To Sweep Across Like Wildfire - Chapter 11

Chapter 11

Shen Qingruo’s WeChat profile picture was a photo of herself.

It was a waist-up shot; her slender arm was draped loosely over a white-painted railing. She was half-turned, her eyes slightly upturned with a hint of a nonchalant smile. A corner of the photo revealed a deep blue sea.

This must have been taken at the beach, Meng Chi thought.

She leaned against her dorm bed playing with her phone. From her roommates’ perspective, Meng Chi looked expressionless, as if she were studying. What they didn’t know—and would have been shocked to find out—was that she was staring blankly at a photo of a beautiful woman.

A flicker of emotion crossed Meng Chi’s eyes. Had her roommates caught it, they might have noticed something was up, but they were all looking down at their own group chat, so no one saw.

Meng Chi tapped the profile picture to enlarge it, long-pressed, and saved it.

Then, she opened Shen Qingruo’s Moments and slowly scrolled down.

Shen Qingruo posted frequently—sometimes three times a day, averaging at least one post daily. The content mostly revolved around eating, drinking, and having fun.

The latest update was from yesterday:

May 25, 2020, 3:23 AM [Image] [Image] Zhen’er had a stomach ache and went home early. I was so sad I almost couldn’t eat.

The first picture showed a steaming red-oil hotpot in the center, with fresh meat bubbling inside and various side dishes surrounding it. It was a well-composed shot that would make any hotpot lover crave it instantly.

The second picture showed the hotpot turned off, with a layer of chili oil floating on top and not a trace of food left. Every plate was licked clean. Looking at this, she was clearly just as “sad” as her caption claimed.

Meng Chi glanced at the time. The woman truly had boundless energy—hotpot in the early morning and clubbing at night.

She scanned the text again. Seeing the name “Zhen’er,” her mind immediately went to the “Little Tiger of ’98” from last night. Based on the playful tone Shen Qingruo used and how often the name appeared in her Moments, it had to be her.

Shen Qingruo’s Moments were set to be visible for the last month. Meng Chi had already seen everything from that period. Although she wanted to look through them again, she restrained herself. If Shen Qingruo knew, she would definitely think she was a creep.

Meng Chi exited the Moments and returned to their chat interface.

Aside from the system notification saying the friend request had been accepted, there were no messages.

Since the other person hadn’t sent anything, Meng Chi didn’t know what to say. When she first returned to the dorm, she had drafted a message saying “I’m back at school,” but she never hit send.

She felt conflicted. What if she’s busy? Would this be annoying? Or worse: She probably doesn’t care where I am. Sending this would make me look desperate.

After agonizing for half a day, Meng Chi decided not to send anything. She tried to think positively: at least she had her WeChat now.

…

Because she had a sketching trip to Xiling Academy of Fine Arts the next day, Meng Chi packed her things and went to bed early.

The following morning, 11:00 AM. Xiling Academy of Fine Arts, Student Exhibition Hall.

Most of the sophomores from Beiyuan Fine Arts were organized by the school to come to Xiling for sketching. Xiling saw this as a great exchange opportunity and had their own students join in for collaborative learning.

Because Xiling took it seriously, the Beiyuan students were given a guided tour of the campus on their first day. Xiling was one of the top art academies in the country, boasting beautiful landscaping and numerous art exhibitions scattered throughout the grounds.

Groups of students from both schools crowded the small hall, wandering around and looking at the graduation works of previous seniors.

One student, wearing a white shirt with the purple Xiling crest, nudged his classmate in the black t-shirt. He jerked his chin toward a diagonal direction and whispered, “That girl is gorgeous. I bet she’s the campus belle of Beiyuan!”

Both were sophomores at Xiling.

The student in the black t-shirt looked over and saw a woman with an extraordinary, cool temperament. She wore a white V-neck short-sleeved shirt paired with a simple misty-blue skirt. She stood before a large, aesthetic modern portrait; for a moment, the girl and the painting overlapped so perfectly it was hard to tell which was the art. Her features were delicate, her figure tall and slender—she looked like she had stepped right out of a canvas.

The black t-shirt student was stunned at first, then felt a sense of familiarity. After staring for a few seconds, he turned to his friend excitedly. “I told you about her! That’s Meng Chi, the belle of my old high school!”

“You kept bragging about how pretty your high school belle was, but you couldn’t find a photo for half a day! I thought you were lying. She’s actually that pretty!”

“She’s very low-key, there aren’t many photos of her online. We were in the same year, but I was in the Liberal Arts track and she was in Science. We weren’t in the same art prep class either, so we didn’t cross paths much,” Black T-shirt rambled. “I told you before, she took the entrance exam for our school back then and ranked first in the professional rankings!”

White Shirt had a vague memory and asked, “Then why didn’t she come to our school?”

“I heard from others later that she wanted to pursue a dual degree in South Ling. As for what the other major is, I’m not sure.”

Xiling was a specialized art academy, while Beiyuan was a comprehensive university with strong departments in every field.

White Shirt hissed in admiration. “A dual degree? That must be exhausting.”

“There was probably a reason, but I don’t know the specifics. Maybe it’s related to her interests,” Black T-shirt replied.

…

Meng Chi sensed the curious and unfamiliar gazes landing on her, but she didn’t care. She knew that once the novelty wore off, people would stop paying attention. As long as it didn’t interfere with her studies, a few stares didn’t matter.

9:00 PM, Xiling Studio.

