The Remaining Warmth Of Fog Harbor Chapter 17

The cold white lights of the exhibition hall left a lingering bitterness in Shen Zhiyi’s eyes. The phrase collaborative artist was like a fine thorn pricking at her heart, vibrating slightly with every beat. Even the tips of her fingers, which usually held her brushes with such steady grace, felt an imperceptible chill. For days, she had used work as an excuse to politely push away Lu Wanheng’s attempts to get closer. She maintained a clear sense of distance, neither too intimate nor lacking in decorum, staying precisely within the safety of the lines drawn for a business partner.

In the midst of this silent stalemate, an unknown call came through to Shen Zhiyi’s phone. The caller ID showed a local Wugang number, and the digits were neatly arranged, looking like a high-end business line. She hesitated for a moment before pressing answer. Immediately, an elegant yet deliberately familiar female voice came through the line, so clear that it made her spine stiffen instantly.

Is this Miss Shen Zhiyi? I am Su Man.

There was no buildup and no pleasantries. The way she introduced herself carried an intrusive quality that brooked no refusal, like a key easily turning the lock on the layer of unease Shen Zhiyi least wanted to touch. Holding her phone, she walked to the window of the studio and pushed it open slightly. The damp, cold mist drifted in, helping her chaotic thoughts settle a little.

Miss Su, hello. Shen Zhiyi’s voice was steady and restrained, betraying no emotion. Only she knew that her knuckles had turned white from gripping the phone so tightly.

I apologize for the sudden intrusion, Su Man said, her tone softening significantly, even carrying a hint of apology. She sounded like a completely different person from the sharp, aggressive woman Shen had met outside the investment bank. I recently established my own personal art studio and want to commission a series of illustrations for the interior decor. A friend recommended you, saying your Wugang style fits my vision perfectly. So, I wanted to ask if you take private commissions?

A fake commission.

Shen Zhiyi saw through the excuse almost instantly. Su Man came from an artistic family and had studied abroad for years; her network was filled with famous artists from home and abroad. Even if she truly needed illustrations, she would never go out of her way to find a rising artist like Shen Zhiyi, who had yet to even hold her own exhibition. The so-called friend’s recommendation and fitting style were merely a thin veil. Beneath it lay nothing but a desire to pry, test, provoke, or wait for an opportunity to create a rift.

However, Shen Zhiyi did not expose her immediately. Firstly, as an artist, it was unprofessional to refuse a clear inquiry without cause. Secondly, she wanted to hear exactly how much information about Lu Wanheng this woman intended to fish for.

Does Miss Su have a specific style direction, dimensions, and delivery timeline in mind? You can send over a requirements document first. I will provide a quote after evaluating it, Shen Zhiyi replied according to professional procedure. Her tone was distant and formal, firmly placing herself in the position of a commissioned artist and leaving no openings for attack.

Su Man seemed to let out a soft chuckle on the other end. Her voice came through the airwaves with a hint of laziness. There is no rush for the specific requirements. I would prefer to discuss the creative concept with you in person first. I would also like to see your previous portfolio to confirm if our styles truly align. I am free tomorrow afternoon at the riverside cafe near your studio. Would that be convenient?

The invitation landed precisely near her studio, making it clear that Su Man had already mapped out her daily routine. Shen Zhiyi remained silent for two seconds before finally agreeing. Fine. Tomorrow at three in the afternoon. I will be there on time.

Then I will see you tomorrow, Miss Shen, Su Man said cheerfully before hanging up. The dial tone that followed made Shen Zhiyi’s eardrums ache slightly.

She tossed her phone onto the desk and leaned over her easel, letting out a long breath. The draft for Cold Light was right at her hand, but the warm light in the subject’s eyes could not reach her heart at all right now. Lu Wanheng’s words about her being a collaborative artist were still ringing in her ears, and Su Man’s sudden intervention only made things worse. She felt trapped between two thick walls of fog; she couldn’t see the path ahead, yet she couldn’t bear to let go of the moments of genuine tenderness that had happened in the past.

