Chapter 2
If everyone could self-reflect, most of the conflicts in the world would not exist.
Once, Xiang Mo went to the cinema alone, and there was a woman in her fifties sitting beside him.
Near the end of the movie, the woman took out her phone and started making a call. The call went unanswered, and she dialed several times. The light from her phone screen was quite glaring, and Xiang Mo couldn’t stand it any longer. He gently patted her and softly reminded her, “The light from your phone is quite dazzling.”
Normally, when someone is reminded of something, they would feel apologetic. But as soon as Xiang Mo spoke, the movie suddenly reached its ending without any warning, and the lights in the theater turned on.
As if suddenly gaining confidence, the woman looked at Xiang Mo askew, sarcastically asking, “Can’t you endure for even a second?”
Her implication was that since the movie was about to end within a second, what was the harm in her making a call?
Hearing such a response, Xiang Mo didn’t feel angry. He replied without changing a word, “Can’t you endure for even a second?”
Since there was still one second left before the movie ended, why didn’t she wait until it finished before making the call?
The knife thrown out returned to stab herself. The woman felt embarrassed and her face turned unpleasant.
Xiang Mo, on the other hand, felt quite pleased. After all, dealing with someone who “only blames others and never reflects on themselves” gave him more satisfaction than watching an exciting movie.
However, he never thought that one day, he would become such a person himself.
The poor soundproofing in the old house made Xiang Mo only consider the upstairs affecting the downstairs. He didn’t consider that the impact was mutual.
This was the consequence of not being able to self-reflect.
“Is that so?” The coffee cup in his hand shook slightly, and Xiang Mo struggled to maintain his composure, casually saying, “I’m sorry, I’ll pay attention in the future.”
It was a dignified way to leave, the only way for the defeated to maintain their dignity. Xiang Mo turned his head to go back inside, but at this moment, he heard Du Chi’s nonchalant voice from behind, “Oh, I don’t mind.”
To complete the sentence, Du Chi probably meant, “I don’t mind you disturbing me,” or perhaps, “I don’t mind you making noise.”
The coffee in the cup almost spilled. Pretending not to hear, Xiang Mo went straight back to the second floor.
Recalling last night’s events, Xiang Mo swore that he only moaned a few times when he climaxed.
When Du Chi said, “You make quite a bit of noise,” it was probably just an exaggerated statement, much like his “making noise all night.”
What differed was that Xiang Mo’s exaggeration was to express his displeasure, while Du Chi’s intentions were clearly different.
His motives were more malicious, as if he was deliberately teasing Xiang Mo.
To tease so openly and boldly, perhaps Xiang Mo should thank Du Chi. At least Du Chi didn’t exaggerate and say that his moans could lift the roof.
Standing by the kitchen window, looking outside, the French plane trees on both sides of the street had sprouted tender green leaves. Unidentified birds were hopping between the branches, emitting pleasant and crisp chirps.
Usually, when he was in a good mood, Xiang Mo would sit in the courtyard, holding a cup of coffee, and enjoy the unique atmosphere of this neighborhood.
But today, he couldn’t muster the enthusiasm. He poured the coffee down the kitchen sink and felt increasingly annoyed.
In fact, when Du Chi first moved in, the atmosphere between them was quite friendly.
A small truck for moving was parked at the entrance of the Pen Ink Studio, and Xiang Mo took the initiative to receive Du Chi in the courtyard, even though there was a large dog he didn’t particularly like squatting beside him.
“This is Sanmao, and he doesn’t bite,” Du Chi bent down slightly, patting the Golden Retriever’s head while looking at Xiang Mo.
Due to the nature of his work, Xiang Mo encountered many strangers, some came to learn painting, and others came to buy paintings. It was because of his profession that he would unconsciously observe the facial features of strangers.
Du Chi had beautiful eyes, deep and expressive, with no evasion. When he looked at you directly, you could feel his openness and sincerity.
Of course, that was just a first impression.
“Sanmao?” Xiang Mo’s gaze shifted from Du Chi’s eyes to the Golden Retriever’s eyes. He inexplicably felt that Sanmao and Du Chi were somewhat alike—both had a lively and sincere appearance. They were friendly and wagged their tails happily. When they heard someone call their names, their drooping ears would move slightly.
Xiang Mo wasn’t afraid of dogs, but he did have a psychological shadow from a large dog incident in his childhood. A German Shepherd had jumped on him affectionately, leaving a scratch on his small arm, leading him to receive five rabies shots.
“You can pet him.” Du Chi said.
Using pets as a means of social interaction was one of the best ways to break the ice between strangers. Xiang Mo also intended to get along well with his new neighbor. Just as he was about to gather his courage to pet Sanmao, Sanmei suddenly slipped out of the studio, meowing and coming to Sanmao’s side.
“You have a cat?” Du Chi crouched down, wanting to pet Sanmei’s head, but Sanmei agilely dodged and circled to the other side of Sanmao.
Sanmao turned its head, its gaze following the nimble little flower cat.
“She’s called Sanmei,” Xiang Mo said. “She’s like that. If you try to pet her, she’ll hide, but if you ignore her, she’ll come to rub against you.”
