The Remaining Warmth Of Fog Harbor Chapter 22

Painting Every Moment

On the third day after officially establishing their relationship, Lu Wanheng pushed a custom mobile easel and led Shen Zhiyi by the hand into the high-end penthouse apartment overlooking the river. Fingerprint entry and access control activation were completed in one go. When Shen Zhiyi pressed her fingertip against the lock and heard the soft beep, the last remnants of unease in her heart were completely enveloped by a steadying warmth.

This apartment had been Lu Wanheng’s solitary living space for many years, featuring a minimalist style of light gray and off-white. Large floor-to-ceiling windows faced the Wugang river. In the past, there was only the cold scent of cedar, but from today onward, it would be infused with the freshness of turpentine, the warmth of watercolors, and the soft, exclusive scent of Shen Zhiyi.

“From now on, this is our home. You can change it however you like,” Lu Wanheng said, gently wrapping her arms around Shen Zhiyi’s waist from behind and resting her chin on the top of her head. Her voice was wrapped in the tenderness of the river breeze. “The guest room will be converted into a storage room, the second bedroom will remain for guests, and the balcony will be opened up to become your exclusive studio. I’ve prepared all the art supplies, pigments, and paper according to your list.”

Shen Zhiyi leaned into her embrace, looking out at the river where the thick fog had finally dispersed. The shimmering water reflected the sunset glow across the sky, more moving than any river scene she had ever painted. She turned around to hook her arms around Lu Wanheng’s neck, standing on her tiptoes to press a light kiss to the corner of her lips, her eyes sparkling with fragments of light. “Then I want to fill this home with our things. I want to paint the light of Wugang all over the balcony and turn this place into a little world for just the two of us.”

The moving process was arranged perfectly by Lu Wanheng. A professional team came to pack, transport, and unpack, never letting Shen Zhiyi touch a single heavy object. The sketches from the old studio were sorted into moisture-proof tubes, and her frequently used brushes, paints, and palettes were carefully wrapped. That specific version of Cold Light, which had been updated with the “heart fog,” was personally carried by Lu Wanheng and solemnly hung in the center of the living room’s main wall. It replaced the original abstract decorative painting, becoming the core scenery of the entire home.

The most thought-intensive part was the oversized south-facing balcony. Originally, it only held simple leisure rattan chairs, but Lu Wanheng had hired workers in advance to reinforce it against moisture and modify the shading. She installed a constant temperature and humidity system, and the three-sided floor-to-ceiling glass windows could be fully opened for ventilation. Professional studio lights with adjustable color temperatures were installed on the ceiling, ensuring ample natural light while avoiding direct sunlight that could damage the sketches.

A custom solid wood easel stood firmly in the center of the balcony, adjustable and rotatable to fit different sizes of paper. The storage cabinets against the wall were zoned by use: paint layers were arranged by color family, brush tubes were classified by material, and drawing paper, cardstock, and waterproof cloth were stacked neatly. In the corner sat a small dehumidifier and an aroma diffuser, blending the scents of turpentine and citrus. By the window was a soft beanbag chair; Lu Wanheng said this was her exclusive viewing spot. Whenever Shen Zhiyi painted in the future, she would sit there to accompany her, whether handling work or simply daydreaming, as long as she could see her beloved with a single glance.

Shen Zhiyi crouched before the storage cabinet, inserting her well-worn old brushes into their dedicated tubes. She placed her smooth, polished palette within easy reach and arranged the small ornaments brought from her old studio on the shelves one by one—pebbles, pressed maple leaves, and shells picked up from the Wugang riverbank. These were all fragments of her creative inspiration, and now they were all settled in the studio of this new home.

“This place is a hundred times better than my old studio,” Shen Zhiyi said, her hand brushing over the smooth easel, her eyes full of joy. “I won’t have to worry about moisture ruining my sketches or poor lighting on cloudy days. When I want to paint, I can just look up and see the river view. This is so wonderful.”

Lu Wanheng hugged her from behind and pressed a custom hand-painted stamp into her hand. The stamp was carved with the artistic script “Zhiyi & Wanheng,” adorned with a small, delicate brush. “From now on, every one of your paintings will be stamped with this. It’s our exclusive mark. If you get tired of painting, just look back; I’ll always be here.”

After finishing the studio, the two began creating their exclusive shared space. Shen Zhiyi spread her linen pillows and plush rugs over the living room sofa, softening the coldness of the minimalist decor. The kitchen cabinets were filled with her favorite ceramic plates and floral aprons; the refrigerator was stocked with milk, yogurt, fresh fruit, and the sugar-free black coffee Lu Wanheng liked. The bedroom closet was completely cleared out, with Lu Wanheng’s suits and shirts hanging on one side and Shen Zhiyi’s knit sweaters and canvas shoes on the other. Their intimate clothing sat side by side, close and natural. The nightstand no longer held only Lu Wanheng’s business lamp; it now had a soft-glow nightlight and a framed photo of the two of them embracing in front of Cold Light.

Lu Wanheng placed Shen Zhiyi’s toiletries next to her own toothbrush. Their matching couple’s rinsing cups stood side by side, and skincare products and creams were organized one by one. Even the towels were chosen in matching shades of the same color family, gradually erasing the traces of solitary living and filling the space with the tenderness of a pair. She even specifically added a shoe bench at the entrance and laid out their slippers—one pair in simple black and the other in milky white, nestled tightly together like two people constantly leaning on each other.