She did not tell Lu Wanheng about this.

For one, she didn’t want to seem like she was making a mountain out of a molehill or running away at the first sign of trouble. Secondly, she wanted to handle this test in her own way to prove she didn’t need to rely solely on Lu Wanheng’s protection. More importantly, while her status was unclear and their relationship was in limbo, she didn’t want to bother that business partner with her private affairs.

The next afternoon, Shen Zhiyi changed into a simple white shirt and jeans. Carrying her portfolio and tablet, she arrived at the cafe on time. Su Man was already seated at a window spot overlooking the river. Dressed in a cream-colored silk dress with exquisite makeup, she looked like someone straight off a magazine cover, appearing entirely out of place in the casual atmosphere of the cafe.

Seeing Shen Zhiyi approach, Su Man stood up and extended her hand, her smile standard and polite. Miss Shen, please, have a seat.

The handshake was a mere graze before she withdrew her hand. Her sense of boundaries was impeccable, yet the scrutiny in her eyes was undisguised. She scanned Shen’s hair, clothes, and the portfolio in her hand as if evaluating the value of a piece of merchandise. Shen Zhiyi sat down calmly and pushed the portfolio to the center of the table. She maintained a professional smile throughout, neither initiating small talk nor showing any emotion.

Let us look at the work first. Does Miss Su prefer a realistic, impressionistic, or decorative style?

Su Man did not open the portfolio immediately. Instead, she raised her hand to call a waiter and ordered a hot latte for Shen Zhiyi. You look a bit pale. Drink something hot to warm your stomach. There is no need to be so stiff; just think of it as two friends chatting.

This deliberate attempt to close the distance only confirmed Shen Zhiyi’s suspicions. She did not decline the drink and waited quietly for the other woman to get to the point.

Sure enough, Su Man casually flipped through two pages of the portfolio. Her gaze lingered on the misty brushwork of the Wugang series, and she spoke as if it were an idle thought. The texture of the fog in your paintings is very special. It must come from years of sketching by the river, right? Does Wanheng often accompany you when you go out to sketch? She used to love painting fog too. When we were in Paris, we would stay out for the whole day.

The first question went straight for Lu Wanheng, using shared memories as a way to assert dominance.

Shen Zhiyi pressed her fingertips against the side of her cup, her voice steady. Sketching is primarily a personal creative endeavor. President Lu is very busy with work and only visits to discuss progress during exhibition preparations. Our interactions are mainly for work coordination.

A single President Lu and a mention of work coordination placed the distance between them in plain sight. It answered the probe while defending her own position.

A flash of surprise crossed Su Man’s eyes. She seemingly hadn’t expected Shen to be so airtight. She smiled again and continued flipping pages, her finger tapping lightly on the print of Cold Light. This portrait is very striking. The subject’s temperament is very similar to Wanheng’s. Is it a coincidence?

Creation absorbs the common traits of people in a city; it does not necessarily point to a specific individual, Shen Zhiyi replied neither humbly nor arrogantly. She neither admitted nor denied it, giving the other woman nothing to latch onto.

Su Man closed the portfolio and finally stopped beating around the bush. She took a sip of her coffee, her tone seemingly casual but her words pressing. Speaking of which, I haven’t had the chance to properly catch up with Wanheng since I returned to the country. We only saw each other briefly outside the investment bank and didn’t get to talk much. Does her stomach still hurt often? Has her insomnia improved at all? I had my assistant abroad send some specialized medicine; I want to find an opportunity to give it to her.

Another string of questions about personal habits, just like last time. The goal was to test Shen’s actual place in Lu Wanheng’s life—to determine if she was truly just a collaborative artist or if she had entered the inner circle of an intimate relationship.

Shen Zhiyi looked up, meeting Su Man’s gaze calmly without flinching or showing embarrassment. President Lu’s health is a private matter. As a collaborative artist, it is not appropriate for me to ask or respond. If Miss Su wishes to send medicine, I suggest contacting President Lu directly. Her assistant handles her daily affairs.

