I Woke Up And My Girlfriend Was Gone - Chapter 8

Chapter 8: Morning Light and Whispered Secrets

The morning light, carrying its unique freshness, filtered through the pure white colonnade and settled on Shen Qingzi. Her white shirt was buttoned meticulously to the top, the satin fabric draping over her slender frame without a single crease.

She stood at the entrance alongside Zhou Lin, conversing with several renowned professors. Her reddish-orange lips were curled into a faint, graceful smile, and her composed profile was framed by stray locks of hair that exuded an air of effortless calm.

Zuo Yin watched her, dazed. It felt as if the Shen Qingzi she had spent five years depicting in her mind had actually stepped out into the real world.

“Wow, getting here early was the best idea ever! All the legends of our academy are here!”

“Exactly! You usually never see them, and now they’re all here at once… That’s Teacher Xu, over there is Dean Shen, and who’s that?”

“Professor Zhou. She was the one who gave us the lecture last week.”

Zuo Yin stood to the side, listening to her three roommates. Suddenly, Yuan Yuan covered her mouth, looking at the group in shock. “Is that woman next to Professor Zhou actually Shen Qingzi? She’s so beautiful… how can someone look like that?”

“She is pretty, but since we’ve never seen a photo of Shen Qingzi, how can we be sure it’s her?” Zhang Zhang questioned.

“I think it is. Look at how similar her aura is to Dean Shen’s,” Xu Xu noted. “She’s so good-looking… I wish she’d give a girl like me a chance.”

“If she really is Shen Qingzi, then God is way too biased,” Yuan Yuan muttered, biting her handkerchief in mock envy. “Being that good at painting is one thing, but being this beautiful too?”

While the three continued to speculate, Zhang Zhang whispered leaned in. “I heard that Shen Qingzi isn’t Dean Shen’s biological daughter.”

Yuan Yuan’s eyes went wide. “Really? How do you know?”

Normally, Zuo Yin disdained idle gossip. But as soon as the name “Shen Qingzi” was involved, she was like a cat catching the scent of fish—she couldn’t help but draw closer.

“I heard it from an upperclassman who graduated from the Academy. Shen Qingzi has a younger sister who was the Dean’s biological child. But the sister was always sickly and passed away when Shen Qingzi was a senior. The Girl in the Conservatory was actually painted in memory of her sister.” Zhang Zhang spoke with such conviction it was as if she had witnessed it herself.

“That can’t be right,” Yuan Yuan doubted. “Don’t people usually adopt because they can’t conceive? How did a biological daughter suddenly appear?”

“Haven’t you heard those stories where a couple adopts and then suddenly gets pregnant? People say it’s like a lucky charm,” Zhang Zhang explained.

“It’s survivor bias,” Zuo Yin interjected coldly.

“What bias?” Xu Xu asked, confused.

“Because only those specific stories get reported, people think it’s a ‘lucky charm.’ It has no factual basis. Don’t speculate wildly,” Zuo Yin explained, her expression darkening even further.

“I guess that’s true,” Yuan Yuan nodded.

“But her being adopted is an open secret in the art circle,” Zhang Zhang added, clearly annoyed by Zuo Yin’s lecture. “It’s just that she rarely makes public appearances, so it hasn’t become common knowledge yet.”

Zuo Yin’s brow furrowed. She looked at Zhang Zhang and countered, “Oh? So you consider yourself part of ‘the circle’ then?”

“You—what do you mean by that!” Zhang Zhang glared at Zuo Yin, unable to find a comeback.

Xu Xu quickly stepped between them. “Alright, let’s just go see the exhibition. If we’re late, the professors will be gone before we can even try to talk to them.”

Zuo Yin stuffed her hands back into her pockets and followed them silently. She really wasn’t cut out for group activities; she had managed to get into an argument within minutes.

…

The Anonymous Painting

Feeling out of sync with the group, Zuo Yin quietly slipped away at a fork in the gallery path. She found herself in a quieter hall featuring works by lesser-known alumni.

Just as she was about to leave, she turned and saw a large oil painting of a desert starry sky hanging in the center of the far wall. The night sky wasn’t a flat black, but a gradient shifting from black to dark purple and then to a deep brown where it met the sand. The stars were bright, and the transitions in the light-washed sky were incredibly soft.

