I Woke Up And My Girlfriend Was Gone - Chapter 5

Chapter 5: The Soul in the Mud

Shen Qingzi was startled by the image that had suddenly intruded into her mind; a flicker of uncharacteristic restlessness flashed in her eyes.

She had achieved fame at a young age. At sixteen, her Art Nouveau-style oil paintings, heavily influenced by Mucha, had caused a sensation in the domestic art world. She was the youngest Chinese oil painter to have her works collected by major Italian art museums. Over the years, countless imitators had flooded the market, but they only ever managed to copy the “skin” of her style, never the essence.

Yet the painting her father, Shen Lai, had brought home today seemed to see right through her. Using a style completely different from her own, it struck a powerful chord of resonance.

Cold, bitter colors outlined the icy face of a young girl surrounded by clusters of flowers. Despite the stars and blossoms pressing in on her, the girl in her finery stood tall within the frame, her lowered eyes full of disdain for the world. Her lips were pressed tight—a dark purple hue where the texture of the skin was so detailed it was staggering.

The artist hadn’t chased literal realism; instead, they had used blurred strokes around the girl’s silhouette, making it impossible to tell if she was about to open her eyes or close them for a rest.

“It’s wonderful,” Shen Qingzi murmured, studying the piece. She was genuinely awestruck.

Of course, even in her admiration, she saw room for growth. “Actually, I think a bit more blurring in this section would have made it even better.”

Shen Lai stood behind her, hands behind his back, teasing her. “Is it really that good? Good enough to get a critique out of you? That’s rare.”

Shen Qingzi’s eyes crinkled at the corners—a silent admission. She turned back to him. “Where did you get this?”

“Your Uncle Xu was wandering through the Old District the other day. He saw it in a woman’s small studio. He wasn’t sure at first, so he sent me a photo. As soon as I saw it, I went and bought it immediately.” Seeing his daughter so enamored with the piece brought a satisfied smile to Shen Lai’s face.

“Then…” Shen Qingzi hesitated, unsure how to frame her next question.

Shen Lai read her mind. “The woman there claimed she painted it, but I’m certain she didn’t. I poked around a bit, but couldn’t get the truth out of her.”

“I see.” Shen Qingzi nodded. The light in her eyes dimmed slightly, replaced by a touch of regret.

“If you like it, go see for yourself when you have time. Your eyes are sharper than mine,” Shen Lai suggested.

“Mhm. After this busy stretch is over. I need to focus on Uncle Xu’s exhibition first.” Shen Qingzi made a mental note of it. She squinted her peach-blossom eyes and looked back at her father. “How much did you pay for it?”

“You want it?”

“Yes,” she answered honestly.

Shen Lai sat on the sofa and took a sip of tea, teasing her further. “Then guess. If you get it right, I’ll give it to you.”

Shen Qingzi assessed the value in her head. “Five figures?”

Shen Lai laughed, crossing two fingers. “Wrong. Way off. Not even six thousand yuan.”

Shen Qingzi’s brow furrowed into a small mountain of confusion. How could a painting she respected so much be so… worthless?

“Look at the pigments, the canvas, and some of the techniques,” Shen Lai reminded her bluntly. “They are amateur, unrefined. Besides, in a studio in an alley like that, how much could a painting sell for no matter how good it is? This price was already quite generous.”

He sighed with a touch of pity. “I think the artist doesn’t have a very good life. There’s a gloom to this piece. It’s like…”

“It’s like someone struggling in the mud,” Shen Qingzi finished. “Longing for hope, but unable to reach it.”

The joy she felt earlier settled into a heavy quiet. Her soft fingertip brushed against the raised, coarse texture of the cheap paint. As the sunset set the painting ablaze with orange-red light, Shen Qingzi’s eyes filled with a deep pity for the artist.

A person with such talent should not be trapped in a narrow, dark mire.