Polite, restrained, and flawless. She blocked all inquiries behind a professional boundary.

Su Man’s smile faded slightly. She was clearly dissatisfied with the answer. She set down her coffee cup and leaned forward slightly, lowering her voice with a hint of subtle provocation. Miss Shen, Wanheng and I have known each other for over a decade. We know each other too well. She is the type who is cold on the outside but warm on the inside; she is used to hiding her true feelings. Calling you a collaborative artist to the public doesn’t mean you don’t have a special place in her heart. But you must also understand that some positions cannot be replaced by just anyone.

Miss Su is overthinking things, Shen Zhiyi interrupted, her tone still calm. I am only responsible for completing the creative work and delivering the pieces. Whether President Lu approves and to what extent is her judgment. I do my duty as an artist. I do not cross lines, I do not speculate, and I do not harbor unrealistic expectations.

No expectations? Su Man raised an eyebrow, her tone carrying a hint of mockery. You painted Cold Light for her, you rooted yourself in Wugang for her, and you endure the gaze of the outside world for her. Who would believe you have no expectations? Little girl, stop lying to yourself. The fact that she doesn’t dare to make your status public means that, at her core, she is hesitating. She is comparing, waiting for someone more suitable.

These words struck precisely at Shen Zhiyi’s most painful spot. Her heart tightened sharply, and her hand holding the cup trembled slightly. Yet she maintained her outward composure, only gripping the cup a bit harder.

Miss Su, we are here today to discuss the commissioned illustrations. I am not comfortable continuing to discuss private matters related to President Lu. Shen Zhiyi opened her tablet and pulled up a contract template. If you have decided on a style direction, we can confirm the draft deadline, number of revisions, and delivery standards. I will provide a quote based on the standard process. If you primarily wish to discuss other topics, then we can end this meeting here. I still have drafts to finish and won’t take up more of your time.

She took the initiative to end the conversation, pulling the power back into her own hands and refusing to fall into the emotional trap.

Looking at the determination in Shen’s eyes, Su Man finally realized that this seemingly fragile illustrator was far more difficult to deal with than she had imagined. Soft probes, provocations, and nostalgic stories had failed to break her or yield any useful information.

Su Man retracted the sharpness in her eyes and put on her elegant smile once more. I got off track. My apologies. Back to the commission, then. I want a set of twelve small illustrations themed around Wugang’s architecture and light. The color palette should be cool grays. They will be hung in my studio’s hallway. I expect the first drafts by the end of the month. The price will follow your industry standards.

They finally entered the actual commissioning process. Shen Zhiyi felt a sense of relief but remained on guard. She confirmed the dimensions, materials, copyright usage, and commercial scope one by one. She checked every clause of the contract, specifying that the work was only for the interior decor of Su Man’s personal studio and could not be used for secondary commercial purposes or have the signature altered. She plugged every possible loophole that could be exploited.

I will organize the contract into an electronic version and send it to your email tonight. Once you confirm and sign it, I will begin the work upon receiving the deposit.

Very efficient. No wonder Wanheng thinks highly of you, Su Man praised with a faint smile, though her words still had a sting. I hope we have a pleasant collaboration. And I hope the next time we meet, we won’t have to talk only about work.

Shen Zhiyi did not respond. She packed her portfolio and tablet, stood up, and gave a slight nod. A pleasure doing business, Miss Su. I will take my leave now.

She turned and left the cafe without looking back. It wasn’t until she was out of Su Man’s sight that she leaned against a plane tree and let out a long breath. The cold wind wrapped in mist blew against her face, finally allowing her tense nerves to relax. her palms were soaked with cold sweat, and even her back felt slightly damp.

In this hour-long trial, she had held her ground. She hadn’t leaked any information about Lu Wanheng’s current situation, hadn’t shown a hint of loss or unease, and hadn’t given Su Man any chance to drive a wedge between them. As a professional artist, she had completed a dignified confrontation.

