The Twilight Does Not Stain the Rose - Chapter 8

Chapter 8: Pansy (III)

Downstairs was the tea shop. Several common varieties of tea leaves were for sale, arranged in open wooden shelves against the wall—one category per grid. The packaging consisted of dark tones, simple and orderly. This morning’s cat food had been taken from the cabinet beneath these shelves.

The tea cabinet occupied a quarter of the storefront to the left of the main entrance. Jiang Muchen shifted her gaze to the right; it felt as if she had accidentally wandered into an exhibition hall. She saw a wall covered in calligraphy and paintings, and a desk where more scrolls were hung.

Her gaze turned again toward the end of the room, directly opposite the main door, in the area between the stairs and the wall of calligraphy. There sat a set of very ancient-looking desks and chairs. On the desk, the “four treasures of the study” (brush, ink, paper, and inkstone) were laid out, along with a landscape painting that was half-finished.

She instinctively stepped forward and saw a line of poetry inscribed on the upper right of the landscape:

“The sun shines on Incense Burner Peak, generating purple smoke…”

The handwriting was elegant yet powerful. The landscape was only half-done; though the subject was simple, the “feeling” was captured perfectly.

Jiang Muchen couldn’t help but ask, “Miss Zhuang, are this painting and the calligraphy your work?”

As she looked up, she scanned the area filled with scrolls; the style and the paper all seemed identical.

Hearing this, Zhuang Baiwei smiled. “Yes, but they’re just things I doodle or write when I have nothing better to do. Just a hobby—they can’t really be called ‘works.'”

The two walked outside, bathing in the warm sunshine.

Zhuang Baiwei said, “Muchen, I’ve shown you everything at ‘Today is Good’ now.”

“So, the job I’m giving you consists of only two words—”

“Observation.”

Observation?

“That’s right,” she explained softly. “Observe ‘Today is Good,’ observe the passing customers, and gain fresh stimulation from unfamiliar people, things, and events. I think this might help you find your inspiration.”

Jiang Muchen realized her intent and nodded, only to hear her continue: “But just observing is a bit lacking, so—”

“Starting today, you need to turn in an assignment to me every day.”

“The content and format don’t matter; just one sheet of paper.”

“Alright,” Jiang Muchen agreed. “I understand.”

Just as the conversation ended, a few meows came from beneath their feet. The cats had likely finished eating and drinking. They circled affectionately around their feeder, Zhuang Baiwei, a few times before gathering at the entrance of the flower shop. This was the spot the cats had chosen as the best place for sunbathing.

Seeing this, Zhuang Baiwei said, “Muchen, pick any spot you like and sit down. I’m going to start being a ‘salted fish.'”

Salted fish? (Slang for someone with no ambitions who just wants to relax).

Jiang Muchen was stunned. The woman before her had already caught up to the cats in a few steps. While bending over to rub those little heads, she said, “I’m going to get a chair. Wait for me a moment.”

She entered the flower shop and, before long, carried out a rocking chair with Zhou Xiaotong. She also brought out two small stools, placed them nearby, and lay down.

She began her sunbath.

Big Ginger seemed somewhat used to this. Once Zhuang Baiwei lay down and the chair began to rock gently, he used his hind legs to leap onto the small stool next to her and curled into a ball. One person and one cat—they looked like pre-arranged sunbathing partners.

This scene shocked Jiang Muchen. She instinctively stepped closer, hearing Zhou Xiaofeng explain from behind: “You’ll get used to it. Weiwei has no dreams; she just wants to be a big salted fish.”

Zhuang Baiwei, on the rocking chair, clearly heard this but only smiled with her eyes closed, offering no rebuttal.

So, this is what “salted fish” means.

Jiang Muchen gave a light smile. She looked around inside and outside the shop, eventually choosing an outdoor seat in front of the coffee shop—the first table near the door—to officially begin her “‘Today is Good’ Observation Diary.”

Since Zhuang Baiwei hadn’t mentioned any specific shop tasks, and Shen Shuhao’s intention was for her to focus on finding inspiration, Jiang Muchen brought her tablet, paper, and pens. She began to doodle aimlessly while observing the scenery by the river.

