Chapter 14

Chen Xian was starting to believe in the law of attraction.
She’d written an extra “easter egg” at the end of her list. The content was simple: a fling. She’d never hidden the fact that she wouldn’t mind a pink‑tinted story on a trip—and she’d gotten exactly that.
She took the tissue from 孟頔 and dabbed away her tears. “Excuse me, am I in a movie?”
She tilted her head back and looked around. “Where’s the camera? Where’s the director? Behind the curtains? In the ceiling lamp? Come out.”
孟頔 let out a soft laugh.
His eyes never left her. “What if…the camera’s in my eyes?”
Chen Xian lifted the custom sketchbook made just for her and looked back at him. “These are your final cuts?”
孟頔 nodded.
Chen Xian: “Then your filter’s set a little too strong.”
孟頔 smiled again. She always made him laugh.
“When did you draw them?” Chen Xian flipped through the pages again and again, unable to put it down.
“Every night after I got back,” 孟頔 said.
“How long does one take?”
“About two hours. Coloring takes the most time.”
Chen Xian was stunned by his energy. “Do you have twenty‑six hours in a day?”
孟頔: “You might not believe it, but when I’m painting, I don’t feel time passing.”
Chen Xian didn’t act like she doubted him. She just asked, “Why aren’t you in any of them?”
“Because I painted the you I saw,” 孟頔 said.
“Oh,” Chen Xian realized. “You were always far away then.”
“The last few days, I kept getting closer,” 孟頔 said.
“So why not draw yourself in too?” She was still hung up on it, unable to let it go.
孟頔 clasped his hands on his knees and held the pose for a moment, then said, without any obvious emotion, “Because someday in the future, when you flip this open and think back on this trip, I want everything you feel to be your own.”
Complete images, matching colors, no cracks, no regrets.
Chen Xian got it. Her nose stung. “You’re part of the good stuff too. Why erase yourself?” It was so selfless—and so selfish.
孟頔’s logic was neat. “I’m the camera. The person taking the photo doesn’t appear in it.”
“Camera, my ass.” She punched his arm.
孟頔 didn’t flinch. He let her vent.
He tried to lighten it with a deadpan joke. “Not anymore. It’s been tampered with.”
“I’m not that strong,” Chen Xian protested.
Not that strong? His chest ached faintly.
The moment he handed her the book, he’d felt it—that the magic he’d hoped for and been lucky enough to live through was probably about to be taken back.
The thought landed like a body blow, a dull ache.
Because she was clear‑eyed and sharp, he could only be gentle and careful, keeping that careful distance.
Better to leave no trace than be something briefly needed. It seemed more appropriate.
So, politely, he asked, “Will you take it?” He nodded at the sketchbook.
“Of course,” Chen Xian said. “Once I do, I’m a hundred‑thousand‑yuan heiress.”
He’d known she’d say something like that.
孟頔 played along. “There’s no name on it. It’s worthless.”
“Someone will recognize it,” Chen Xian said.
“You?” he asked, testing again. His eyes seemed to hold her heart.
Chen Xian was quiet for a few seconds. “I told you I’m a vulgar mortal.”
“Give it back,” he said at last, like a sulky boy who hadn’t gotten the validation he wanted.
“No.” She hugged the book to her chest like a little girl clutching a beloved doll.
“It’s mine now,” Chen Xian said proudly, as if daring him to try.
孟頔 turned slightly so his gaze could rest on her more easily. “It’s not finished, actually.”
Chen Xian raised a brow. “What else are you going to draw?”
Chen Xian was starting to believe in the law of attraction.
She’d written an extra “easter egg” at the end of her list. The content was simple: a fling. She’d never hidden the fact that she wouldn’t mind a pink‑tinted story on a trip—and she’d gotten exactly that.
She took the tissue from 孟頔 and dabbed away her tears. “Excuse me, am I in a movie?”
She tilted her head back and looked around. “Where’s the camera? Where’s the director? Behind the curtains? In the ceiling lamp? Come out.”
孟頔 let out a soft laugh.
His eyes never left her. “What if…the camera’s in my eyes?”
Chen Xian lifted the custom sketchbook made just for her and looked back at him. “These are your final cuts?”
孟頔 nodded.
Chen Xian: “Then your filter’s set a little too strong.”
孟頔 smiled again. She always made him laugh.
“When did you draw them?” Chen Xian flipped through the pages again and again, unable to put it down.
“Every night after I got back,” 孟頔 said.
“How long does one take?”
“About two hours. Coloring takes the most time.”
Chen Xian was stunned by his energy. “Do you have twenty‑six hours in a day?”
孟頔: “You might not believe it, but when I’m painting, I don’t feel time passing.”
Chen Xian didn’t act like she doubted him. She just asked, “Why aren’t you in any of them?”
“Because I painted the you I saw,” 孟頔 said.
“Oh,” Chen Xian realized. “You were always far away then.”
“The last few days, I kept getting closer,” 孟頔 said.
“So why not draw yourself in too?” She was still hung up on it, unable to let it go.
孟頔 clasped his hands on his knees and held the pose for a moment, then said, without any obvious emotion, “Because someday in the future, when you flip this open and think back on this trip, I want everything you feel to be your own.”
Complete images, matching colors, no cracks, no regrets.
Chen Xian got it. Her nose stung. “You’re part of the good stuff too. Why erase yourself?” It was so selfless—and so selfish.
