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墨書 Inktalez
I stared at the familiar name, almost thinking I was seeing things. When did he get involved with art? That Chen Yi, who was all about money, who believed that painting was a “waste of time”?
Driven by intense curiosity, I clicked on the detailed announcement of the exhibition. Sure enough, there was a series of photographs signed by “Chen Yi.” The theme was titled “Void.”
The photos depicted empty scenes: a deserted office, an unoccupied bedroom, a dining table in disarray but with no one seated, and… a lonely high heel left behind at the entrance.
Each photograph exuded a deliberate, affected sense of “loneliness” and “regret.” The composition was stiff, the lighting mediocre, and the technique clumsy. The only thing that was clear was what he wanted to express—he had lost something, he regretted it, and he was in pain.
As I looked at those photos, I felt no stirrings in my heart; I only found it… laughable. Did he think that by imitating art in such a clumsy way, mimicking the world I once knew, he could convey his “deep feelings”? Could he make me change my mind?
He still didn’t understand. He didn’t understand art, and he certainly didn’t understand me. I closed the exhibition page as if shaking off something dirty.
I thought this matter would pass just like that. Unexpectedly, a few days later, Su Qing suddenly called me, her tone both excited and furious: “Lan Wan! You have to see the news! That bastard Chen Yi! He’s gone too far!”
“What happened?” I asked, confused.
“His… his pathetic photography exhibition actually invited a lot of media to report on it! The press release was so heartfelt, claiming his inspiration came from ‘lost love,’ every word hinting at you! He’s portraying himself as an artist trapped by love and filled with regret!” Su Qing’s voice trembled with anger. “And the most disgusting part? He even paid off some so-called critic to say his work is ‘full of postmodern deconstructionist loneliness’! Ugh! What does he know about art?”
I fell silent. The last remnants of pity I had for this failure vanished completely. He was still the same Chen Yi.
Even when I was down and out, I had to find a way to manipulate public opinion, trying to use this method to bind me to him. He thought that by creating this façade of "deep affection," he could touch the hearts of the people and force me to show up, to return to his side, completing his act of a wayward son returning home.
"Don't be angry, Qing Qing," I said calmly. "He's just a clown; he isn't worth it."
"But Lan Wan! He's using you, consuming you..."
"He can't consume me," I interrupted her, my tone firm. "Those who understand will naturally see through it. As for those who don't, I don't care."
What truly touches people's hearts has never been deliberate performance but sincerity. And Chen Yi lacked that entirely.
"Lan Wan, you..." Su Qing seemed to want to say more.
"Alright, Qing Qing," I shifted the topic. "I recently painted a new piece; would you like to see it?"
After chatting with Su Qing about my painting, my mood had completely settled. Chen Yi's farce was like a small stone thrown into a lake, creating a ripple that quickly faded back into calmness. My life would not change because of any of his actions.
I continued going to work, painting, and gathering with friends. A Zhe's pursuit of me became increasingly evident; he would bring me breakfast every day, stay late with me at work, and remember every casual remark I made. His care was warm and pure, without any ulterior motives.
I admitted that I had feelings for him, but the barrier in my heart still remained. One day, the company received a big project that required us to travel to a neighboring city for a few days. The boss assigned me along with two other colleagues for the trip.
Before we set off, A Zhe specifically came to see me off and handed me a talisman for safety: "Lin Wan Jie, have a safe trip and take care."
I looked into his clear eyes and felt a warmth in my heart. "Thank you, A Zhe."
"I'll be waiting for your return," he said with a smile, sunlight illuminating his face, bright and clean.
I nodded and turned to leave. The business trip went smoothly; the other company was very satisfied with our proposal, and the collaboration was basically confirmed. On the last day, we finished our work early and had half a day of free time.
A colleague suggested that we take a stroll through a famous art district nearby. I readily agreed.
The art district was filled with numerous galleries and studios, creating a wonderful atmosphere. Just as we passed by a modernly decorated gallery, I suddenly halted in my tracks.
Through the large floor-to-ceiling glass windows, I spotted a figure so familiar it was almost surreal. It was Chen Yi. He stood in front of a massive painting, his back to me. Dressed in a sharp suit, he still maintained an upright posture, but there was an indescribable air of desolation about him, as if he were all in or nothing at all.
The painting before him was none other than—my own self-portrait. A piece I had created during my university days, youthful yet brimming with dreams for the future.
I distinctly remembered that this painting had been carefully stored away by Su Qing. How could it possibly be here? And had Chen Yi… bought it?
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