The Remaining Warmth Of Fog Harbor Chapter 5

The moment the wooden door opened, warm yellow light wrapped in the faint scent of turpentine and watercolors rushed out, creating a sharp contrast with the damp, cold fog outside. Lu Wanheng looked up and immediately locked onto the portrait on the easel in the center of the studio, her footsteps instinctively halting.

On the canvas, she stood in profile against the backdrop of the Wugang skyline half-hidden in thick fog. Cold gray tones defined the silhouette of her suit, the shoulder lines sharp and crisp, yet a layer of extremely faint warm light blurred around her eyes and jawline. It softened the cold hardness she usually maintained into a subtle, almost imperceptible gentleness. What moved her most was the fog in the background, rendered in layers that mirrored the view outside her office window—hazy and poetic, pushing the painting’s atmosphere to its peak.

“Come in and sit down,” Shen Zhiyi said as she stepped aside to make way, her fingertips nervously gripping the edge of the doorframe, a faint blush on her cheeks. “The paint is completely dry. You can look closer at the details. If there is anything you are unhappy with, I can modify it right now.”

Lu Wanheng withdrew her gaze and stepped into the studio, her leather shoes making a crisp sound against the wooden floor. The attic studio was not large, but it was organized neatly. Shelves against the wall were filled with tubes of paint, brushes, and paper. Several unfinished oil frames stood by the window, and a thick stack of illustration drafts sat on the corner of the desk. Each one carried a distinct personal style—clean, delicate, yet hiding sensitive emotions.

She walked to the easel, her fingertips hovering a few centimeters above the canvas without touching it, carefully examining every brushstroke. The texture of the hair was distinct, the folds of the suit fit the body perfectly, and even the metallic luster of the necklace was depicted just right. The tiny speck of warm light deep in the pupils was the finishing touch, giving the person in the painting instant vitality.

“It is better than I imagined,” Lu Wanheng spoke, her voice deeper than it had been over the phone, carrying genuine admiration. “I have seen the works of many professional artists, but few can capture the texture of fog so accurately, and even fewer can read the emotions I wanted.”

Shen Zhiyi stood beside her, head slightly bowed. Hearing this recognition, her heart felt as if it were wrapped in warm water, turning completely soft. She responded in a small voice, “I just painted the feeling I had when I first saw you. You look very calm, but the depths of your eyes are soft. You are not as cold and unfeeling as people say investment banking elites are.”

As soon as the words left her mouth, she realized she had been too blunt. She hurriedly covered her mouth, her cheeks instantly burning red as she apologized repeatedly, “I am sorry, Miss Lu. I did not mean to be offensive. I just subconsciously captured your expression while painting…”

“No need to apologize.” Lu Wanheng turned her head, her gaze falling on the artist’s reddened ear tips. A very faint smile played at the corners of her mouth. “Few people dare to say the depths of my eyes are soft. Most only dare to say I am forceful and cold. You are quite brave.”

Shen Zhiyi looked up and happened to meet Lu Wanheng’s gaze. Those deep eyes held no trace of anger; instead, they were filled with fragments of lamplight, so gentle that they made her heart skip a beat. She quickly looked away and pointed to the lemonade at the corner of the table. “I made some lemonade. It is warm. Have a seat and a drink while I frame the painting for you.”

Lu Wanheng did not refuse. She sat down on a folding chair, her eyes still not leaving the portrait. She picked up the glass, her fingertips touching the warm surface. The warmth spread from her fingers to her whole body, dispelling the chill of the fog from her journey. The sweet and sour balance of the lemonade was just right, fitting perfectly with the artistic atmosphere of the studio, allowing her nerves, which had been tense all week, to slowly relax.

Shen Zhiyi took a pre-prepared frameless clip from the storage shelf and carefully removed the canvas from the easel, her movements as gentle as if she were handling a rare treasure. Her fingers were slender and fair, stained with a bit of indelible indigo paint. She was steady and focused when painting, and now, as she organized the work, she showed a sense of pious earnestness.

Lu Wanheng watched her profile quietly. The warm light fell on her eyelashes, casting delicate shadows. Her nose was small and her lip line soft. Like the artworks in the studio, she was clean, without a trace of impurity. Lu Wanheng suddenly remembered that she, too, had liked art in her youth but had given it up early due to family planning. The people she met later either chased her family background or catered to her status. Someone like Shen Zhiyi, who spoke purely through her work and perceived emotions through intuition, was almost extinct in Wugang’s financial circles.

“How long has it been since you graduated? Why did you choose to open a studio in the Old Town District?” Lu Wanheng spoke up, breaking the quiet atmosphere of the studio.

Shen Zhiyi paused slightly while fixing the canvas into the frame. She answered softly, “I graduated six months ago. My undergraduate degree was in Fine Arts. I did not want to work in an office, so I rented this place to be a freelance illustrator. The rent in the Old Town District is cheap, and the fog is heavy, which is great for finding inspiration. It is just that most of the commissions I take are commercial commissions, so I do not have much time to paint what I actually want.”

Toward the end, her tone carried a hint of imperceptible loss. The pressure of her original family was like a mountain weighing her down. Her brother’s tuition, the studio rent, and daily expenses all forced her to set aside her artistic ideals to accept soulless commercial illustrations. Meeting a client like Lu Wanheng, who understood and respected art, was a rare stroke of luck for her.

