Lu Family Mansion, 19:25;
The Six Tigers slipped into Zhi Bo's art studio without a sound, the creak of the wooden steps muffled by years of use. Perched on the second floor of the residence, the space smelled faintly of turpentine and fresh linen canvases.
In their arms, little Lu Alix and baby Zhi Taio clung to their fathers—small hands fisting into shirts—as if sensing they were about to meet someone they adored.
Across the room, oblivious to their presence, Rong Xinghe sat at her easel, lost in a world only she could see. Large headphones cupped her ears, the faintest hum of piano notes escaping into the quiet. A paintbrush danced between her fingers, each deliberate dip into color followed by a slow, graceful sweep across the canvas.
Her hair spilled freely over her shoulders, catching the studio's warm light; her lips, brushed with a soft red gloss, held a faint natural pout.
