Mr. Hill smiled and handed him a personal card. “Not convenient to talk right now. After the event, I’ll get in touch.”
Shen Yuan hurriedly put the card away and gave his own—he’d designed some after last time when Zhang Meng had asked for one but he didn’t have any—then took the signed book from Hill and politely stepped aside for the next person.
Outside the venue, Shen Yuan called Qiao Haixuan to have his tablet, containing electronic copies of his works, sent over, along with his favorite pieces from his workstation. Qiao knew exactly which pieces he valued most, no further explanation needed.
Since Haixuan was at home taking care of the kids, he couldn’t deliver them himself and had his driver do it instead. Shen Yuan saw that Haixuan had done a perfect job—nothing missing, neatly organized, as if they shared a silent understanding.
Soon after receiving them, Hill called to say he was free and arranged for Shen Yuan to meet him. Shen Yuan’s heart pounded—meeting a renowned designer felt like a sudden gift from the heavens.
Shen Yuan was always meticulous. While some classmates dressed casually for school, he always appeared as if ready for a formal occasion: spotless clothes, perfectly groomed hair, and shoes polished to a shine.
He didn’t even need to change—he went straight to meet Hill.
In June, poppies and balsams bloomed along the school streets. Hill waited under a lush banyan tree and waved upon seeing him.
“Mr. Hill, sorry to keep you waiting,” Shen Yuan said, hurrying over with his bag.
“No, not long,” Hill replied, smiling.
They walked together. Hill nostalgically said, “Your mother and I were classmates. She was the first Chinese girl at this school—quite rare. When she arrived, I noticed her right away. She was struggling financially, which wasn’t surprising—my family was fairly well-off, but even paying for my tuition was tough. She worked two jobs and excelled in all her subjects. I admired her perseverance.”
Shen Yuan listened quietly—this was the first time he had heard about his mother’s school days from someone else. Even his uncle didn’t know, because he met her years after she graduated.
He now had a clearer picture: going abroad for studies had been extremely difficult for his mother. It had been a do-or-die choice, and his grandfather had drained his savings and borrowed from relatives to send her abroad.
As a child, his uncle often argued with his grandfather over this, angry that he favored his daughter. Shen Yuan remembered vividly one such argument, when his uncle glared at him and shouted, “How can this be fair? Other families don’t give daughters inheritance. They’ll marry and leave! And you give her money, even mine? She wants to study? Years of study, and what has it brought? A burden, and now she sends a kid here too, just taking more resources!”
Grandfather simply tapped his pipe and said, “I’m not dead yet. This is my money, not yours. Why must you control it?”
Later, his mother graduated and quickly climbed the ranks in a jewelry company, repaying all debts and even buying a house for his uncle, which softened his uncle’s attitude toward Shen Yuan.
Shen Yuan still slept in his grandfather’s small bed, ignoring the new rooms. After his grandfather passed, he refused to go abroad, and his mother sent money to his uncle’s family to help care for him. His uncle became much kinder, often bringing milk or fruit to his dorm, reminding him to take care of himself, and inviting him for weekend meals.
He had made himself look presentable on the outside, but he could never forget the early coldness he had felt—how, even sitting on the sofa, his aunt would say, “I just changed the couch cover; don’t dirty it.”
As he grew, he gradually let go of resentment.
Now hearing Mr. Hill recount this, Shen Yuan better understood his mother’s hardship—how difficult her life had been, and how she had struggled to protect him. Given those circumstances, anyone might have done no better.
Hill continued, “So when I heard a relative was looking for a Chinese tutor for a child, offering better pay than her night job at the supermarket, I asked if she was interested. That’s how we met.”
“You Asians all look so young,” Hill said, smiling. “She hadn’t turned twenty-five. I assumed she wasn’t married. One day, I saw a photo of a child in her wallet. I asked whose it was. She said it was her son. I was surprised—she was already married and had a child.”
“She always carried a photo of you,” Hill added.
“Her favorite idol was Lyudmila, do you know her?”
Shen Yuan shook his head. “Who?”
