Chapter 11: Rose

Facing Yi Ke’s bandit logic, Bai Yanci had no comeback—only resumed her usual cold distance.
Posture straight, she made a boring filler class absorbing—nothing like someone who only “happened to paint.”
Sister really did love art.
In Bai Yanci’s long life she’d stayed high in the cold moon palace, never set foot in the mortal world.
An immortal who’d always looked down had finally picked up mortal smoke and warmth.
Art was long practice—the lines and colors in Bai Yanci’s hand weren’t one day’s work. Years of drill, nights talking to the work with her soul.
The clearer she saw, the deeper the doubt.
The moon palace in Bai Yanci’s telling—cold, oppressive, rigid—would it really raise an “art student” like this?
She didn’t believe it.
In that harsh place, breeding useful tools was hard enough—be grateful if they didn’t mass-produce icy killers and depression.
Pure art needed a free soul—incompatible with moon palace survival law.
A hobby ordinary here was luxury there.
While zoning out she lit her phone screen without thinking.
When she came back—WeChat contacts open, finger on “Art Supply Boss Wang.”
She stared at the blank input a few seconds.
Fine—opening it was fate.
Sighed, stopped hesitating, typed fast.
【Yi Ke: Boss, a few boxes of paint. The expensive kind.】
Thought again, added:
【Yi Ke: One box markers too. Expensive.】
Still not right.
【Yi Ke: Best full set—easels, sketch boards, pencils, erasers, everything. Pack and deliver to Tinglan Apartments, same address as before.】
【Boss Wang: On it!】
After class she packed—looked up into the teacher’s half-smile.
Heart dropped—bad—grabbed Bai Yanci for the back door.
“Yi Ke.” Teacher’s voice unhurried. “My office a moment.”
Smile on her mouth, misery inside—glance at Bai Yanci, mouthed: Wait outside.
Bai Yanci flashed OK.
Surprised—she OK’d back.
Trendy rabbit.
Since the phone and internet, Bai Yanci had learned plenty of memes.
“Little Yi, I know your family situation—working outside for tuition. But you have talent. No matter how busy, don’t abandon school.”
Teacher gripped her hand, earnest: “You placed in competition last year—why slack this term? That purple hair—what student looks like that? I’m counting on you to bring honor to the department…”
Teacher was young—twenty-eight, twenty-nine maybe.
But the cadence aged—Ji Chengfeng possessed. Leadership flavor the moment she opened her mouth.
She listened and drifted—office dragged on—ears calloused.
Only when teacher stuffed a competition entry form in her hand was she released.
Bai Yanci had leaned by the door a long time—saw the form, teased: “You’re entering the design contest?”
From anyone else—plain question. From Bai Yanci—needling.
She looked at Bai Yanci to argue—eyes stuck on her lips instead.
Snow skin, striking face, lip color pale. Evening light slanted—amber gloss on them like natural lipstick.
Looked… soft. Must kiss well.
The thought hit like lightning—she froze.
Wrong—what was she thinking?
Was this okay?
Fine numbness ran limbs like current.
She looked away fast, scrambled out of the thought, mumbled: “Yeah—won last year. Teacher wants me in again.”
“Compete in what?”
“Design on tablet, make the garment—hassle.”
Rushed answer—several confused eye rolls from sister.
If Bai Yanci had mind-reading she’d think: What’s wrong with this human now.
Bai Yanci—sharp mouth, soft heart—Yi Ke ate it anyway.
Those scolds and jabs were the sweetest music.
Back at the apartment—the order waited neat at the door.
Besides supplies—a wrapped bouquet of pink roses.
Extra order.
Boss Wang’s partner ran the city’s biggest flower shop—she’d asked freshest, prettiest pink roses, deliver with the art stuff.
“Huh—freebie with the supplies?” She turned, stuffed roses into Bai Yanci’s arms, lifted the boxes. “Pretty flowers. Flowers and beauty—yours.”
Bai Yanci stiffened—arms full, complex eyes on her.
“What?” She set the easel, adjusted angle. “Don’t like them?”
Bai Yanci’s eyes dimmed. “Do you know what giving someone roses means?”
“Nope. What?” Hands still working—easel, board—routine smooth.
“Nothing.” Looked away. “Forget it if you don’t know.”
Back to Bai Yanci—corner of her mouth curved secret.
She lied—of course she knew. Pink rose was last year’s competition theme.
Pink rose—vow of love, confession carved deep.
More restrained than red rose—more lingering.
The world used roses for love. She always felt—for secret liking, for thrill between dawn and thorns—rose never lost to rose-red.
“Why so many supplies? Will you use them all?”
“For you too.” Lies came easy after Bai Yanci. “Just got paid—nowhere to spend. Random buy—all useful.”
No more explain. Bai Yanci set the flowers on the table—art keeping them alive.
Rose scent and pigment mixed—strangely harmonious.
Some things needn’t be said aloud.
Some hearts hide in flowers, in every pretend-casual glance, in every line when drawing—that was enough.
The fashion contest was a month away—opening ceremony first. Contestants and famous Jintian designers. Other contests weren’t this grand—this one traded on fame.
---
First opening ceremony for the Sun-Moon Cup.
“Thought of a theme?” Bai Yanci asked.
“Free topic—just draw.” Serious think. “Love’s good—young people worship love. Add roses, romantic bits.”
“Too tacky.”
“Green ecology?”
“Many will do that. With your skill—don’t pick that lane if you want to win.”
“No to everything—might as well quit.” Threw the pen, bed. “Tired. Sleep. Opening tomorrow.”
“Fine. I’ll go with you.”
Morning—living room—Bai Yanci’s fashion sketch.
Few strokes, no technique—but violent life in the image.
Bai Yanci… interpreting freedom.
Sun-Moon opening—sea of people.
She’d only placed last time—no slot, no interest—found seats with Bai Yanci.
On stage—a woman in black formal wear. Last champion—Yang Yufei.
Legend in Jintian design.
Once her drafts sold for nothing—couldn’t give them away.
Then overnight skill and concept leaped—trophy after trophy—name loud in the city.
Yi Ke had seen the work—flat, nothing striking.
Never understood why middling design got worshipped as gospel.
On the hour Yang Yufei walked up in heels. Spotlights—sleeve slid—silver bracelet on her wrist.
She shot upright.
That bracelet—Qiming’s ability-tool form. She couldn’t be wrong.
Yang Yufei was Qiming’s successful subject.
“Distinguished guests, welcome to this Sun-Moon Cup opening.” Yang Yufei’s voice elegant. “Honored to represent the competition and share this joy.”
Applause everywhere.
In the noise she sat quiet—chill up her spine.
She understood everything.
Yang Yufei’s “breakthrough” wasn’t talent—Qiming ability twisting how people saw her.
Even mediocrity read as masterpiece under that influence.
“You said—first opening for Sun-Moon?” Bai Yanci sudden. “Why hold an opening? Just exchange—or something else?”