The Remaining Warmth Of Fog Harbor Chapter 3
byWatching Flowers Through the Fog
Three hours after the black sedan left the old alley, there was still no sign of the thick fog dissipating. Instead, with the afternoon tide, it wrapped around Wugang even more densely.
In Shen Zhiyi’s studio, the faint scent of turpentine mingled with the salty dampness of the sea breeze, flowing slowly through the cramped space. She squatted before her easel, holding a small weasel-hair brush between her fingertips, meticulously detailing the halo of the lighthouse in her oil painting of the old pier. Layers of warm yellow pigment blurred outward, poking a small cluster of gentle light into the cold, misty background.
The notification sound for the five thousand yuan deposit was like a reassuring pill, completely dispelling the anxiety that had plagued her for over half a month. She had already transferred the rent to her landlord. The other party accepted it instantly and sent back an “OK” emoji—no extra scolding, no cold reminders. This was the most peaceful communication Shen Zhiyi had ever had with her landlord since renting this studio.
She divided the remaining money into two portions: one went into her bank card as backup living expenses, and the other was transferred to her art supply account. Finally, she could replace the liner brush with the worn-down tip and buy the imported watercolor pans she had coveted for so long. As her fingertips swiped through her shopping cart list, she even felt a sense of surreal trance. It turned out that being recognized and respected allowed one to spend money with such a clear conscience.
Her phone sat at the corner of the drawing table, its screen dark. The WeChat conversation remained on the “thank you” she had sent to Lu Wanheng, which had yet to receive a reply.
Shen Zhiyi’s gaze would unconsciously drift toward her phone. Every time the screen lit up, it carried a sliver of secret anticipation. However, the incoming notifications were either spam from the illustration platform or WeChat messages from her younger brother demanding pocket money. The disappointment of her expectations falling through accumulated slowly in her heart, much like the fog outside the window.
She wasn’t looking for Lu Wanheng’s charity; she was simply greedy for that rare, non-utilitarian recognition. In a family that favored boys over girls, she had never heard a single word of praise. In the world of commercial illustration, all she ever heard was “revise it again,” “this won’t do,” or “it doesn’t meet the requirements.” Only Lu Wanheng had stood in her messy studio, looked at a half-finished piece, and said it had warmth, that it was worth it.
To Shen Zhiyi, who was starved for affection to the extreme, this recognition was more precious than five thousand yuan.
She set down her brush and reached for her phone, her fingertip pausing for a moment over Lu Wanheng’s WeChat profile picture. A dark deep-sea background with a simple character for “Heng”—it was so cold and aloof that one didn’t dare touch it lightly. She hesitated over whether to send another message to tell her that the painting was mostly finished, but she feared being too proactive would make her seem calculating or cheap. Ultimately, she just placed the phone face down on the table and forced her attention back to the canvas.
But her mind was already in disarray. A stray blotch of blue paint blurred onto the canvas. She sighed in frustration and picked up a palette knife to gently scrape away the flaw, her movements as tender as if she were caring for a fragile treasure.
Just then, the face-down phone suddenly vibrated. The short notification sound was exceptionally clear in the quiet studio.
Shen Zhiyi’s heart skipped a beat. She picked up the phone almost frantically. The moment the screen lit up, a fine light flickered in her eyes—it was a message from Lu Wanheng. It was just one short sentence: Are you available for a custom commission? A personal portrait illustration, style referencing the oil painting on your window.
It wasn’t a polite reply; it was a direct invitation for a commission.
Shen Zhiyi gripped the phone, her fingertips turning slightly white from the force. She took a deep breath and edited her text repeatedly, deleting and revising it five or six times before carefully sending her reply: Yes, Miss Lu. Do you have specific requirements for size or style? I can provide three versions of sketches for you to choose from first.
Less than ten seconds after the message was sent, the other party called. The name “Lu Wanheng” jumping on the screen made Shen Zhiyi’s breath hitch. She pressed the answer button and held the phone to her ear, her voice unconsciously softening: “Hello, Miss Lu.”
“Miss Shen, sorry to bother you.” Lu Wanheng’s voice came through the receiver, even colder than when they first met. There were faint sounds of typing and papers rustling in the background; she was clearly working. “I am at the top floor of Lu’s Center and it is inconvenient for me to go to your studio. Tomorrow afternoon at three o’clock, I will have my assistant go to your place to collect the canvas and discuss the details of the portrait commission. Is that convenient?”
“It’s convenient, everything is convenient.” Shen Zhiyi agreed hurriedly, fearing the other party might withdraw the invitation the next second. “I’ll be in the studio all day tomorrow. I can wait at any time.”
“Good, then let’s set it for three o’clock tomorrow afternoon.” Lu Wanheng’s tone paused for a moment as if she were deliberating before adding, “The portrait doesn’t need to be intentionally beautified. Just stay true to the texture. Quote your price according to industry standards; I won’t haggle.”
Another promise not to haggle, another instance of unreserved respect. Shen Zhiyi’s nose felt slightly stingy. Her hand holding the phone trembled slightly as she thanked her repeatedly: “Thank you, Miss Lu. I will definitely do my best to live up to your trust.”
