Chapter 16: Never Mention This Again
To the pampered and privileged Ji Songting, the dreams of being a painter—now reduced to the small freedom of being an art teacher—were apparently as insignificant as ants.
Why was he always so cowardly when facing this man? Why was he always powerless to resist?
This heavy, burdensome love had been making compromises for far too long.
“Fine. I promise you. I won’t go back to school, and I won’t be a teacher anymore. Just… let my mother go.”
Jian An paused slightly, a faint mist swirling in his hazy eyes. As he gazed at the man, it seemed as if he were trying to hide the depth of his affection.
He quickly adjusted his crumbling emotions and added a final request: “And… can you eat a meal with me every day?”
Hearing this, a cold sneer curled the corner of Ji Songting’s lips. He tucked his hands into his pockets and leaned forward slightly, his eyes narrowing with lazy derision as he met Jian An’s gaze.
“As things stand now, do you really think you’re in any position to negotiate with me?”
With that, he grabbed Jian An’s hand in a death grip and marched him out of the hospital. He hailed a taxi by the roadside, threw the man inside brutally, and slammed the door shut.
As the car sped away, Ji Songting closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He then quickly dialed his assistant’s number and commanded:
“Get me a copy of the surveillance footage from Newcastle Bar from around 10:00 PM on the 15th and send it to me.”
Yang Rui didn’t dare ask questions and quickly responded, “Yes, Ji-zong. I’ll get right on it!”
Ji Songting turned his car back toward the school. By the time he arrived, Shen Chuyan had finished his lecture and was standing at the entrance with a driver.
His expression looked rather unpleasant.
“Xiao Yan, I’m here.”
Ji Songting hurried out of the car, a slight smile on his lips. His voice carried a trace of helplessness and apology, as if he felt guilty for his abrupt departure.
Seeing the man walking toward him, Shen Chuyan bit his lip and turned his back to him. He muttered aggrievedly:
“Hmph. A-Ting, how could you just leave me behind! What did you go off to do by yourself? And where is Brother Xiao An?”
Knowing he was in the wrong, Ji Songting carefully took his hand and wrapped an arm around his slender waist, coaxing him in a low voice:
“I had some urgent business to handle. Don’t be angry, I was wrong. I won’t let it happen again.”
In a shadow where no one could see, Shen Chuyan furrowed his brows in resentment, a thick sense of jealousy churning in his chest.
Based on his years of knowing Ji Songting, that “urgent business” must have been taking Jian An to the hospital for a physical examination, right?!
Does he really care that much about that wretch’s “innocence”?
Shen Chuyan felt a surge of extreme dissatisfaction.
Yet, the solid chest behind him and the faint scent of tobacco lingering in the air still made his heart race. No one could resist such a lethal temptation.
He shyly pushed the man away, clutching his paintings tightly. He said in a bashful tone, “I get it, A-Ting. Let’s get in the car. So many people are watching.”
Watching his shy, retreating back, Ji Songting let out a thin smile and followed with long strides.
After closing the car door, he happened to see the paintings in Shen Chuyan’s arms. His interest was piqued instantly.
“Xiao Yan, can I see your paintings?”
“Sure, of course!”
Shen Chuyan handed them over with a smile, but the expression on his face was stiff and nervous.
The man didn’t notice his subtle expression; his gaze was entirely captured by the paintings, which possessed an artistic level far beyond the ordinary. He asked in disbelief:
“Did you… paint all of these?”
Shen Chuyan swallowed hard and nodded, going along with it. “Mhm! I painted them all. What do you think, A-Ting? Give me a critique.”
“Alright, let me see.”
Due to Lin Qiuwan’s artistic influence during her life, Ji Songting had some knowledge and research in this field.
At first glance, he felt the loneliness and sorrow buried beneath the colors—emotions that had been ignored by everyone.
This feeling from the heart wasn’t just appreciation; it was artistic resonance. Even Ji Songting, who rarely felt sorrowful, found himself drawn into the characters in the paintings.
It was incredible. What kind of talent and emotion must the artist have possessed during the process to perfectly merge soul and reality?
Astonishment flickered in Ji Songting’s eyes, followed by a pang of bitterness in his heart. He pulled Shen Chuyan into his arms, feeling a wave of heartache.
“Xiao Yan, have you been unhappy lately? Or is the work pressure too much? Even your paintings are so sad.”
Faced with the man’s proactive intimacy, Shen Chuyan felt both joy and a burning envy. He wished he could tear these praised portraits—which didn’t actually belong to him—into a million pieces.
His eyes grew red, and he wrapped his arms around Ji Songting’s waist. Tears of grievance shimmered in his eyes, his tone soft and obedient:
“Yeah… my mood has been really low lately. I can’t seem to be happy. A-Ting is so busy with work and has no time for me. I have no one to talk to, so I can only paint my sadness on paper so A-Ting can see it.”
As he finished speaking, a few tears escaped, sliding down his cheek and into the man’s palm.
The teardrops were cool, yet Ji Songting felt as though his heart had been scalded. He used the pad of his thumb to gently wipe away the tear tracks from the corners of the youth’s eyes.
“I’m sorry. I’ve been neglecting you. How about I take you to the flower fields to sketch tomorrow?”
“Mhm… okay.”
Shen Chuyan wiped away his forced tears and leaned obediently against his chest, reveling in the warmth.
Sensing that the atmosphere was good and that the man felt guilty, he finally plucked up the courage to complain:
“A-Ting, when are you going to divorce Jian An? Once we’re married, I can stay by your side forever, and I won’t feel sad anymore.”
At the mention of “divorce,” the hand stroking his hair suddenly stopped. Ji Songting’s face turned dark, and he gave the person in his arms a light pat on the shoulder, signaling him to sit to the side.
Ji Songting crossed his long legs, looking at the paintings in his hand as he spoke in a flat voice:
“I’m not divorcing yet. He’s still useful.”
Shen Chuyan was momentarily lost, but his confusion was quickly replaced by rage and resentment.
The man had clearly promised before to divorce Jian An and marry him. Why did he change his mind overnight? Had he developed feelings for Jian An over time?
At that thought, Shen Chuyan’s expression distorted for a second. His lips trembled as he squeezed out a sentence:
“A-Ting… do you not like me anymore?”
Ji Songting put down the paintings and reached out to rub his head. “How could I not like you? Don’t overthink things.”
“But why won’t you divorce him—”
“Enough. Let’s not mention this matter again.”
The man’s face was stern, and his voice was unexpectedly loud, tinged with impatience. Even his tone, which was usually gentle only toward him, was stained with anger.
Shen Chuyan froze, as silent as a cicada in winter. Panic instantly flooded his heart.
He understood Ji Songting’s mercurial temperament, but he never imagined the man would actually lose his temper at him over Jian An.
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