But only she knew that the thorn in her heart had been nudged again. Lu Wanheng’s collaborative artist, Su Man’s who would believe you have no expectations, and those ten-plus years of shared memories swirled in her mind like shards, causing the emotions she had just stabilized to ripple once more.

She did not return to the studio. Instead, she walked slowly along the river. The mist rolled over her ankles, and the distant horn of a riverboat echoed. The surface of the water was a blur of light, much like her current mood. She took out her phone and opened her chat with Lu Wanheng. She typed Su Man contacted me for a commission, then deleted it word by word. In the end, she only left a cold work message: The lighting for the third section of the Riverside exhibition hall has been adjusted. You can come to inspect it when you are free.

After sending it, she muted her phone and continued walking, hiding all the testing, provocation, unease, and loss within the unyielding fog of Wugang.

Inside the cafe, Su Man watched the direction where Shen Zhiyi had disappeared. Her fingertips tapped lightly on the table, and a flash of malice crossed her eyes. She took out her phone and dialed her assistant. Check Shen Zhiyi’s family background, all her past collaboration records, and the source of funding for her art exhibition. The more detailed, the better. Also, review all her contract terms and find any loopholes we can use to cause trouble.

The fake commission was just a front. Her true goal was to find Shen Zhiyi’s weakness, find a gap to attack, and then alienate the already fragile relationship between her and Lu Wanheng. She would not let any opportunity pass, nor would she allow an obscure little illustrator to occupy the position that should belong to her.

Hanging up the phone, Su Man flipped through Shen Zhiyi’s portfolio. Her finger stopped on Cold Light, her eyes cold. This painting was indeed excellent, and it truly understood Lu Wanheng’s coldness and light. But the more that was true, the more she wanted to destroy that understanding and that unique connection.

The fog in Wugang grew thicker, shrouding the river, the Old Town District, and the two entangled relationships. Shen Zhiyi walked alone along the river, pressing all her emotions into the depths of her heart. She knew that Su Man’s commission was only the beginning. The subsequent tests and difficulties would only increase. All she could rely on was her brush, her boundaries, and her own restraint.

By the time she returned to the studio, the sky had darkened. The warm yellow lights turned on, and the scent of turpentine dispelled the damp chill of the mist. Shen Zhiyi opened her computer and drafted the contract for the collaboration with Su Man, writing the terms strictly and leaving no room for error. After finishing, she opened the source file for Cold Light and gently traced the warm light in the subject’s eyes with her fingertip.

She told herself that no matter how Su Man tested her, and no matter how Lu Wanheng avoided things, she had to maintain her duty as an artist and protect her dignity. She would remain neither humble nor arrogant, neither panicked nor confused.

As for the expectations, loss, and heartbeat hidden in her heart, she would lock them deep within the drawing paper for now. She would wait for the fog to dissipate, for the wind to stop, and for an answer that was worth making public.

Outside the window, the fog continued to drift. The river breeze gently shook the window frame. The studio was silent except for the sound of typing. Shen Zhiyi did not know how many schemes were hidden behind this fake commission, nor did she know how Lu Wanheng would react once she found out. She only knew that from this moment on, she had to be stronger, calmer, and more impeccable. Only then could she protect her creations, her feelings, and that beam of cold light that had shone into her life in this war without smoke.

Meanwhile, far away in the investment bank tower, Lu Wanheng was staring at the work message on her phone stating that the exhibition lighting was adjusted. Her brow was furrowed. She could clearly feel Shen Zhiyi’s deliberate distancing. She could read the loss and estrangement behind the cold words, and she could faintly scent an uneasy aura—an aggressive shadow belonging to Su Man was quietly approaching her artist, her light.

She put down her reports and picked up her car keys, deciding to head to the old studio immediately. Some explanations, some guilt, and some feelings could no longer be kept private. She could not let an outsider have the chance to intervene.

In the fog-shrouded city of Wugang, the storm triggered by a fake commission had only just begun. Testing and defense, provocation and protection, loss and determination clashed within the mist, pushing the already delicate relationship between the two women toward an even tighter edge.