“Trust is earned through work.” Lu Wanheng’s tone was flat, devoid of emotion. “See you tomorrow.”
“See you tomorrow.”
The call ended, and the dial tone echoed in the receiver. Shen Zhiyi remained in the same position, standing blankly before her easel for a long time before slowly lowering her phone. She looked at the brief conversation in the chat box, the corners of her mouth curling up into a faint smile. This was the first time since graduating three months ago that she felt truly happy from the bottom of her heart.
She walked to the storage cabinet, pulled out a stack of brand-new sketch paper and a high-precision sketchbook, then organized her scattered brushes by type. She wiped the drawing table until it was spotless and even found a long-unused vacuum cleaner to thoroughly clean the corners of the studio. The discarded sketches and empty paint tubes piled in the corner were all bagged and stuffed into the trash. Even the condensation on the window glass was wiped clean, clearly reflecting the thick fog outside.
She wanted to present her best state, to deliver the most heartfelt sketches to Lu Wanheng, and to protect this hard-won recognition.
By the time she finished tidying the studio, the sky had already darkened. The streetlights of Wugang blurred into circles of hazy light in the thick fog, like stars scattered across the mortal world. Shen Zhiyi made a bowl of steaming instant noodles and sat by the floor-to-ceiling window. While eating, she flipped through her past portrait works, brainstorming for Lu Wanheng’s commission.
That woman’s appearance was exceptionally clear in her mind. A neat low bun, cold and elegant features, a sharp black suit, and deep, quiet eyes. She exuded an aura that warned others not to approach, yet when she said “it has warmth,” a trace of imperceptible softness had flickered in her eyes. This contradictory quality was, in itself, full of artistic tension.
She set down the noodle bowl and picked up a pencil to quickly sketch on her pad. First, the sharp line of the shoulder, then the clear jawline, and finally those eyes that hid a thousand emotions. With a few quick strokes, she captured Lu Wanheng’s essence. The rustling sound of the pencil against the paper intertwined with the wind outside the window, becoming the most gentle accompaniment of the moment.
She wanted to paint both Lu Wanheng’s hardness and her softness into the brushstrokes. She wanted to melt the fog of Wugang into the background of the image. She wanted this portrait, like the oil painting of the old pier, to possess a warmth that struck the heart.
Meanwhile, in the investment banking office on the top floor of Lu’s Center, the lights were bright.
Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows was the night view of Wugang’s CBD. The lights of the skyscrapers loomed in the thick fog like a galaxy suspended in mid-air. Lu Wanheng sat behind her large desk. She had removed her suit jacket and wore only a white silk shirt, her sleeves rolled up to her elbows to reveal the smooth lines of her forearms. She was looking down, reviewing a feasibility report for the pier renovation project.
Her assistant, Lin Wei, stood before the desk, reporting the next day’s schedule: “President Lu, tomorrow at three in the afternoon, you have an appointment with Artist Shen to collect the painting. At four, there is a video conference with the Zhou Group. At five, you are attending a closed-door industry salon. Do you need me to postpone the salon?”
“No, proceed as planned.” Lu Wanheng didn’t even look up, her pen circling a data error in the report. “When you go, take a set of imported oil paints and a brand-new set of sketching tools. Consider it a deposit for the custom commission.”
Lin Wei was slightly startled. Having followed Lu Wanheng for many years, she had never seen her boss take such an interest in an unknown illustrator, not only proactively commissioning work but also paying out of pocket for expensive art materials. However, her professional discipline was excellent; she didn’t ask questions and simply nodded. “Understood, President Lu. I will have them ready tomorrow.”
“Also, look into this Artist Shen’s background. No need for a deep dive, just a simple understanding will do.” Lu Wanheng set down her pen, leaned back against her chair, and rubbed her brow. Her gaze drifted to the thick fog outside the window. “Note the method; do not disturb her.”
“Understand.”
Lin Wei exited the office, the heavy wooden door closing softly and cutting off the outside noise. Lu Wanheng picked up her phone and clicked on Shen Zhiyi’s WeChat profile. That small hand-painted pier looked exceptionally clean on the screen. She actually rarely paid attention to art and would never proactively commission a private portrait. But today, in that attic studio, seeing that oil painting and that awkward, fragile girl, a strange sense of pity and admiration had arisen in her heart, leading her to make a series of decisions that didn’t fit her usual style.
The failure of her previous same-sex relationship, family pressure, and workplace infighting had caused her to wrap herself in a hard shell, rejecting all soft emotions and unnecessary entanglements. But Shen Zhiyi’s painting was like a key, gently prying open her long-sealed heart, allowing her to see pure passion and perseverance beyond the utilitarian world.
She wasn’t a whim; she simply wanted to support that artist and preserve that rare artistic warmth.
Lu Wanheng put down her phone and picked up the project report again, but her gaze kept drifting unconsciously toward the screen. Shen Zhiyi’s reddened eyes, her awkward fingers gripping the hem of her shirt, and the gentle, vivid brushstrokes under her hand repeatedly surfaced in her mind. She curled her lips in self-mockery; the focus she had cultivated over many years had been easily broken by a stranger.
