12 Dampness

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Exclusive to Jinjiang Literature City

Chapter 12

The living room converted into the art studio had two doors. One led to another living room, and the other opened directly into Xuan Congnan’s bedroom.

Near the door by the living room was a large, square window facing south. The curtains were the color of the deep sea, adorned with two adorable dolphins leaping out of the water, bathing in the moonlight.

Xuan Congnan could imagine how bright the room must be during the day.

The entire west wall was lined with a floor-to-ceiling cabinet crafted from fine wood. But it wasn’t used for books; it was clearly for storing Xuan Congnan’s various art supplies.

There was a lazy sofa, a tea table, a desk made of yellow pear wood... Xuan Congnan couldn’t name all the furniture but knew everything was complete and well-equipped.

Three oil paintings hung on the east and north walls, all dominated by blue tones.

Xuan Congnan liked this place very much.

“Renovating all this must have taken a lot of time,” he asked.

Gu Shi replied, “Half a month.”

Xuan Congnan was surprised. “So all these days you went out to work, you were busy with this?”

Gu Shi nodded.

“Doesn’t it interfere with your main work?”

Gu Shi shook his head. “No.”

The bedroom curtains were open, city lights streaming in, colorful and dazzling.

Entering directly from the art studio, Xuan Congnan walked to the window and stood there, gazing absentmindedly at the brightly lit city center. “The view here is especially beautiful.”

“Mm,” Gu Shi responded.

“...A big room with windows,” Xuan Congnan murmured as if speaking to himself.

Several bedrooms each had their own bathroom, and beside the large living room was an independent kitchen.

Everything was convenient.

—

“Where are you going?” When Zhuo Yajun saw Xuan Congnan pulling everything out of the room that could only be called a storage room and loading it onto a cart by the door, she was incredulous. “Can your rental place even fit all that?”

The sun was shining brightly. Xuan Congnan put a box of watercolor paper, which he had previously bought with others, in the back seat of the cart, feeling good. He answered, “It fits.”

Zhuo Yajun was wearing a branded short-sleeve and shorts outfit today. When Xuan Congnan started moving things, she wanted to stop him but dodged far away, afraid of brushing against him. “Stay away from me. If you get me dirty, I’d have to sell you off and I couldn’t afford the compensation.”

“You have legs, walk farther,” Xuan Congnan said. “Thanks for cooperating.”

Xuan Ye wasn’t around; no one knew where he had gone this time—probably drinking and gambling again.

It wasn’t summer vacation yet, and Xuan Zhuoyao seldom came back.

The last time Xuan Zhuoyao barged into Xuan Congnan’s rental, he didn’t know what had happened at home and still managed to talk to Xuan Congnan “peacefully.” But he must have contacted Zhuo Yajun and learned the truth. Since then, he hadn’t reached out again.

“With this attitude, someone might think you’ll never come back,” Zhuo Yajun said. “Do you still want your mom’s paintings?”

Xuan Congnan put the last new paintbrushes into his backpack. “You keep them well. Besides, I can’t find them anyway. If it weren’t for my mom’s paintings, I’d burn your home down.”

“You...!” Zhuo Yajun’s face changed slightly and she snorted coldly. “Ha, talking about emotional coldness as a kid. If anyone else was as cold as you—cold enough to want to set your uncle and aunt’s house on fire—the world would have ended and humanity would have been extinct long ago! Your dad really cared, took you to so many hospitals. Did he ever think you were like your mom?”

Xuan Congnan said, “Who gave you the right to talk about my parents?”

“I don’t have the right, only you do,” Zhuo Yajun smiled. “If it weren’t for you, would they have died? It’s good you’re leaving now—no more cursing your parents and then cursing your uncle and aunt. I want to live a few more years.”

Before leaving, Xuan Congnan bumped her arm lightly and said kindly, “I’ve already cursed you. You’re welcome.”

Zhuo Yajun was flustered and immediately slapped the arm that had been touched, as if really afraid of the curse.

Gu Shi went out to work, and there was no one at home.

Together with the movers, Xuan Congnan moved everything into the art studio, thanked them, paid, and then started tidying up by himself.

The space quickly filled up. Standing in the middle, Xuan Congnan smiled softly.

Although he would only live here for two months, he would cherish every single day immensely.

“Buzz.”

Scavenger: [Image]

Scavenger: “Lunch today wasn’t very tasty.”

Scavenger: “Remember to eat.”

His roommate was so considerate that Xuan Congnan felt a little embarrassed.