The two pets at their feet sniffed each other’s noses, creating a harmonious scene. However, just then, Sanmei suddenly extended her front paw and unceremoniously punched Sanmao before slipping back into the studio.
Seeing Sanmao’s bewildered expression, Xiang Mo felt embarrassed, thinking to himself, well, this feisty cat is not suitable for socializing with pets.
“Let’s move aside.”
Two movers carrying large cardboard boxes squeezed into the courtyard, breaking the awkward atmosphere between the two.
Xiang Mo casually glanced at the packaging on the cardboard box—it was a black wrought-iron bed. Seeing that the moving truck was empty, he took the initiative to lead Du Chi into the house and asked friendly, “Do you need help with the arrangements?”
“No, I can handle it myself.” Du Chi led Sanmao following behind Xiang Mo and entered the first-floor studio. “I wanted to ask last time when I came to see the house, are you running the studio part-time?”
The Brush & Ink Art Studio’s opening hours were from 1 pm to 5 pm on weekdays and from 10 am to 3 pm on weekends. Compared to some studios that were open from early morning until late at night, Brush & Ink Art Studio had a more relaxed schedule. It wasn’t because Xiang Mo had other things to do; he just wanted some rest.
“No, it’s a full-time job.”
Xiang Mo didn’t elaborate further. In fact, he wasn’t a full-time artist before.
At the age of twenty-five, Xiang Mo experienced a turning point in his life. Before the age of twenty-five, he was a fine arts teacher at a public middle school, with a decent boyfriend and a smooth career, enjoying a blissful relationship.
That year, with the encouragement and matchmaking of his boyfriend, he got the opportunity to hold a solo art exhibition.
At that time, Xiang Mo possessed the typical arrogance and confidence of a young artist. He decided to exhibit his figure drawings at the art exhibition because it was his favorite and most skilled subject.
Xiang Mo’s figure drawings had a strong personal style, and as art magazines put it, the pencils in his hands were like cameras with built-in filters.
His strokes were extremely detailed, both realistic and beyond realism.
Some parents accidentally learned about Xiang Mo’s art exhibition and specially brought their children to attend. However, when they saw Xiang Mo’s nude drawings, they immediately reported him to the school.
“This kind of teacher is not suitable for teaching adolescents.” “What if he instills strange ideas into the children?”
Facing the parents’ questioning, Xiang Mo didn’t bother to defend himself. He resigned from his job at the school. At the lowest point in his emotions, his boyfriend, who should have been there for him, chose to go abroad to pursue his own career, and they eventually chose to break up.
Losing his job and his partner, it took Xiang Mo quite a long time to recover from this ordeal. Eventually, he used the income from selling his paintings to open Brush & Ink Art Studio.
Three years passed quietly, and surprisingly, Xiang Mo found himself preferring his current peaceful and comfortable life. At least now his students were all adults, and he didn’t have to worry about influencing young children negatively.
“Is this your work?”
Behind him, Du Chi didn’t follow Xiang Mo upstairs and stayed in a corner of the studio, holding onto Sanmao.
In that corner hung the only figure drawing in the studio, which was relatively small in scale compared to the works Xiang Mo had exhibited before, and it depicted the backside of a human body.
“Yes.” Responding with just one word made Xiang Mo seem a bit indifferent. He wasn’t sure if Du Chi understood art, but he continued speaking, finding something to say, “I’m good at figure drawings.”
“I’ve seen your art exhibition.”
The sudden topic surprised Xiang Mo. Although he had some reputation in the art circle, he hadn’t reached the point where anyone could recognize him on sight.
He was about to ask why Du Chi went to see his exhibition when Du Chi continued, “At first, I thought it was a photography exhibition, but it turned out to be an art exhibition.”
Hearing this, Xiang Mo immediately understood that Du Chi must have gone there by chance, not even aware of the content of the exhibition.
Praise from laypeople didn’t carry much weight for Xiang Mo. He casually replied, “That’s just my artistic style.”
“What a coincidence to meet a familiar artist here.”
Du Chi’s tone carried a sense of novelty, as if he had stumbled upon a mysterious fate. Looking into Xiang Mo’s eyes, he seemed eager to explore.
However, that desire was fleeting. Perhaps the shallow impression and the present reality overlapped, making it feel unreal. Du Chi reevaluated Xiang Mo with a scrutinizing gaze.
Being scrutinized, it’s natural to have various thoughts.
Xiang Mo considered himself to have a fitting appearance for an artist. He dressed casually, but he carefully matched colors and kept his nails neatly trimmed, just like his exquisite art style.
He wasn’t sure why he allowed Du Chi to scrutinize him. Perhaps it was the vanity of an artist, hoping to receive feedback like “you are as artistic as your paintings.”
However, Du Chi didn’t express any opinions. Instead, he seemed to be seeing Xiang Mo in a new light and joked, “So, you’re the ‘erotic artist’ I’ve heard of.”
“Erotic artist.”
When Xiang Mo heard these words, his smile froze for a moment. Despite maintaining a friendly expression, his face showed a hint of turning dark.
It seemed that he really couldn’t warm up to creatures like large dogs.