Chapter 18: The Truth Revealed

The more he gazed at the painting, the more incredible it seemed—both bizarre and realistic, fascinating even to those who knew nothing of art. It possessed an air of abstraction, yet presented the landscape with striking clarity. An absolute masterpiece of genius; he had always known she was talented, but he never imagined her abilities would surpass his expectations by such a margin.

Standing behind the painting, Fu Yanyan’s hand trembled, hesitant to touch the canvas. His eyes were bloodshot, restrained yet intense. He looked at his assistant, his voice barely audible, murmuring to himself.

“She must have come back... Why didn’t I realize it sooner? Why did I hurt her?”

He collapsed onto the sofa, recalling that moment in the car when she gently stroked the corner of his eye, coaxing him not to cry. It was the very gesture his sister used to make when she was little. How could he have been so foolish, failing to recognize her, nearly hurting her in his confusion...

Joy and grief collided, tears streaming down Fu Yanyan’s face as he pressed his hand to his eyes and leaned back on the sofa, uncorking a fine bottle of red wine. His assistant, unsure whether to stay or leave, lingered awkwardly.

Just then, Li Pingzi entered, her black high heels clicking on the floor. Her figure was alluring, the black lace dress hugging her curves, blooming under the dim light. Having just recovered from a high fever she caught the day she returned, she had hurried over as soon as she felt better.

“Mr. Fu, I heard from your assistant you were busy here today, so I brought your favorite white spirits and some snacks. Shall we have a chat?”

The assistant, glancing back, was met with his boss’s impatient, sharp gaze and quickly stammered, “Miss Li Pingzi, perhaps another time, another time.”

Unwilling to give up, she tried a different tactic. “Oh, I actually came to talk to Mr. Fu about my best friend. Nothing else.”

She didn’t believe bringing up Zhong Huayan wouldn’t make Fu Yanyan keep her.

The assistant glanced at his boss again.

“Miss Li Pingzi, tonight you can chat with my assistant over drinks, and he’ll pass your message to me tomorrow.”

Her smile froze instantly as she looked at the man leaning on the sofa, his black suit just removed, revealing his collarbone—seductive without realizing it. Yet his words were as cold as arrows.

The assistant hurriedly opened the opposite door, diligently doing his best, leaving her feeling deeply embarrassed.

“Forget it, Mr. Fu, sorry to disturb you. I’ll come back another time. Suddenly, my stomach hurts. I’ll be going now.”

“Miss Li, don’t imitate others. She wears it with elegance, rooted in tradition. On you, it looks contrived.”

His usual restraint kept him from saying anything too harsh.

Li Pingzi wished she could dig a hole and disappear—had she been foolish? The dress was indeed Zhong Huayan’s once, but she thought it would help her take her place. Who would have guessed that, even after her friend had died, she remained unshakably ensconced in his heart?

Once she left, the assistant knelt on the floor. He knew all too well what a suspicious, brooding man his boss was. He immediately began to feign tears, begging to keep his job.

“Mr. Fu, I was wrong. Please don’t fire me.”

“Hmph, firing you is already merciful.”

The words frightened him into silence.

“Do you know what you did wrong?”

“I… shouldn’t have revealed your location to anyone. But I only did it out of concern for you! Miss Li Pingzi is Zhong Huayan’s best friend, after all. I hoped she could help ease your burden. I’ve worked for you five years, my loyalty is unquestionable!”

Fu Yanyan swirled the wine in his glass, glancing indistinctly at the trembling man on the floor.

“Get up. Later, buy this painting under a different name, offer five million.”

“Mr. Fu, paintings without a famous name are usually bought outright—the price won’t reach the artist.”

“That’s your concern. Find out what happened to her at school, who bullied her.”

Sweat poured down the assistant’s back—dealing with the art world was far harder than handling business affairs. Still, he scrambled to his feet, determined to escape quickly, picking up the blood-stained handkerchief and, as usual, handing all the room’s messy items over to the ‘logistics department’ for disposal.

————

The night wind was sharp, the moonlight seductive. The rented room was small but felt safe; the cold outside couldn’t penetrate her little haven. The yellowish lamp illuminated her as she worked on her assignments.

It had been so long since she had faced this much homework. Finding the exercises easy, she finished two days’ worth in one sitting. Then, she lit a cigarette and pondered.

Looking at the balance on her phone, she realized she’d earned quite a sum from selling paintings in her livestreams recently—about 170,000 in total.

Zhong Huayan opened her phone and began her daily livestream appraisal. As soon as she started, gifts poured in from viewers.

[I'd love to see you do a makeup livestream. You're so beautiful even without it—imagine how stunning you'd be with makeup.]

[Suddenly, I think the streamer looks like someone, a rich kid from the capital circle!]

[A friend recommended this; I heard it's even more exciting and professional than official appraisal channels!]

[Impossible—how can it compare to professionals? Probably just hype because of the streamer’s looks!]

For the first time, the livestream reached a record high—thirty thousand viewers!

She invited a commenter who claimed to have a treasure to join her live.

On screen appeared a wooden table, atop it a somewhat damaged painting.

“Hello, teacher. I’ve heard you’re skilled at appraising Chinese paintings, but do you recognize this Western piece?”

The painting depicted the faint light of dawn, all things drifting into the peaceful sleep of sunset—deep and fleeting. Clusters of trees beside oak, a pile of stones by the stream, two elk drinking water. The whole scene was harmonious, unforced, poetic without deliberate detail.

“This is ‘Autumn’ by Dupeilei—the lines are beautiful, the colors lovely, and it exudes a misty, elusive atmosphere. I adore this classical landscape style. It reminds me of Rousseau’s ‘The Oaks near Apremont,’ which has a similar feel—appreciating it is like reading poetry, lingering and dreamlike.”

[I feel like I'm in an art class—the streamer knows so much!]

[But can the streamer really tell real from fake? This painting is so old, and it came from overseas—you can’t authenticate it through a screen.]

“Teacher, it really is by Dupeilei. My grandmother’s mother used to perform opera at Xiyuan Lake in the capital, and she received it as a gift from a foreign soldier. Can you tell if it's genuine?”

“Bring it closer.”

She examined it carefully once more, then pondered.

“This painting is likely by Dupeilei—the style matches the era. However, it’s probably a secondary work, not his most authentic. In his finest piece, the animals are more muted and obscure, more blurred. But at a glance, it’s hard to tell the difference.”