Living in the house rented by Gu Shi, staying in the art studio Gu Shi had renovated, Xuan Congnan found himself unconsciously accommodating everything about Gu Shi.

Xuan Congnan: “Got it.”

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Scavenger: “Don’t just eat instant noodles. I’ll order takeout for you.”

Xuan Congnan replied: “I’ll order myself.”

One minute later, Scavenger: “Ordered already.”

Xuan Congnan: “...”

He typed seriously: “Thank you, Gu Shi.”

Scavenger: “Mm.”

With a sketchbook in his backpack, Xuan Congnan took it out while waiting for lunch and flipped through the pages. Many were quick sketches of landscapes, several stray cats and dogs, and only one was a sketch combining a person and a night scene.

It was from their first meeting on May 20th.

Gu Shi was sitting by the flower bed, looking up at the moon. He said he was waiting for the moon back then.

What a strange person.

After some thought, Xuan Congnan opened a shopping app and, gritting his teeth, bought two branded T-shirts, pure white.

It cost him 980 yuan, enough to cover two months’ rent.

After placing the order, he muttered softly, “I’m not stingy... I actually have money.”

Since changing his address, he never heard anyone knocking on the door late at night again. Gu Shi no longer had to sleep on the narrow one-meter-twenty bed in the living room, which he had bought just a month ago, still brand new. Xuan Congnan couldn’t bear to throw it away, so he had dragged it from his old rental.

The new home had enough rooms and beds. The one-meter-twenty bed was only placed in the studio as a temporary resting spot for Xuan Congnan. When tired from painting, he could lie down for a short nap, though the bedroom was just a push of the door away.

In about three weeks, summer vacation would start. Xuan Congnan had already taken two part-time art tutor jobs for junior high students and could begin after the holiday. Gu Shi wasn’t that busy; Xuan Congnan noticed he often worked intermittently—busy for two days, then claiming no work and resting at home for three. But online, many people had fierce opinions about whether Gu Shi was working at all.

Many said Gu Shi’s agent didn’t want him to work and even wanted to shelve him.

Gu Shi had clearly been a workaholic before—he seemed miserable if he wasn’t on screen for a day. Now, no one could find him anywhere. Something was fishy.

Xuan Congnan felt the same.

He quietly looked up from his phone screen, watching Gu Shi cooking in the kitchen. A strong feeling of being a husband washed over him...

Xuan Congnan was startled, finding his own thoughts strange.

But he really wanted to ask Gu Shi what was going on. Was there really a problem with work? Was the agent trying to shelve him? Xuan Congnan looked up the meaning of “shelving” online and understood.

After years of work, accumulating money and fame, suddenly deciding to rest made some sense. Now, since he was eating, drinking, and sleeping at Gu Shi’s... He closed his phone and stopped worrying. If Gu Shi wanted to work, he would; if not, that was fine too. As long as he was happy.

“Congnan.” Gu Shi called.

Xuan Congnan had just plucked a grape from the fruit plate and replied, “Mm?”

“We’re out of salt,” Gu Shi glanced back at him. “There’s more in the cupboard above the fridge, can you get it for me?”

Xuan Congnan plucked another grape and popped it in his mouth. “Oh, okay.”

“What are you cooking?” He handed over the opened salt shaker and looked ahead, tilting his body slightly so Xuan Congnan could see better.

“Crucian carp tofu soup.”

“Smells so good.” Xuan Congnan said, “Do you cook often at home?”

“No need,” Gu Shi said. “There’s a housekeeper.”

Xuan Congnan said, “As long as you haven’t lived a hard life.”

Gu Shi put the lid back on the pot to simmer. “I used to be a scavenger when I was a kid.”

His features were sharp, and his expression was consistently stoic—this was a fact Xuan Congnan had confirmed after living with him for over a month. So when Gu Shi delivered such a deadpan joke, Xuan Congnan was momentarily stunned.

“Not funny?” Gu Shi asked.

Xuan Congnan kept a straight face. “Ha ha.”

Gu Shi laughed first.

This time Xuan Congnan couldn’t hold back and chuckled, “You’re something else...”

“What’s wrong?”

“You’re a good person.”

Gu Shi’s expression remained unchanged. “Oh.”

“I won’t come back for lunch tomorrow,” Xuan Congnan said. “Just letting you know.”

“Tomorrow’s the weekend.”

“Mm,” Xuan Congnan said. “Vacation is coming soon. I found a job. I’ll meet the students tomorrow to get acquainted.”

The aroma of crucian carp tofu soup filled the kitchen and living room. Gu Shi lifted the lid. “Good.”

Summer was rainy and often thundery.

