still a tea shop it had always relied on a Wuling Hongguang van as its main vehicle. The van hauled both people and goods, right up until You Ran Tea House changed its renovation.

Last year there was one time when Yang Zhengfeng drove this weather-beaten van to attend an activity and was taken by the security at the venue for a Huolala delivery driver and blocked from entering, which made Yang Zhengfeng quite angry. Yet even at that point he still hadn’t thought of changing to a better car, always saying that as long as it could be driven it was fine.

Meng Chi couldn’t stand watching anymore. He took the two hundred thousand he had saved over these past few years as a down payment and bought an Audi that wasn’t particularly high-end yet wouldn’t cause one to lose face by being blocked from entering, as the shop’s dedicated travel vehicle.

Yang Zhengfeng cursed and grumbled on the surface, calling him a spendthrift, but behind the scenes whenever he went out to activities he praised his apprentice’s filial piety to everyone he met. Worried that he might not have enough money to use, he secretly adjusted the shop’s dividend ratio.

However, the period from after the New Year until the spring tea went on sale was the tea house’s off-season. Business wasn’t good, and there weren’t many activities either; income was dismal.

“My master is just sharp-tongued but soft-hearted,” Meng Chi took another sip of wine and sighed. “It makes my conscience uneasy. I always feel like I’ve done something wrong.”

At this, as if recalling something, Meng Chi lifted his eyelids and glanced at Yu Tingzhi: “I’m not saying I regret going to be a model. This is something I agreed to myself and something I was willing to do. Don’t go giving yourself some inexplicable psychological burden.”

The time spent with Meng Chi these past few days had already been enough for Yu Tingzhi to gain a certain understanding of him. He knew that Meng Chi appeared casual yet was actually very independent-minded. Whatever decision he made was definitely after careful consideration, and he was also extremely frank—frank in expressing what he thought inside, frank in accepting the results afterward.

Yu Tingzhi very lightly curved the corners of his mouth: “I know.”

Meng Chi nodded and poured himself another glass of wine: “As long as you know.”

“On the day the photography exhibition opened, I saw your master,” Yu Tingzhi suddenly said.

Meng Chi’s movements paused. He looked at Yu Tingzhi with some astonishment: “What was he doing there?”

“I don’t know,” Yu Tingzhi shook his head, then added, “But I feel he wasn’t very angry. At least when I saw him, there was no anger on his face.”

The expression on Meng Chi’s face suddenly became blank. He stared dazedly at a certain point in the void, not knowing what he was thinking.

After about half a minute he lifted the corners of his mouth, sighed once, and opened his mouth: “Actually the main reason my master was angry wasn’t the photos, but—”

“Meng Chi! Come eat!” Before Meng Chi could finish his words he was interrupted by a shout from Jiang Hong. Seeing that Yu Tingzhi was also there, she called Yu Tingzhi along as well.

Meng Chi didn’t continue the previous topic. He answered once and went back into the house together with Yu Tingzhi.

Yu Tingzhi had already eaten dinner outside when he returned, so he didn’t accept Jiang Hong’s invitation. Instead he helped pack up the easels in the courtyard, took that half-finished piece, and returned to his own room.

Jiang Hong’s two villas stood one in front and one behind, connected in the middle by that small garden. Yu Tingzhi lived in the rear villa; the balcony attached to the bedroom faced the direction of the garden. When he came out after showering and put the changed clothes into the washing machine on the balcony, out of the corner of his eye he saw Meng Chi standing in the garden making a phone call.

Yu Tingzhi watched a while longer. Before long he saw Meng Chi hang up the phone. When he turned his head he swept a glance in this direction, but a moment later he turned his head to look over again and met Yu Tingzhi’s gaze.

After showering, Yu Tingzhi was wearing only an ink-green bathrobe, revealing a small patch of chest and clearly defined collarbones. His ink-black hair was still wet, casually combed back, with a few strands falling across his forehead. Water droplets slid down along his sideburns and smashed onto his collarbones before disappearing.

Because he was standing on the second floor, when he lowered his eyes to look over, that noble, disdainful air about him became even more pronounced. Yet because his clothing at the moment was casual, the ink-green garment half-covering and half-revealing, it even carried a few degrees of sexiness. The temperament on him suddenly became a bit wild and erotic.

It made Meng Chi involuntarily recall the Yu Tingzhi who had held a soft whip on that absurd night. Thus, as if possessed, he arched his brows and asked: “Teacher Yu, wasn’t that painting just now still unfinished? Not continuing?”