Hill explained, “Lyudmila was a female sniper. At sixteen, her husband abandoned her. She raised her child alone, worked in a factory, attended night school, and got into Kyiv University’s history program. Then she joined the military, earning honors and rising to general. But she struggled—she couldn’t handle it all.”
Shen Yuan felt a tightness in his chest. His mother had passed so long ago—Hill had no reason to invent this. Yet how did he know so much?
He asked carefully, “Were you that close to my mother?”
Hill stopped, smiled, and said, “I know what you’re thinking. Yes, we dated for a time. Those few Chinese phrases I know were taught by her. For various reasons, we didn’t end up together.”
“I know when your mother passed, her funeral was already done. I went to her grave to lay flowers… It was sudden.”
“It was truly a pity. She was so young. I heard she was preparing her own brand—I looked forward to her works.”
Shen Yuan had originally come hoping for advice on his work, but that was forgotten. He was immersed in melancholy.
Hill said suddenly, “Meeting you makes me happy. I asked your teachers—they said, like your mother, you’re talented.”
“When you have time, I can introduce you to some industry friends, some of whom were your mother’s old friends.”
“You don’t have to call me ‘Mr.’ Call me ‘Uncle Hill.’”
Shen Yuan snapped out of it. “Thank you, thank you.”
Hill kept his word. A week later, he brought Shen Yuan to a small gathering with old classmates.
The friends teased, “Where did you bring this young one from?”
Shen Yuan, the youngest, remained polite and still, wanting to make a good impression.
Hill said, “This is Ye’s son. I brought him for you to meet. He’s Ye’s child—half my nephew, I suppose. Since we met, I thought I should look after him.”
The group immediately warmed to him. Even though they had all known Ye Xueyao well, she had passed years ago. Hill presenting him as his nephew gave Shen Yuan weight and respect; they exchanged contact information.
As a young newcomer, Shen Yuan was careful not to act hastily, knowing eagerness could backfire.
One man, a plump uncle named Leonard, showed unusual warmth. “I often heard Ye talk about you. So tragic that she left us suddenly—I couldn’t believe it at first.”
Shen Yuan noticed Leonard wasn’t as handsome as Uncle Hill, slightly overweight and balding, not polished like the others. He had been overly attentive at the gathering, though few seemed to respond. Shen Yuan sensed he wasn’t like the artistic designers present—he had a business air. Still, he refrained from asking directly.
Leonard said, “I was supposed to be a partner in your mother’s planned studio. Sadly, after her accident, the soul of our project was gone, and the plan fell through.”
Shen Yuan felt Leonard wasn’t like an ex of his mother’s.
Leonard handed him a card: “I work in brand PR now. If you start a studio, I’d be happy to help. You’re Ye’s son, so I guess I’m a sort of half-uncle, haha.”
Shen Yuan felt Leonard’s energy was different from Uncle Hill’s—less sincere, slightly self-serving.
“Weren’t you a designer?” Shen Yuan asked.
Leonard was caught off guard. “I used to be, but this field is tough. I switched careers—found something I’m good at now.”
When leaving, Shen Yuan asked Uncle Hill, “That Leonard said he almost collaborated with my mother’s studio. Is that true?”
Hill replied, “Yes, I don’t know him well. Probably someone your mother met later. He seems alright. Why?”
Shen Yuan couldn’t say. He did have thoughts about opening a studio in the future and knew good relations with a brand PR company would be necessary.
Two days later, Leonard enthusiastically invited him for a weekend meal.
Shen Yuan went as promised. Leonard’s wife welcomed him, introducing, “I have a son your age, just started university, hasn’t come home yet. Let me show you around.”
Later, Leonard checked Shen Yuan’s online portfolio. Like his mother, talented with creative flair. Leonard wasn’t skilled in design himself but had an eye for potential. He noticed Shen Yuan’s social media presence and good looks—perfect for influence—and resolved to cultivate a relationship with him while he was still young and malleable.
In Leonard’s study, he displayed Shen Yuan’s various childhood accolades and boasted about them.
Shen Yuan paused at a framed design. Leonard proudly said, “I used to be a successful designer too. I won awards with this design—it was well-received.”