Warm sunlight spilled across the quiet riverside lane as Lin Qing Yun pushed open the familiar wooden door of Jiù Mèng Xuān. The faint fragrance of sandalwood and old paper greeted her, mingling with the sharper scent of lacquer and glue. Inside, Shen Huai Zhen's studio was as serene as ever—tables lined with porcelain shards, brushes drying neatly, scrolls stacked carefully in the corner.
Master Shen looked up from his workbench, eyes crinkling with warmth. His white hair caught the afternoon light, soft as frost. "You came," he said, voice unhurried, like he had all the time in the world.
Qing Yun set down her bag, bowing slightly. "I didn't want to miss today."
He gestured for her to sit. "Come. Try again with this piece."
On the table lay a fragment of porcelain, its crack fine and stubborn. Qing Yun picked up the brush with steady hands, dipping it into the adhesive mixture. Shen Huai Zhen leaned close, his presence calm but sharp.
"Too much," he murmured when she pressed the brush too firmly. He reached over, guiding her wrist lightly. "Patience. Restoration is not gluing shards together—it's listening to their fractures."
She exhaled slowly, adjusting her pressure. The brush stroke softened, the adhesive spreading evenly across the delicate line.
A faint smile touched the old master's lips. "Good. You have a careful hand, but more importantly… you have a careful heart."
They worked side by side until the sun shifted lower, casting longer shadows through the studio's tall windows. At last, Master Shen set down his tools and turned toward a stack of papers on the shelf. He pulled out a folded brochure and placed it gently before her.
"Look at this."
Qing Yun blinked, picking it up. The cover showed a quiet workshop, young students bent over scrolls and ceramics. Bold characters announced: Art Restoration Short Program — Guangjing. Duration: Six months.
Her breath caught faintly.
Shen Huai Zhen's tone remained even, but his eyes softened. "Talent should not stop at interest. You've been diligent, and I can see the seed in you. If you want to walk this path seriously, you need proper guidance. This program starts late September. Six months. Not long, but enough to build a foundation."
Qing Yun traced the edge of the brochure with her thumb. "Guangjing…" she murmured.
"Mn." Shen Huai Zhen folded his hands together. "If you decide, tell me. I can make a call to ensure you have a place. But the choice must be yours."
She nodded, forcing her voice steady. "I'll think about it. Thank you, Master Shen… truly, thank you."
He only smiled, eyes wise and knowing, as though he could already see the storm in her heart.
---
Walking back along the riverside, Qing Yun held the brochure tightly against her chest.
The idea stirred something deep inside her—an opening, a possibility, a way to turn her love of restoration into something real. Yet her stomach knotted as she reread the line: Duration: six months.
Six months in Guangjing. Six months away from Liangcheng. Six months away from Ze Yan.
She closed her eyes briefly, the cool breeze tugging at her scarf. The timing pressed against her: term began late September. Barely two weeks left to decide.
When she returned to the mansion, the house was quiet. Evening light painted the walls golden. She tucked the brochure carefully between the pages of a thick art book on her desk, as though hiding it from her own thoughts.
---
Later that night, the mansion settled into silence.
Qing Yun had drifted to sleep at her desk, her cheek resting against her arm, the lamplight casting soft shadows across her face. Books lay open around her, their pages scattered with her careful notes.
The door opened quietly. Ze Yan stepped in, his tall figure filling the doorway. His gaze softened when it fell on her sleeping form.
He moved soundlessly across the room, crouching slightly to brush a stray lock of hair from her face. She stirred but did not wake.
A small smile tugged at his lips. He reached out, closing the book beneath her arm so she wouldn't crease the pages in her sleep. As he slid it aside, something slipped free and fluttered to the floor.
Ze Yan bent down, picking it up.
His eyes fell on the bold letters: Art Restoration Short Program — Guangjing. Duration: Six months.
The faint smile on his lips faded.
He straightened slowly, unfolding the brochure fully. His gaze moved over the details—classes, instructors, dates. His hand tightened on the edge of the paper.
Six months. In Guangjing.
His throat tightened, though his face remained composed. The thought flickered, unbidden: after five years of losing her, after barely a few weeks of holding her again… separation.
His eyes lifted to her, still asleep, her breathing soft, her lashes casting delicate shadows against her cheeks. She looked peaceful, untouched by the weight pressing into his chest.
Ze Yan folded the brochure carefully, sliding it back between the pages where he had found it. He placed the book gently on the desk, making sure it looked undisturbed.
For a long while, he simply stood there, watching her sleep.
At last, he sat down beside her, his hand brushing over her hair with a tenderness few would ever see in him. His gaze was steady, but in its depths flickered both affection and unease.
He leaned close, his whisper so quiet it disappeared into the lamplight. "Six months…"
Qing Yun stirred faintly, curling against her arm, still lost in dreams.
Ze Yan's eyes lingered on her face, his thoughts unspoken. The weight of the brochure remained heavy in his chest.
And so the night stretched on, silent, with her unaware of the discovery already burning in his mind.