The fog outside grew thicker, and the sea breeze slapped against the glass with a dull thud. Lu Wanheng took a sip of warm water from the desk. In her cold eyes, a trace of imperceptible softness flickered.
The next morning, just as the sky was beginning to brighten, Shen Zhiyi woke up.
She changed into a clean, cream-colored linen shirt and tied her long hair into a neat low ponytail, covering the skin behind her ears that was stained with paint. She checked her reflection repeatedly in a small mirror to ensure she didn’t look too distressed. The studio had been cleaned until it was bright and spotless. A brand-new sketchbook and sorted brushes sat on the drawing table. The oil painting of the old pier stood in the most prominent position, the paint completely dry and glowing with a warm luster in the morning light.
She sat at the drawing table, revising the sketches for the portrait over and over again. From composition to tone, from lines to light and shadow, she strove for perfection. If she was dissatisfied with even a tiny brushstroke, she would tear it up and redraw it. A thick stack of discarded paper from the sketchbook piled up. Every sheet featured Lu Wanheng’s profile, her full face, or her silhouette looking down. That cold figure was already deeply etched into her mind.
At 2:50 PM, the sound of a car stopping came from downstairs.
Shen Zhiyi’s heart instantly leaped into her throat. She stood up, repeatedly smoothing the hem of her shirt, and walked to the window to look down. A black business van was parked at the entrance of the alley, matching the style of Lu Wanheng’s car from yesterday. She took a deep breath, walked behind the wooden door to wait, her fingertips pressing against the wood, feeling the chill of the fog outside.
At exactly three o’clock, the knock on the door sounded punctually.
“Miss Shen, I am President Lu’s assistant, Lin Wei. I’m here to collect the oil painting and discuss the details of the custom commission.”
Shen Zhiyi pulled open the wooden door. Standing outside was a capable and efficient woman in a professional suit, holding an exquisite black tool box. An assistant behind her carried a flat painting tube. Lin Wei smiled and handed over a business card. Her gaze swept over the tidy studio without a hint of disdain, polite and appropriate.
“Assistant Lin, please come in.” Shen Zhiyi stepped aside to make way, her voice still carrying a trace of nervousness.
Lin Wei entered the studio. She first carefully inspected the oil painting of the old pier. After confirming it was undamaged, she carefully placed it into the tube. Then, she placed the black tool box on the drawing table, opened it, and pushed it toward Shen Zhiyi. “Miss Shen, these are art materials President Lu specifically prepared for you. Consider it a deposit for the portrait commission. Once the work is completed, the final payment will be settled in full.”
Inside the tool box was a full set of imported oil paints, top-tier sable brushes, pure cotton watercolor paper, and a limited-edition stylus. The value far exceeded the deposit for a normal custom commission. Looking at the box full of materials, Shen Zhiyi’s eyes grew hot again. She waved her hands repeatedly. “This is too expensive, I can’t accept it. The deposit should just be the normal standard…”
“President Lu said that a good artist deserves good tools.” Lin Wei interrupted her with a smile, pulling out a tablet to display a communication document. “Let’s discuss the details of the portrait now. President Lu requests a size of 40x60cm, a style combining realism and impressionism, with Wugang elements integrated into the background. The delivery time is one week. Is that acceptable?”
“Yes, absolutely.” Shen Zhiyi suppressed the emotion in her heart and pulled out the sketches she had spent all morning drawing. “Assistant Lin, these are the three initial versions of sketches I’ve drawn: a front view, a profile, and a silhouette of an office scene. You can take photos for President Lu to choose from. If there are any revision suggestions, I can adjust them at any time.”
Lin Wei picked up the sketches. Looking at the precise capture of Lu Wanheng’s unique cold temperament on the paper, she couldn’t help but admire them. “Miss Shen’s skill is truly impressive. President Lu will definitely be satisfied.”
She took photos of the sketches and sent them to Lu Wanheng. Within two minutes, Lu Wanheng’s reply came: The second version, the profile. Use the Wugang skyline for the background. Notify me once the final draft is set.
The communication was smoother than imagined. No harsh requirements, no repeated revisions—only complete trust. Lin Wei packed up the oil painting, reminded her of the delivery time once more, and politely took her leave.
The studio door closed. Shen Zhiyi stood before the drawing table, holding the box of art materials, not moving for a long time. The thick fog outside still lingered, but a beam of warm light had shone into her heart.
She picked up the profile sketch Lu Wanheng had selected, dipped her brush in paint, and made the first stroke on the brand-new canvas. The moment the brush touched the canvas, she knew with absolute clarity that this connection, born of a painting and a fog, would not end here.
Meanwhile, far away at Lu’s Center, when Lu Wanheng received the sketches from Lin Wei, her fingertip paused on the screen for a moment. The corners of her cold mouth curved into a very slight arc.
The fog in Wugang had not yet dissipated, and the bond between two souls had only just begun.