Jing Xin was astonished. He was injured but still painting? He looked seriously hurt, with his right hand in a sling and thick gauze wrapped around his arm, blood seeping through, and bruises on his face.
He ignored her, so she stood quietly behind him, feeling unexpected tears mist her eyes.
Yang’s coldness made his mother a bit embarrassed.
She poured a glass of water for Jing Xin. “Miss Tian, don’t mind him. Yang has always been impolite to girls. No matter how many times we’ve told him, he doesn’t change. He’ll have trouble finding a wife like this.”
Jing Xin smiled, took the water, and drank a few sips before looking at Jiang Yang’s painting.
She had never seen him so quietly focused. Her impression of him was of fighting, not painting.
Jiang Yang was bent over, deep in thought.
The painting felt strange to Jing Xin. It depicted two six or seven-year-old children beside a silver-wave river. One side showed lush grass, blooming wildflowers, and large fruits on trees. A girl in a beautiful princess dress chased butterflies. The other side was barren – yellow grass, and a boy in a white shirt stood under a tree with only bare branches. Jing Xin studied it for a moment, not understanding oil painting and hesitant to comment.
Sunlight poured in from the window, illuminating dust dancing where light and shadow met. Jing Xin quietly walked closer, standing beside him. When she turned her head, she noticed his long, dense eyelashes intricately intertwined.
Jiang Yang straightened up, throwing his brush into the water-filled glass, turning to see Jing Xin standing there. He seemed to remember her: “Why are you at my home?”
“I met Auntie at the cemetery and heard you were injured, so I came to see you,” Jing Xin said, not revealing that she had overheard their conversation.
Jiang Yang’s gaze dimmed, and he fell silent, as he often did.
*
Mrs. Jiang, holding her wallet, glanced at her son, who looked wooden, and said, “Yang, I’m going to buy some vegetables. Keep Miss Tian company.”
Jing Xin had already walked to the door. “Auntie, I’ll go!”
She instantly regretted her impulsiveness, realizing she didn’t know the way to the market.