The disappearance of her inspiration had happened quite suddenly. Under her mother’s influence, Jiang Muchen had been drawing the jewelry of her imagination since she was eight years old. Consequently, in the twenty years from age eight to twenty-eight, she had never imagined a day would come when she could no longer find inspiration.

The feeling of losing inspiration is quite mystical. Jiang Muchen had heard other designers talk about it, but she never knew what it actually felt like. Experiencing it personally now, it felt like the sudden terror and despair of every river, lake, and sea drying up at once. She could no longer find images in her mind; even looking at her past works, she could no longer feel the mental journey she took when creating them.

That was why, on the night she met Zhuang Baiwei, a vision suddenly appeared. Once she had a complete production idea, she forgot to eat and sleep, terrified that the image would slip away if she moved a second too slowly.

“Hello, could you recommend some flowers?”

A girl wanting to buy flowers stood at the entrance of the flower shop. Jiang Muchen snapped out of her thoughts and saw Zhou Xiaofeng emerge from the shop, asking gently, “Who would you like to give them to?”

During this time, Zhuang Baiwei remained lying in the rocking chair. The cats would lift their heads curiously whenever they heard a sound, but she remained calm and composed as if she were completely detached from the world.

Involuntarily, Jiang Muchen thought back to the day they first met. First, there was Zhuang Baiwei’s gentleness in realizing she didn’t want the Osmanthus Latte and hand-crafting the white rose latte art; then, her calm composure in the face of a troublesome competitor and her lightning-fast reaction to use that momentum for promotion. And finally, the way Zhuang Baiwei had subtly declined her friend request and leaned against the railing—that melancholic silhouette.

The sunlight that day had also been excellent. In the autumn air where red maples and osmanthus flaunted themselves together, she was exceedingly dazzling and unique, like a self-illuminating white rose.

She was the same now.

The girl buying flowers had a work ID badge hanging from her chest and held some documents; she was likely an office worker from a nearby building. “My partner and I are about to start a long-distance relationship, so I want to buy a bouquet that symbolizes ‘missing someone’ or ‘waiting’ to give to him.”

As she spoke, her gaze fell upon the vibrant pansies on the wooden rack.

Zhou Xiaofeng smiled and introduced them: “These are pansies. They represent ‘thoughts’ and ‘waiting.'”

This sense of coincidence and destiny moved the girl. She showed a touched and surprised smile. “Really? That’s wonderful. I was drawn here exactly by this pot of flowers.”

The girl paid, cradling a pot of pansies as she left with light and joyful steps.

Under the sun, Big Ginger stretched. Zhuang Baiwei opened her eyes because of it and reached out to scratch his chin, making him purr frantically with comfort. Nearby, Little Ginger hopped down to the ground and then onto the wooden rack made vacant by the missing pansy, curiously observing another pot of pansies trembling slightly in the wind.

Zhuang Baiwei saw his movements but didn’t stop him. She simply stretched and continued her sunbath.

“Weiwei-jie!” Zhou Xiaofeng’s voice came from inside the flower shop. Moments later, she ran out with a gift card and a fountain pen. “Weiwei-jie, write a few more, please? They’re very short!”

Zhuang Baiwei took them without hesitation and began writing the cards right there on the armrest.

As Zhou Xiaofeng read the content, she said, “It seems because of the post on WeChat yesterday, many people saw your handwriting and are buying the ghostwriting service.”

Zhuang Baiwei was surprised. “People actually charge for this ghostwriting?”

“Of course,” Zhou Xiaofeng emphasized. “Even though you’ve been out of the industry for three years, your signature is still very valuable!”

Zhuang Baiwei smiled, seemingly indifferent. “It seems my calligraphy practice wasn’t in vain. I never thought I could make money from my handwriting one day.”

She finished the cards quickly. The sound of crushing fallen leaves approached as Zhou Xiaofeng ran back into the shop with the cards. “The delivery runner is here! Thanks, Weiwei-jie! They’re written beautifully!”

A moment later, an electric bike left with two bouquets of pink roses, and the small path in front of “Today is Good” fell silent.