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That night, there wasn’t a single star in the sky. The wind carried moisture through the city, an overcast night with no rain.

During the day, the city was gray and cool. Xuan Congnan wore a burgundy long-sleeve shirt and dark jeans when he went out. Afraid of stepping in puddles on the way back, he wore a pair of high-top canvas shoes.

“Take an umbrella.” Gu Shi was dressed formally, preparing for work. When fastening his cufflinks, he reminded Xuan Congnan.

After changing shoes, Xuan Congnan took a transparent umbrella from the umbrella basket behind the door. “I brought one. You take yours too.”

“Okay.” Gu Shi nodded.

The first student was a thirteen-year-old boy who had just started junior high. His parents noticed his fondness for drawing and thought of hiring a teacher.

The boy was smart; Xuan Congnan only had to explain something once for him to understand, and he had his own ideas.

Whenever the boy expressed his thoughts, Xuan Congnan wouldn’t interrupt but let him naturally discover his own unique style.

When he left, the boy mentioned wanting to pursue art in the high school entrance exam, so Xuan Congnan said, “Having your own style is good, but during exams, you can’t be too individualistic. Exams require rules and superb skills; the teacher looks for solid drawing fundamentals.”

The boy was humble and immediately said, “I’ll learn well from my brother.”

After a good first meeting with the first student in the morning, Xuan Congnan went to meet the second student in the afternoon.

It was a girl. Before chatting with her parents, he already knew. She was eleven years old, highly intelligent, having skipped grades from fifth grade to junior high and was now a second-year junior high student.

Her parents delicately explained that their daughter was eccentric and usually quiet, with only studying and drawing occupying her time. She painted things beyond what a ten-year-old could create—a flower blooming prematurely.

Before meeting her, Xuan Congnan guessed she might have autism—commonly referred to as “star children.”

“If you find it hard to teach her, you can tell us,” her parents said.

“No problem, I can teach her. My mom was like this when she was young.”

The girl’s painting was unique and not suited to a step-by-step approach, making the art-focused high school entrance exam route unsuitable.

Her parents said they didn’t intend for her to take that path anyway. She excelled academically, always ranking first in school. Art was just a way for her to express the conflicting worlds she saw and felt inside.

Both students were excellent. Xuan Congnan agreed with their parents to start teaching as soon as the vacation began.

Drizzle fell from the sky as Xuan Congnan opened his umbrella and walked into the rain.

He quite liked rainy days. The streets near home weren’t far, so he didn’t call a car but walked back.

Passing the university gate, someone called out, “Xuan Congnan!”

Looking over, Xuan Zhuoyao was sheltering from the rain under a shop awning. “I’m coming to your rental! You moved?”

Xuan Congnan couldn’t leave because he was already running toward him.

“New paintings?” Xuan Congnan asked. “Let me see if they’re ugly.”

“Stop badmouthing!” Xuan Zhuoyao gritted his teeth. “I haven’t settled accounts with you over making my parents fight.”

“They’ve been fighting for twenty years. I’ve only lived at your place for ten. How can it be my fault?”

“I can’t argue with you! I have serious business today,” Xuan Zhuoyao said.

“I’m not interested in your business.”

Saying that, Xuan Congnan tried to walk past, but Xuan Zhuoyao chased after him. “Xuan Congnan, why didn’t you say your boyfriend is so rich? Then my parents wouldn’t want you to marry Zhang Zong. I think the Zhang guy is pretty ugly.”

Xuan Congnan found that odd and looked at him strangely.

At that moment, a man appeared in front of them, holding a black umbrella in the rain.

Shen Qian.

His brows were deeply furrowed, and Xuan Congnan glared at Xuan Zhuoyao with a hostile look.

Xuan Zhuoyao lifted his chin. “Your boyfriend gave me 100,000 yuan. I brought him to find you.”

“Well, you two talk. I’m leaving.” He was unusually considerate and quickly disappeared. “See you next time, Mr. Shen!”

Xuan Congnan didn’t move, but Shen Qian seemed afraid he would run away again and hurried forward to grab him.

“Nan Nan,” he said softly, “let’s talk.”

Xuan Congnan shrugged off his hand, still unmoving, and said coldly, “We do need to talk.”

At nine o’clock in the evening, Gu Shi came home. The living room light was off, the art studio light was off, and Xuan Congnan’s bedroom light was off.

The house was empty.

He messaged Xuan Congnan to ask when he would be home but received no reply.

At 9:06 p.m., Gu Shi put on a hat and mask and went out to look for Xuan Congnan.