Lu Wanheng heard the helplessness in her voice. She put down the glass and spoke slowly, “I have an empty wall in my office. I originally planned to hang urban photography, but now I think hanging your painting would be more suitable. If you have any creative plans in the future, whether they are commercial commissions or personal works, you can send them to me first. If they are suitable, I can take them all.”

Shen Zhiyi snapped her head up, her eyes full of disbelief. “Miss Lu, this is too precious. I am just a newcomer artist. My work has not reached the level of a collection yet…”

“The value of a work is never determined by seniority,” Lu Wanheng interrupted, her tone firm. “Your paintings have emotion, warmth, and the soul of Wugang. That is enough. To me, they are more valuable than those cookie-cutter commercial pieces.”

This recognition was so heavy that Shen Zhiyi’s eyes grew warm. Her fingers tightened slightly around the frame. Since she was a child, her parents felt that her painting was a waste of time, her brother felt her paintings could not be traded for much money, and most of her classmates had changed careers. No one had truly recognized her persistence. Yet this woman, whom she had only met twice, gave her the most certain affirmation and was even willing to pay for her creations.

“Thank you, Miss Lu.” Shen Zhiyi’s voice carried a hint of a sob. She lowered her head to hide the moisture in her eyes. “I will create well and will not let your recognition go to waste.”

“Just call me Wanheng,” Lu Wanheng said softly. “There is no need to keep calling me Miss Lu. It is too formal.”

“Wanheng…” Shen Zhiyi repeated the name in a small voice. The name rolled off her tongue, so gentle it seemed to melt. She looked up, revealing a faint, clean smile. “Then you can call me Zhiyi.”

“Zhiyi.” Lu Wanheng spoke the name, and the coldness between her brows dissipated further. “It suits you well. Zhiyi—knowing the intent of the painting, and knowing the intent of the heart.”

Shen Zhiyi’s heart skipped a beat, and her cheeks flushed again. She quickly turned around and handed over the framed portrait, changing the subject. “The painting is framed. Please check if anything is loose.”

Lu Wanheng took the painting. It had a decent weight, the canvas was smooth, and the frame was secure. Every detail showed Shen Zhiyi’s care. She leaned the painting against the wall and took out her phone, intending to pay the remaining balance, but Shen Zhiyi quickly stopped her.

“Do not worry about the payment yet. Take it back first and hang it in your office for a few days. If you feel it is not right, I can modify it at any time,” Shen Zhiyi said hurriedly. “I believe in my work, but I want you to be completely satisfied.”

Seeing her nervous expression, Lu Wanheng did not insist. She put away her phone and nodded. “Alright, I will take it back first and contact you if there are any issues.” She stood up and picked up the painting. Her gaze swept over every corner of the studio once more. “Your studio is very comfortable. It is much more interesting than my cold office.”

“If you get off work early, you are welcome to come by anytime,” Shen Zhiyi blurted out. Realizing it might be too forward, she quickly added, “I am usually in the studio. Whether it is to look at paintings or talk about art, it is fine.”

Lu Wanheng smiled and did not refuse. “Alright, I will come by when I have time. The fog is heavy; be careful when you close up. I will be going now.”

She turned toward the wooden door. Shen Zhiyi followed behind to see her to the stairs, watching her figure descend from the attic. The black suit was dampened by the fog but remained upright and sharp. It was not until the sound of the car engine faded away that Shen Zhiyi closed the wooden door. She leaned against the door, breathing heavily, her heart still pounding wildly.

She walked back into the studio and brushed her fingers over the folding chair Lu Wanheng had sat on. A faint scent of cedar perfume still lingered, perfectly matching the cool tone of the woman in the painting. The glass of lemonade on the corner of the table was still half-full, its warmth remaining. The name “Zhiyi” seemed to echo in the air, so gentle it was intoxicating.

Shen Zhiyi walked to the easel. Looking at the blank canvas, she suddenly felt a surge of creative inspiration. She took out a new sheet of paper, squeezed out some paint, and the tip of her brush fell, sketching the thick fog at the alley entrance, the black car, and the cool, elegant figure standing in the mist.

This time, she did not need to deliberately restrain her emotions or cater to commercial needs. She only wanted to paint all the throbbing excitement and warmth in her heart onto the paper.

Meanwhile, Lu Wanheng, driving away from the Old Town District, placed the portrait on the passenger seat. Through the rearview mirror, she watched the attic gradually disappear into the thick fog, her fingertips lightly tapping the steering wheel. She turned on the car’s Bluetooth. Instead of playing financial news as usual, she selected a piece of soothing instrumental music. The melody was soft, perfectly matching the atmosphere of the studio.

The painting on the passenger seat flickered in the light and shadow of the streetlamps. The warm light in the eyes of the person in the painting was like a tiny star, lighting up softly in her cold world.

She had been in Wugang for ten years. She was used to the intrigue of the financial world and had experienced emotional betrayal and family suppression. She had long since grown accustomed to wrapping herself in a cold shell. But today, in that small attic studio, within Shen Zhiyi’s clean gaze and delicate brushstrokes, her long-frozen heart had finally been nudged open at the corner.

Fog still shrouded the entirety of Wugang. Traffic moved slowly through the milky white mist. Lu Wanheng held the steering wheel, a very faint curve unconsciously lifting the corners of her mouth.

She began to look forward to the next time she would step into that studio.