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墨書 Inktalez
Life in the Southern Small Town gradually fell into a routine.
Though my new job was busy, the relationships with my colleagues were straightforward, and my boss took good care of me. I quickly adapted to the work pace, my professional skills gradually recovered, and with new life experiences, my design ideas became broader, earning me several praises from my boss.
In my spare time, I tended to my little garden or quietly painted. I picked up the paintbrush again, feeling as if I had found a long-lost part of my soul. I painted the sunlight of the small town, the eaves of the old streets, the flowers quietly blooming in my yard, and the subtle emotions in everyday life.
My painting style no longer carried the hint of melancholy and oppression it once did; instead, it became bright, warm, and full of vibrant life. Su Qing occasionally sent me some art supplies, and our phone calls increased.
“Lan Wan, you sound great,” Su Qing said with relief over the phone.
“Yeah, I feel very calm and grounded now,” I replied honestly.
Having left Chen Yi and that suffocating city behind, I felt like a plant that had regained sunlight and rain, slowly taking root and sprouting.
“That’s good to hear.” Su Qing paused for a moment, her tone hesitant. “Um… about Chen Yi…”
“There’s no need to tell me about him,” I interrupted her calmly. “Qing Qing, everything about him is irrelevant to me now.”
“…Okay.” Su Qing fell silent for a few seconds before agreeing.
I knew she must have heard something. But whether Chen Yi was furious or filled with regret now meant nothing to me. I just wanted to live my own life well.
I met some new friends in the small town—a retired professor I bumped into while painting, a cheerful girl from a neighboring house, and a few like-minded hiking enthusiasts.
On weekends, we would go sketching in the nearby mountains or explore ancient towns. Life was simple yet full of color.
One day, I went hiking in the nearby mountains with my friends. The trail was a bit rugged, and I accidentally twisted my ankle. Although it wasn’t severe, I limped down the mountain.
A boy named A Zhe, who was hiking with us and was a local with a sunny disposition and an obvious fondness for me, offered to carry me.
“No thanks, I can walk,” I smiled and declined.
“Don’t be stubborn, Lin Wan Jie,” A Zhe insisted as he squatted down. “Get on; otherwise, we won’t make it down before dark.”
Unable to resist him, I reluctantly leaned against his back.
His back was broad and steady. As we walked down the small path, the warm glow of the setting sun enveloped us, creating a cozy atmosphere.
Inside, I felt a long-lost sense of being well taken care of. Yet this feeling had nothing to do with dependence. I knew that even without A Zhe, I could grit my teeth and make it down the mountain on my own. I was no longer that parasitic flower that needed to cling to others for survival.
Once back at our place, A Zhe helped me buy some medicine and reminded me to rest well before leaving.
I sat in the yard, looking at my swollen ankle, feeling no sense of grievance but rather finding it somewhat amusing. If this had happened before, I would have thought the sky was falling and immediately called Chen Yi, yearning for his concern and comfort—though most of the time, all I received was his impatient response.
Now, I could handle things myself and accept help from friends with ease. This sense of independence and control over my life felt wonderful.
Days passed by, and before I knew it, I had been in this small town for half a year. My ankle had healed long ago. Work became increasingly smooth, and I painted more than ever. I even started trying to sell some of my artwork online, unexpectedly receiving a good response and selling a few pieces, earning a little extra cash.
The amount wasn’t much, but it held significant meaning. It was my first earnings from my own talent.
With that money, I bought myself a new drawing tablet and treated A Zhe and a few fellow travelers to a meal. During the dinner, A Zhe's gaze toward me grew increasingly gentle.
I could sense his feelings, but I pretended not to notice. After going through that failed marriage with Chen Yi, I became particularly cautious about relationships.
I needed more time to fully heal from past wounds and to determine what I truly wanted. For now, I just wanted to focus on my personal growth.
Life was calm and beautiful, as if those two dark years were merely a distant nightmare.
I thought this kind of life would continue indefinitely until one day when I was wandering around the Gallery and came across an announcement for an art exhibition from the big city where I once lived.
It was a cutting-edge art show themed “Lost and Found.”
One of the exhibiting artists was prominently listed as Chen Yi.
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