PPS Chapter 129

Chapter 129: Brother Sanmu Says Gifts Too Expensive Aren’t Allowed

But Chu Zhaoyi still didn’t have much expression, his face without a single ripple, as if the person in front of him wasn’t worth any emotional fluctuations from him.

The constant temperature system in the collection room emitted a slight hum, and “Drowning Moon” behind the glass reflected two overlapping, distorted shadows.

Chu Zhaoyi spoke faintly, “I don’t like you.”

He didn’t like bearing the inexplicable feelings of strange people.

“You like Gu Yusen? Can he understand how much despair is hidden in these vortexes?” Mo Jincheng’s finger traced over Chu Zhaoyi’s protruding wrist bone, his voice like sandpaper rubbing against canvas, “That day in the studio, he was sighing while watching the Clemente documentary, but he was calculating how many points this painting would increase next year!”

Gu Yusen was ultimately just a businessman; the only one who truly understood Chu Zhaoyi was him, Mo Jincheng!

Chu Zhaoyi remembered this incident. At that time, he looked at Clemente’s paintings and felt like he didn’t quite understand them, so he went to find many of his documentaries to watch.

At that time, Gu Yusen complained about what kind of person this was and whether it would be boring, but he still stayed with him and watched for a long time, although he eventually fell asleep from boredom.

But Chu Zhaoyi didn’t think Gu Yusen was bad.

Gu Yusen would always accompany him to do the things he wanted to do.

Even though these things seemed very boring in Gu Yusen’s eyes.

“So what? What do you want to say?” Chu Zhaoyi said impatiently. He would have known that Mo Jincheng was going to go crazy, he wouldn’t have come.

The paintings collected by Mo Jincheng were really attractive to him, but looking at Mo Jincheng’s current appearance, he probably wouldn’t be able to appreciate them peacefully.

“In this world, we are the two most compatible souls.”

Chu Zhaoyi stared at Mo Jincheng’s face for a long time in silence. He didn’t know why everyone knew about his relationship with Gu Yusen, but Mo Jincheng acted as if he couldn’t see it.

And now he wanted to stand here and question it.

“So what? I don’t deny our mutual appreciation, the same insight and understanding.”

“You understand me very well, you appreciate my paintings, but you only appreciate my paintings.”

Chu Zhaoyi’s tone was calm and without much fluctuation, simply stating the fact.

Three years ago, Mo Jincheng appreciated his paintings, so he followed, following the aura of a “kindred spirit,” and found him.

But Mo Jincheng ultimately only appreciated his paintings.

“Last week, during the rainstorm, I ran to sketch, and you praised the blue-gray tones of that painting ‘Rainy Alley’ for having Monet’s style.”

“But Brother Sanmu was worried about me getting caught in the rain and cold, so he stayed by my side the whole time. He knew I was weak and worried about me getting sick, and he knew I liked to paint, so he didn’t forcefully stop me.”

“You would say that the color scheme in my painting is not harmonious enough, but in Brother Sanmu’s eyes, every one of my paintings is precious.”

“You love my paintings, but Gu Yusen loves me, the person, forever.”

Did Mo Jincheng like him?

He did.

He liked the gifted genius painter, talking eloquently about his own paintings. He liked the talent and confidence he exuded when discussing art in high spirits.

But Gu Yusen liked Chu Zhaoyi, the delicate Chu Jiao who wasn’t in good health and often got sick, the clumsy Chu Cui Cui who could twist himself up after running a few steps, and also the little red-head whose red hair made him seem vibrant but was still broken inside.

As the last ray of sunset outside the glass curtain wall sank into the mountain ridge, Mo Jincheng let out a short chuckle in his throat. He wanted to refute, but realized that what Chu Zhaoyi said was true.

He chuckled lightly at the empty collection room, and the cold light of more than twenty paintings cut his shadow into fragmented pieces.

Chu Zhaoyi didn’t look at these treasures again, turning and walking towards the depths of the corridor.

The sensor lights gradually went out with the sound of footsteps, and the last one lit up was the “Drowning Moon” – the broken moon in the cobalt blue vortex happened to hang in the position of his brow bone, like a cold third eye.

When a rustling sound came from the entrance, Mo Jincheng was leaning on the second floor looking down. The extremely excited emotions from just now had long since disappeared.

For some reason, he suddenly remembered three years ago, Chu Zhaoyi wearing a white short-sleeved shirt was also lowering his head like this, holding his painting in his hand, clearly selling it but looking like he only waited for those who wanted it.

Mo Jincheng took Chu Zhaoyi’s bait.

But the prey the fisherman was waiting for was ultimately not him.

“I can give you a few paintings, just as a gift from a kindred spirit.”

When the boy straightened up, the snowflakes on his eyelashes had already melted into tiny, broken water lights.

“No need.” Chu Zhaoyi pushed open the carved copper door, and the mountain wind swept snowflakes in, “Brother Sanmu said that gifts that are too expensive aren’t allowed.”

The moment the streetlights lit up on the winding mountain road, Mo Jincheng saw that red figure sending a voice message to someone.

The tip of the boy’s nose, reddened by the cold wind, was pressed against his phone, and the white mist exhaled blurred the contours of his profile.

In the mechanical sound of the sensor door slowly closing, he heard the last half of Chu Zhaoyi’s sentence with a complaining tone: “When is Brother Sanmu coming back? You haven’t paid attention to me for so long.”

It was a tone that wouldn’t appear in front of him.

Mo Jincheng glanced at himself reflected in the exhibition case glass: carefully styled hair, custom-made suit, even the cufflinks were inlaid with tanzanite of the same color as “Drowning Moon.”

How ridiculous, he dressed himself up as Chu Zhaoyi’s favorite work of art, but that person ran headlong into another person’s embrace without even looking back.

Suddenly, a muffled thud of a heavy object falling came from the second floor. The “Drowning Moon” had tilted at some point, and the frame cast a menacing shadow on the Turkish carpet.

Mo Jincheng stared at the crack in the center of the vortex for a long time, finally remembering that this was damage caused during transportation.

At that time, he had lashed out at the manager.

But now he felt that this crack was very similar to the section of red hair he had failed to grasp just now.