By evening, the setup was complete, and the apartment had been completely transformed. The cold, high-end apartment was now wrapped in the warmth of daily life and art. Cold Light hung in the living room, the scent of paint drifted from the balcony, tenderness was hidden in the bedroom, and the kitchen was ready for the fire of three meals a day. Every corner bore the traces of two people, and every inch of air was permeated with love.

Shen Zhiyi leaned against the easel on the balcony, holding a brush to outline the sunset over the river. Lu Wanheng walked over with a glass of warm milk, placed it gently on the small table by her hand, and then curled into the beanbag chair to handle work on her laptop. The sound of fingers tapping on the keyboard intertwined with the rustle of the brush against the paper, forming the most beautiful overture to their life.

“Wanheng, look, the sunset has dyed the river a pinkish-orange.” Shen Zhiyi looked up, pointing at the scenery outside, her eyes filled with the glow of the dusk.

Lu Wanheng put down her computer and looked up, but her gaze remained fixed on Shen Zhiyi’s profile. Her voice was so tender it could almost drip like water. “No matter how beautiful the sunset is, it can’t compare to the way you look when you’re holding your brush.”

Shen Zhiyi’s cheeks flushed slightly. She lowered her head and continued her strokes, blending the sunset and the shimmering river into the paper. With the tip of her brush, she gently added two small figures leaning against each other, standing by the river watching the fog dissipate and the light arrive. She intentionally left a corner of the paper blank, waiting for Lu Wanheng to be free so she could add a rose, making this painting their first commemorative work of living together.

As the night deepened, the lights on the river lit up one after another, making the floor-to-ceiling windows glow with reflected colors. Shen Zhiyi finished the final stroke, stretched, and turned to dive into Lu Wanheng’s arms. She was caught steadily and pulled onto Lu Wanheng’s lap. Lu Wanheng leaned down to kiss away a smudge of paint on the tip of her nose, her breath full of tenderness. “Are you tired? I cooked tomato and egg noodles for your midnight snack.”

“I’m not tired. As long as you’re here, I’m happy doing anything.” Shen Zhiyi hugged her neck and nuzzled her cheek. “I used to think the fog in Wugang would never clear. Now I know that as long as you’re here, there will always be light.”

Lu Wanheng carried her toward the kitchen. The warm yellow light enveloped their figures, and the soft clinking of pots and pans accompanied by light laughter completely dispelled the chill of the penthouse. When the noodles were ready, Lu Wanheng specifically added two poached eggs and poured more tomatoes into Shen Zhiyi’s bowl, as if serving all her favoritism into that single dish.

After tidying up after the meal, the two curled up on the living room sofa to look through the sketches brought from the old studio—from early, unpolished practices to the mature Wugang series, and from solo sketches to their collaborative creations. Every piece held the traces of time. Lu Wanheng held Shen Zhiyi tightly in her arms, her fingertips brushing over the strokes on the paper as she softly spoke of her feelings. “The first time I saw your painting of the river fog, I knew this person would walk into my life and blow away ten years of gloom.”

Shen Zhiyi tilted her head up to kiss her lips, her tongue gently tracing the shape of her mouth, melting all her love into this tender kiss. From collaborative artists to lovers, from being blocked by thick fog to living together in warmth, from painting alone to painting as a pair—all the waiting and the emotional tug-of-war had turned into this moment of embrace and affection.

In the quiet of the night, the studio light on the balcony slowly faded. The new sunset painting on the easel dried quietly, and the names on the stamp shimmered slightly in the dark. The bedside lamp in the bedroom was dimmed to its softest setting. The two slept in each other’s arms. Shen Zhiyi rested her head on Lu Wanheng’s arm, listening to her steady heartbeat and smelling the familiar cedar scent. She had a night of good sleep, free of nightmares and unease, filled only with total security.

The first ray of morning sunlight pierced through the floor-to-ceiling windows, spilling onto the easel on the balcony, falling on the neat paints and brushes, and also landing on the two people sleeping in an embrace. Shen Zhiyi woke first. Her fingertips lightly traced Lu Wanheng’s features before she pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. She rose carefully, walked to the balcony, and spread out a new sheet of paper.

She wanted to paint a piece titled Warm Home. She would paint the morning light on the river, the balcony studio, the two people leaning on each other, the fulfillment of the fog clearing, and the tenderness of sharing every day and night that belonged only to them.

As the brush descended and the morning light covered the paper, the mundane warmth of the apartment blended with the sense of art. With her lover by her side and her brush in hand, home was right before her eyes. The high-end apartment where she once lived alone had now become a warm home filled with love. The studio where she once created in solitude now had its exclusive viewer. In the once fog-shrouded Wugang, there was now a beam of light that would forever illuminate the rest of their lives.

When Lu Wanheng woke up, she saw the figure holding the brush on the balcony. The morning light fell on the top of Shen Zhiyi’s head like a gilded edge. She walked over quietly, wrapped her arms around her lover from behind, and rested her chin in the crook of her neck. Looking at the scene of the Warm Home taking shape on the paper, her voice was tender yet firm. “From now on, every day, I will watch the morning light with you, paint the sunset, and stay by your side. Our home will always have light, and we will always have each other.”

Shen Zhiyi smiled and nodded. Her brush landed on the final stroke, and she pressed that exclusive double stamp, fixing this sweetness of living together forever onto the paper, and into every morning and evening of their future.