孟頔’s logic was neat. “I’m the camera. The person taking the photo doesn’t appear in it.”
“Camera, my ass.” She punched his arm.
孟頔 didn’t flinch. He let her vent.
He tried to lighten it with a deadpan joke. “Not anymore. It’s been tampered with.”
“I’m not that strong,” Chen Xian protested.
Not that strong? His chest ached faintly.
The moment he handed her the book, he’d felt it—that the magic he’d hoped for and been lucky enough to live through was probably about to be taken back.
The thought landed like a body blow, a dull ache.
Because she was clear‑eyed and sharp, he could only be gentle and careful, keeping that careful distance.
Better to leave no trace than be something briefly needed. It seemed more appropriate.
So, politely, he asked, “Will you take it?” He nodded at the sketchbook.
“Of course,” Chen Xian said. “Once I do, I’m a hundred‑thousand‑yuan heiress.”
He’d known she’d say something like that.
孟頔 played along. “There’s no name on it. It’s worthless.”
“Someone will recognize it,” Chen Xian said.
“You?” he asked, testing again. His eyes seemed to hold her heart.
Chen Xian was quiet for a few seconds. “I told you I’m a vulgar mortal.”
“Give it back,” he said at last, like a sulky boy who hadn’t gotten the validation he wanted.
“No.” She hugged the book to her chest like a little girl clutching a beloved doll.
“It’s mine now,” Chen Xian said proudly, as if daring him to try.
孟頔 turned slightly so his gaze could rest on her more easily. “It’s not finished, actually.”
Chen Xian raised a brow. “What else are you going to draw?”
*** End Patch```} ***!
"Day six," he answered. "But you said you wanted to sleep all day, so I could draw you sleeping."
"Can you make me a sleeping beauty?"
孟頔 nodded happily. "What pose do you want?"
Chen Xian put her hands together by her face, closed her eyes tight, and tilted her head in the dark with a smile. "Like this."
"Wait for me." The sofa shifted beside her; 孟頔 stood up.
Chen Xian opened her eyes and grabbed his shirt. "Where are you going?"
The serious boy answered seriously: "To get my art supplies."
"You promised to spend the whole day with me." The implication: not even a second away.
孟頔 looked down at her, his face gentle even in the backlight. "Do you have a pen here?"
Chen Xian jumped off the sofa and went barefoot to dig through her suitcase in the corner.
"Will a black gel pen work?" She looked back at him from where she crouched.
"Yes."
She walked back to him, waving the pen. "No color's okay?"
The guy was uncharacteristically cocky. "I was first in life drawing in college."
Chen Xian choked.
"Yeah, I saw that in 孟老师's profile." She deliberately put on a weird loli voice.
The sketchbook was back in 孟頔's hands. He flipped to a blank page, looked at Chen Xian, and gestured with the pen: "Please."
Chen Xian leaned back against the cushion, resuming her pose, eyes gently closed.
"Can I not move?" This was her first time as a model; she couldn't help being nervous.
"Just don't move too much."
"What about talking?"
"Doesn't matter."
"What about laughing?"
"Would a sleeping beauty laugh?"
"Mine would."
孟頔 laughed silently, looked at her, looked down, looked at her again. Before he'd even started drawing, he was already sketching with his eyes.
Chen Xian decided to give 孟老师 the respect he deserved. She held her breath and stayed perfectly still in the dark. Soon she heard the pen scratching across the paper—quick and confident. At that moment, she opened her eyes, and 孟頔 looked up at the same time.
Chen Xian froze.
孟頔…was very different from usual. His gaze was full of observation and analysis.
The pen had become his weapon, and she was the subject, being taken apart with focus—aggressive and absorbed.
Her chest felt hot.
She closed her eyes before he could react and swallowed.
Silence again. Except her breathing had gotten heavier, her heart thundering.
"What's wrong?" 孟頔 was puzzled by her silence. He stopped drawing. "You don't have to be so serious. I won't be distracted."
It looked like the best moment had already been captured in his mind—or maybe every next moment of hers was better, so it didn't matter.
But Chen Xian still maintained her professional JPG mode, like a stiff but beautiful mannequin. 孟頔 smiled and was about to look down and continue when she suddenly curved her lips.
孟頔 was still watching her. "What are you laughing at?"
Chen Xian pressed her lips flat. "Just thought of something."
"What?"
"Thought of…" Whether she was being mysterious or awkwardly shy, her voice lost its force and slowed. "A question."
"For me?"
"Yeah."
"Go ahead." 孟頔 stuck the pen back in the middle of the sketchbook, ready to listen with full attention.
"If the ship is doomed to sink tomorrow," the girl's pale pink lips moved slightly, "would you regret coming here?"
The living room went completely quiet. Only the AC hummed. Chen Xian felt the sofa shift, like grass rustling when a hunter approaches. She was slightly breathless in the dark but didn't want to open her eyes. Two conflicting thoughts fought: Don't come closer. Tear me apart. But the scene she feared and hoped for didn't burst out in seconds. Only the hand under her head was pulled away—but that was enough to make her tense. Her chest rose and fell faster, because 孟頔's cool lips pressed into her palm, like a small piece of melting snow.
Her fingertips trembled at his deep breath. When she tried to close her hand, she caught his answer:
"Winning that ticket was the luckiest thing that ever happened to me."