Chapter 7: Six Years Loving the Wrong Man

Every three months, he commissioned an oil painting from me.

He gave me no particular subject or restrictions, leaving me completely free to create whatever I wanted.

We had never met.

Yet we seemed to understand each other perfectly.

He loved every piece I painted.

It might sound a little sentimental, but every so often it felt as if our souls were in sync.

Who wouldn’t value a client like that?

I’d often wondered about his identity, his work, and his age.

Wutong and I had talked many times about everything we could guess about him.

But no matter what I imagined, I never expected him to be someone I knew.

More precisely, he was someone I’d gotten to know through Chu Yusen.

His name was Qin Jingheng.

He belonged to Chu Yusen’s circle of friends.

He was a little older, and more composed and discreet.

Chu Yusen always treated him with a certain respect.

He was also the only person in that circle who had never looked at me strangely or made a single mocking or contemptuous remark.

On the contrary, early on, when Lu Tingnan and I were at each other’s throats, Qin Jingheng had even spoken up for me a few times.

I hadn’t spent much time with him, but I’d always respected him.

Like Chu Yusen, I called him Brother Jingheng.

And he’d never acted differently toward me, either.

So sitting across from him now, I felt surprised—shocked, even, beyond words.

I was no longer the eighteen- or nineteen-year-old Qin Sang. I wasn’t as naive as I used to be.

When a man did things like this, his intentions were obvious.

“I’m sorry. Does what I’ve done make you uncomfortable?” Qin Jingheng asked gently.

I shook my head.

“Uncomfortable” wasn’t quite the word.

I just felt a little disappointed in a way I couldn’t explain.

The spiritual connection I’d believed in, the mysterious kindred spirit I’d imagined—none of it had been real.

Maybe the art I’d always been so proud of wasn’t worth that much after all.

The realization made me doubt myself.

“If this really makes you uncomfortable, Tangtang…”

“Mr. Qin,” I gently interrupted.

“I’ve truly enjoyed working with you all these years.”

“Your support has given me a great deal of confidence.”

“But from now on, I hope my work can be recognized for its own merit.”

“I already think highly of your work…”

I smiled.

If he wanted beautiful oil paintings, couldn’t he buy them somewhere else?

With his resources, even priceless masterpieces by the great painters would be easy for him to acquire.

So why buy paintings from an unknown artist like me?

“It’s getting late.”

I slowly stood.

“Mr. Qin, the painting has been framed, and I’ve already handed it to your assistant.”

Qin Jingheng stood up, too.

“Tangtang, you’re a smart girl. I’m sure you can see what I feel for you…”

I looked at him directly and smiled, calm and resolute.

“Mr. Qin, I understand. And I’m grateful that you’ve always liked my work.”

He was smart and perceptive, too.

One sentence was enough for him to understand how I felt.

I was just an ordinary girl.

And their social circle was a place I should never have tried to climb my way into.

I’d once believed in love.

I’d once believed Chu Yusen could be the exception.

But reality had slapped me hard.

If I were a little more vain, maybe I’d have been delighted to accept Qin Jingheng’s affection and pursuit.

But I wasn’t that kind of person.

More than that, what Qin Jingheng had done had hurt my pride deeply.

I knew myself.

I thought that from then on, I would have nothing more to do with him.

Suddenly, someone shoved open the door to the studio.

Rainwater and the damp smell of earth came in with the wind, sending loose sheets of drawing paper fluttering.

Chu Yusen stood in the doorway, drenched. His fringe was soaked, and his face was pale.

But in those usually arrogant, self-assured eyes, there was now nothing but anger and derision.

“So you found yourself a replacement already.”

“No wonder you’re so full of yourself.”

His words caught me off guard.

But a moment later, I found them amusing.

Qin Jingheng’s expression turned cold.

“What nonsense are you talking about? I’m only here to buy a painting from Qin Sang.”

“No wonder you suddenly became obsessed with collecting oil paintings these past few years.”

“Your office is full of them. You treasure every single one like it’s priceless.”