The little ginger cat lost interest in the pansies and curled up on the spot. The other cats, startled by the commotion, also lay back down. And there was the “big salted fish” beside them; the rocking chair swayed gently, softer than the breeze. Bathed in sunlight, she seemed to be drifting off to sleep.

Suddenly, Jiang Muchen seemed to hear the sound of a clock stopping. The scene froze, leaving only her at the center—gentle, free, and untouched by time.

“Meow~”

A sweet meow woke Jiang Muchen. She looked down and saw a little tabby. The tabby had a brown spot between its brows—one of the strays Zhuang Baiwei had fed that morning. The little tabby looked up at her, its round eyes seemingly filled with expectation.

A slight itch of desire rose in her heart, but she resisted the urge to pet it. She gripped her pen and watched the little tabby turn its head slightly.

“Meow—”

The kitten called out in confusion, spotted its companion, and wobbled off toward them.

No.

It ran to the feet of the human, gave a light leap onto the human’s lap, and curled up to sleep. It was heading for Zhuang Baiwei.

Jiang Muchen’s grip on the pen shifted from a pinch to a hold. The autumn breeze came slowly, curling the corner of the paper. Jiang Muchen lowered her head and drew a single line on the paper. Then, countless lines of different lengths and thicknesses poured from the tip of her pen, gradually filling the page.

Lunch was eaten in shifts, followed by the busiest time of the day. The coffee shop gradually filled up, and many people, drawn by the flowers, bought bouquets. The vibrant pansies on the wooden rack remained bestsellers and were soon sold out.

Customers arrived at the tea shop, ending Zhuang Baiwei’s leisure time. Jiang Muchen thought she heard a faint sigh, then saw her stand up. “Coming~”

The rocking chair instantly became the cats’ domain. The cats fed in the morning gradually gathered together, starting a harmonious afternoon on the chair.

Lunch had been prepared by Zhuang Baiwei—reportedly Auntie Zhuang’s cooking—and Jiang Muchen had been ordered to finish it all properly. Jiang Muchen ate seriously and returned to her seat. Her hands never stopped moving. Unknowingly, the rich images in her mind were migrating piece by piece onto the paper.

She drew one page after another. As the daylight grew dim and cool, a flickering light suddenly entered her vision.

She heard Zhuang Baiwei’s gentle voice: “Little friend Jiang Muchen, time to turn in your assignment.”

She looked up abruptly, only to realize the moon had already risen in the east.

Seeing this, Zhuang Baiwei couldn’t help but shake her head. “Entering a state where you forget to eat and sleep is a dangerous habit.” She tapped the table with her finger. “It’s too dark; it’ll hurt your eyes.”

“Ah,” Jiang Muchen exclaimed, a bit embarrassed. “I’m used to it. I’ll be more careful next time.”

Zhuang Baiwei saw the three drawings on the table. Although the backgrounds were all in front of the flower shop, they seemed to tell a story through different characters. From the girl buying pansies in the morning, to Zhuang Baiwei scratching Big Ginger’s chin and Little Ginger’s curiosity about the pansies, and finally to Zhuang Baiwei leaving while the seven strays occupied the rocking chair together.

Jiang Muchen had drawn colored sketches. The color blocks were bright and clear, and combined with sharp, defined lines, the people, scenery, and cats in the drawings were all lovely, agile, and lifelike.

Zhuang Baiwei was stunned. She knew jewelry designers had to learn drawing, but she hadn’t expected it to be this good. Or perhaps, it was just that Jiang Muchen was that good.

After appreciating them carefully, the drawings were put back. Zhuang Baiwei pulled a piece of paper folded into a square from her pocket and handed it over. It was xuan paper. Jiang Muchen opened it and saw a purple pansy painted in ink.

“A pansy?” she asked in surprise.

Zhuang Baiwei smiled. “I thought I’d provide a sample for you, but it turns out I was showing off my meager skills before an expert.”

“No,” Jiang Muchen shook her head, her eyes filled with sincere surprise. “It’s beautiful. It’s drawn very well.”

“A purple pansy,” Zhuang Baiwei said. “I think it’s a lot like you, so I’m giving it to you.”

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