Meng Chi sat at her easel, using a pencil to refine the details of a figure. Her mind was replaying the pose of the model from the afternoon session: a man sitting on the grass, arms propping him up behind his back, eyes closed and face tilted upward, expressionless.

In the past, Meng Chi wouldn’t have thought too much. She drew whatever pose the model took. Her finished works were like photographs; even the tiniest fabric fold was captured exactly as it appeared. In middle school, her classmates praised her “digital camera” eyes. While she wasn’t arrogant about it, it made her happy. But in university, alongside the praise, there had been sharp criticism.

Teacher Tian wasn’t the only one; two or three other professors had said her work “lacked soul” or “spiritual resonance.”

Her roommates tried to comfort her, saying those terms were vague and meaningless, and that everyone gets picked on by professors. But Meng Chi felt it. Before university, she could see her progress in every drawing. Now, she often felt her work was poor and doubted if she was meant for this. Every time she started a new piece, she had to mentally prepare herself, fearing it would just be a repeat of her previous work. What is the point of spending so much time on this?

She wasn’t one to open up easily, so she never shared these feelings of inadequacy with anyone.

When she started sketching that afternoon, she followed her usual steps but soon stopped. She noticed the model’s slightly furrowed brow. In that instant, she thought of Shen Qingruo.

Even though the male model looked nothing like Shen Qingruo—he wasn’t even the same gender—the image in her mind shifted dramatically.

She saw a woman sitting on the grass, ivory arms propping her up, one long leg drawn up, eyes closed lazily as she enjoyed a peaceful moment.

If Shen Qingruo were sitting here, how would she react?

Meng Chi visualized it. The sun was a bit strong today; Shen Qingruo would feel hot, her cheeks might even flush a faint red. Given her personality, she would probably complain about sitting in the sun. Just like the model, who looked slightly bothered by the heat.

Meng Chi had seen countless models, but she had never paid attention like this before—to who the person in the drawing actually was.

She drew all afternoon and continued refining the details into the evening.

As she was working, a bag of spicy strips was thrust toward her. Her roommate whispered, “These are incredible. Have some, then pass them on…”

Meng Chi saw her other roommates looking eagerly at the bag and passed it along. The first roommate realized she hadn’t taken any and slapped her own forehead. “I forgot! You don’t eat spicy food.”

Even though she didn’t like spice, Meng Chi politely replied, “It looks like it tastes good.”

“Then try one!”

“Next time,” Meng Chi said vaguely.

The roommate sighed. “To each their own. I won’t force you. But man, you have no idea how much delicious food you’re missing out on by not eating spice.”

Meng Chi gave a noncommittal smile. She truly didn’t understand what was so great about something that irritated the mouth and made the throat swell and hurt.

A while later, Meng Chi was nearly finished. Seeing that her roommates were still working, she realized they wouldn’t be heading back to the hotel anytime soon, so she pulled out her phone to check financial news.

After finishing the news, she opened WeChat. The loading circle spun for a second, and new updates from her friends appeared. At the very top was a nickname: “rr”.

I want hotpot again. Anyone want to join? [Image] [Image]

Two photos showed steaming, bright red hotpot.

Meng Chi quickly checked the timestamp: two minutes ago. Her hands moved faster than her brain. She opened the chat with “rr” and sent a message immediately. The hesitation she felt yesterday vanished, replaced by a fear that someone else would get there first.

No pressure, no motivation, Meng Chi thought. It’s true for everything.

If her roommates had seen her screen, they would have been shocked. Meng Chi, who never initiated social hangouts and hated spicy food, had just messaged someone: “Are you free? Let’s get hotpot together?”

“rr” replied quickly: “Who are you?”

Meng Chi: “.”

rr: “If you don’t say, I’m deleting you.”

Meng Chi: “…I’m Meng Chi.”

She suspected the woman hadn’t even remembered her name.

Meng Chi added: “The one who was at the hotel with you…”

She thought bitterly that given the woman’s lifestyle, she didn’t know how many people had been at a hotel with her. She had to add more hints.

Meng Chi had been pursued her whole life. Before university, love letters and gifts filled her desk. At Beiyuan, things were quieter, but she still had grand gestures like seniors playing PPT presentations in her class to confess. She knew she was popular, but she also knew that at this age, people moved on to the next “fresh” face quickly.

To find someone who completely forgot her—especially someone she was so conflicted about—gave her a cold, sinking feeling of being unimportant.

Meng Chi continued: “Last night we…”

Surely that was obvious enough.

Unexpectedly, the reply was: “Hahahahahaha.”

Then, a voice message from Shen Qingruo: “So well-behaved, kid.”

Meng Chi: “…”

She realized she had been played.

Shen Qingruo continued to tease her: “Little one, do you think my memory is that bad? How could I forget what happened just yesterday?”

Meng Chi, embarrassed and annoyed, replied: “I’m not you, how should I know how your memory is? You’re older than me, after all.”

Shen Qingruo: “.”

Silence followed for several seconds.

Meng Chi thought she might have actually made her angry and wanted to apologize. But then she felt she shouldn’t have to, since the woman was always mocking her. Still, she felt bad for bringing up age as a weapon.

She felt a strange pang in her heart. Why could Shen Qingruo tease her and then just ignore her?

Before she could analyze the feeling, a voice message arrived. Shen Qingruo’s tone was still laced with amusement; she wasn’t angry. Her voice was soft and light as she said:

“It’s a bit late to go out for hotpot now, it’s not safe on the road.”

She paused for a moment, then continued:

“Where are you? I’ll come pick you up.”