During the break between classes, Shen Zhili slipped out of school.
She had already checked the schedule—it was all theoretical courses she had taken before, stuff that made her ears ache from hearing it over and over. Skipping them was no big deal.
She hailed a taxi and gave the name of the largest art supply store in the city.
Originally, she had considered having a servant from home buy the supplies for her, but after thinking about Jiang Xianzhuo’s infuriating attitude, she figured she’d have to handle this matter personally.
The store was vast, filled with the mingled scents of turpentine, linseed oil, and high-quality drawing paper. Rows upon rows of paints and art supplies lined the shelves, ranging from student practice kits costing a few dozen yuan to professional-grade materials locked in glass cabinets with price tags in the tens of thousands.
Standing before the towering shelves, Shen Zhili stared at the paints and brushes whose names she couldn’t even pronounce, lost in thought.
A shop assistant wearing a professional smile approached.
“Miss, do you need any help?”
Shen Zhili nodded, pulling her gaze away from the dazzling array of bottles and jars.
“I’d like to buy a professional-grade oil painting set—the best kind.”
The assistant’s eyes lit up, and she immediately launched into an enthusiastic introduction.
“We have several imported brands here, all of excellent quality…”
Shen Zhili cut her off directly. “Just put together the most expensive set you have in the store.”
The assistant paused for a moment, her smile growing brighter and more sincere.
“Of course. Please wait a moment.”
Half an hour later, Shen Zhili walked out of the art supply store carrying several large shopping bags emblazoned with gilded logos.
Her arms felt slightly weighed down.
This weight was her first real, tangible investment in Jiang Xianzhuo’s buried passion.
She remembered that he had only picked up a paintbrush again after achieving fame and success.
That wouldn’t do.
His paintings clearly held artistic value—even her notoriously picky and critical aunt had praised them.
Better to start painting sooner.
Paint sooner, succeed sooner.
That way, Jiang Xianzhuo’s father might let him come home for the New Year a little earlier.
Shen Zhili glanced at her wristwatch. On the delicate dial, the hour hand had quietly slid toward noon.
She stuffed everything into the trunk of the taxi, then slid into the back seat and gave the address for Qingshan Apartments.
The car merged smoothly into the traffic flow.
Leaning back against the seat, Shen Zhili took out her phone and opened the familiar green messaging app.
Her chat history with Jiang Xianzhuo remained excessively clean.
Aside from the few messages she had sent unilaterally, there was nothing else.
Shen Zhili’s finger hovered over the screen for a few seconds before she finally typed out a line.
【Are you free at noon?】
Send.
There was no response on the screen.
Shen Zhili’s lips twitched uncontrollably.
Fine.
So he was pretending to be dead again, was he?
If he wanted to play dead now, then later, when he was begging for it, she’d play dead in bed too.
When he was hoarse and drenched in sweat, asking her if it felt good…
She’d just yawn and ask if he was done yet, since she had a nail appointment with her girlfriends tomorrow.
Damn Jiang Xianzhuo.
Shen Zhili gritted her teeth, shaking those shameless images out of her mind, and directly pressed the voice call button.
The ringtone sounded three times before the call was promptly hung up.
Expressionless, Shen Zhili called again.
It was hung up once more.
A third time.
This time, the call finally connected.
But there was no sound from the other end.
The receiver only transmitted the quiet background noise, faintly carrying the clamor and laughter of students from the distant corridor.
Shen Zhili didn’t waste words, getting straight to the point.
“I bought some things. I’ll drop them off at your apartment at noon.”
There was silence on the other end for a few seconds before Jiang Xianzhuo’s voice came through.
“Did you buy the truth?”
Shen Zhili: “…?”
She smiled as she spoke. “I’m a law-abiding citizen.”
“Then what did you buy? Why leave it at my place?”
“I didn’t ask for your opinion, so I don’t have to answer you.”
Jiang Xianzhuo’s eyes darkened.
Another direct notification?
“You don’t have the password.”
“I called to ask you for the password.”
Shen Zhili’s tone was utterly straightforward, as if this were the most natural thing in the world.
“No comment.”
“If you don’t tell me, I’ll just break it open. Your choice.”
Shen Zhili was completely unapologetic.
Breaking down doors—it wasn’t like she hadn’t done it before.
“…”
Jiang Xianzhuo fell silent.
After a long pause, his voice finally came through, low and quiet.
“1027.”
Shen Zhili was taken aback.
October 27th, Jiang Xianzhuo’s mother’s birthday.
She remembered this date.
In her past life, Jiang Xianzhuo would visit the cemetery on this day every year, sitting alone for the entire afternoon without saying or doing anything.
She had accompanied him a few times, watching him crouch before that simple tombstone, clutching a bouquet of flowers, unable to utter a word for the longest time.
Shen Zhili snapped back to reality, her tone turning more serious.
“Got it.”
With that, she hung up the phone.
The phone screen went black, and the scenery outside the car window sped past.
Shen Zhili lowered her gaze, her chest rising and falling slightly.
Sigh.
Stop thinking about it.
There’s no use dwelling on this now.
What she needed to do was ensure that Jiang Xianzhuo would never have to crouch alone before that cold tombstone again, like a lonely ghost abandoned by the entire world.
…
The taxi soon pulled up outside Qingshan Apartments.
Shen Zhili paid the fare, grabbed the heavy shopping bags, and stepped out of the car.
She looked up at the small apartment building, its dusty exterior walls still plastered with a few faded advertisements.
It was a world apart from the opulent villa she lived in.
Shen Zhili frowned.
Jiang Xianzhuo’s father was truly strange. If he acknowledged him, why not bring him home?
Even if he kept him outside, at least he could have given him a better place to live, right?
Carrying the bags, she walked into the hallway, where the stale smell of dust hit her face.
The apartment had no elevator.
Shen Zhili: “…”
Looking at the shopping bags in her hands and then at the dimly lit staircase, she was utterly speechless.
“Damn you, Jiang Xianzhuo. You better remember this, you bastard.”
Shen Zhili cursed under her breath, then gritted her teeth and began her arduous climb.
By the time she reached the third floor in her high heels, she felt dizzy, and the muscles in her arms screamed with soreness.
Jiang Xianzhuo lived in the apartment at the very end of the third floor.
Shen Zhili stood before the door and entered the password.
With a beep, the lock clicked open.
Shen Zhili sighed in relief. “Thank goodness this rundown place at least gave him a password lock.”
She pushed the door open and stepped into the place where Jiang Xianzhuo had lived in his youth.
The living room was small, only ten square meters, furnished with an old sofa and a small coffee table. The walls were slightly yellowed.
But it was clean.
Almost unnervingly so.
Not a speck of dust, not a trace of clutter. Even the coffee table was arranged with meticulous order, exuding an aloof chill that kept strangers at bay.