…

The Fated Recruitment

Across the street, cars roared past. Zuo Yin sat at a bus stop, waiting for a bus that was stuck at a red light just one block away. Her skin, already somewhat coarse, had become even rougher after her recent military training.

A group of art students walked to the station, laughing and chatting. In Zuo Yin’s peripheral vision, they sat down in the empty seats next to her.

“Let’s get our nails done later at the mall. Look at my hands, they’re so plain…” one girl chirped. Her voice was like a lark. Zuo Yin couldn’t help but look. The girl was delicate and spirited; Zuo Yin figured she probably had no shortage of suitors.

Then Zuo Yin paused.

She had seen a woman more beautiful than this girl. She had even possessed her, however briefly.

Zuo Yin’s gaze lost focus. The busy street blurred into a mosaic, slowly piecing together the way the woman had looked at her that night. The long, soft hair falling against her face… the effortless charm.

Is someone like that even real?

She had to be. The photos in her album were proof. But Zuo Yin knew she might never encounter someone like her again. For a moment, her heart felt full, then suddenly hollow.

The bus arrived. Zuo Yin sat in the very back. She watched the people on the sidewalk and mocked herself: I’m still struggling to keep myself fed, and I have time to think about this? I’m barely eating, yet I’m dreaming about a woman I spent one night with.

After her big fight with Zuo Lan, her mother had stopped giving her an allowance. But Zuo Yin was stubborn. She’d work; she wouldn’t starve.

She got off at the penultimate stop. Above the stone gate, four bold red characters were carved: Yiji Art Studio.

“You must be Xiao Yin?” A woman in the reception area greeted her warmly. Her name was Sun Yuqing, and she handled the studio’s hiring.

“Hello, Miss Sun,” Zuo Yin greeted politely.

“Oh, no need to be so formal! You can just call me Sister Yuqing.”

“Okay,” Zuo Yin nodded, but her face remained expressionless. Yuqing suspected the girl would keep calling her “Miss Sun” anyway.

“I see you’re a freshman at the Academy of Fine Arts,” Yuqing chatted as they walked. “Why start working so soon? Don’t you want to travel or break out of that rigid ‘exam-oriented’ mindset?”

Zuo Yin thought for a second. “Is that a required question for the job?”

“No, no! Just chatting,” Yuqing laughed. “Do you plan to take the studio’s entrance exam? You could study here while you work. It’s a great opportunity.”

Yiji Art Studio was co-founded by Shen Lai, the Vice Dean of the Academy. It was a temple for artists; students fought tooth and nail to get in, hoping for a single tip from the masters who taught there.

“No. If I study, my working hours will be shorter,” Zuo Yin refused. For a girl who was hungry, money was more important than a “temple.”

“Ah… what a shame. You were the top of the oil painting department. You might have caught A-Zi’s eye.”

“A-Zi?” Zuo Yin was sensitive to the character Zi.

“Yeah. Shen Qingzi. She’s famous in the oil painting world and teaches here. She hasn’t taken a student in years; we’re all curious to see who could move her.”

“She’s very picky,” Zuo Yin said. It sounded like a statement of fact, as if she already knew her.

They walked through a garden filled with rose vines until a two-story villa appeared. Sunlight poured through massive floor-to-ceiling windows. Inside, oil paintings in that familiar, striking “Mucha” style were illuminated. They were the very works Zuo Yin had spent seven years admiring.

Before Zuo Yin could process this, a woman in a long white dress walked into view, carrying a canvas. Her hair cascaded over her shoulders. She leaned over, carefully adjusting the painting. Bathed in the pure white sunlight, she looked like the definition of tenderness.

Zuo Yin’s eyes followed her every move. Suddenly, her breath hitched.

Step by step, Zuo Yin walked toward the villa. The world around her blurred into a haze of white light.

She saw it clearly now. On the inside of the woman’s right ring finger was the tattoo of the black butterfly that had flown through her dreams a thousand times.