Zuo Yin’s eyes dropped to the plaque below. It was a collaborative work. One author was an alum with three lines of titles and honors. The other was listed simply as: Anonymous.

Zuo Yin stared at those two words. A name instinctively surfaced in her mind: Shen Qingzi.

She frowned. Could I really not do it? Forget her? No, I can’t.

“Xiao Yin! There you are! I’ve been looking everywhere!” Yuan Yuan’s voice broke her thoughts. “Let’s go! The teacher said there’s a pre-class quiz and we have to be in the classroom fifteen minutes early!”

Zuo Yin checked her cracked phone screen. A notification for the group chat finally popped up. This piece of junk didn’t even give alerts anymore.

“Coming,” Zuo Yin sighed, following Yuan Yuan out.

Just as Zuo Yin exited through one side of the hall, Shen Qingzi and Zhou Lin entered from the other. Zuo Yin was walking fast, leaving behind only the silhouette of her frayed palm-brown biker jacket. Even so, Shen Qingzi recognized the back of that head instantly. A small, subtle ripple disturbed the calm of her eyes.

“I’ve never seen someone dress so casually for an exhibition. Are all freshmen like this nowadays?” Zhou Lin also recognized her and commented with disapproval.

“You know her?” Shen Qingzi asked tentatively.

“Zuo Yin. She’s the girl Yuqing mentioned who wants to work at our studio. Yuqing is having a bit of a headache deciding where to put her,” Zhou Lin said.

“Zuo… Yin…” Shen Qingzi repeated the name. It sounded as cool and aloof as the girl herself. “She wants to work at our studio?”

“Yes. We have a policy favoring Academy students. A teaching assistant makes 3,000 a month. But I’ve never seen a freshman look for work so early. It’s a pity—she was the top-ranked student in the Oil Painting department this year, but she refused the elite selection exams because she ‘didn’t have time.’ Yuqing thinks she’s just desperate for money.”

Shen Qingzi blinked. “She’s short on money?”

“How should I know? I’m not close with her. Maybe Yuqing knows,” Zhou Lin replied.

Shen Qingzi nodded, her curiosity seemingly piqued. “And how did she and Yuqing meet?”

Zhou Lin looked at her, amused by the uncharacteristic barrage of questions. “Ah-Zi, aren’t you being a bit inquisitive today?”

Shen Qingzi felt a slight blush of embarrassment. “Am I?”

“Yes,” Zhou Lin said seriously.

Shen Qingzi laughed softly. “I suppose I am.”

Zhou Lin tried to shift the topic. “You’ve been busy lately. Want to grab dinner at our usual spot tonight? My treat.” She leaned in slightly, the scent of her new XL perfume—the one Shen Qingzi had once mentioned—drifting toward Shen.

“New perfume?” Shen Qingzi asked.

“Mhm. So, are you coming?”

Shen Qingzi spread her hands with a look of regret. “I’m afraid I don’t have the luck today. I have something to take care of after the exhibition ends. I won’t make it for dinner.”

“Where are you going? I’ll go with you,” Zhou Lin pressed.

“It’s a secret,” Shen Qingzi said with a mysterious smile, continuing down the hall.

In Zhou Lin’s eyes, Shen Qingzi was always like this—gentle as water, her eyes curving when she laughed, her words like spring sunshine. Zhou Lin reached into her bag, touching the drama tickets she had prepared for so long, but in the end, she never brought them out.

…

The Visit to the Old District

The cicadas were screaming tirelessly in the heat. In a living room cluttered with paintings, Zuo Lan sat on a small stool wearing a thin camisole. She was battling a mangled tube of white paint, squeezing with all her might.

With a final, desperate grunt, a blob of white paint finally surrendered and splattered onto her messy palette.

“Phew…” Zuo Lan exhaled, picking up her brush.

Knock, knock.

A crisp sound came from the door. Zuo Lan frowned. Who would be visiting at noon when the studio was closed? Had that “little brat” (Zuo Yin) finally come back to apologize?

“Who is it?” Zuo Lan called out loudly.

“Hello. My father purchased a painting from you two weeks ago. I’ve come to visit your studio today.”

Shen Qingzi stood outside the red-brick house. The sun, filtered through the plane trees, fell upon her, making her silhouette appear exceptionally straight and elegant. Every line of her being stood in stark, beautiful contrast to the dilapidated, hunched buildings of the old city district.