The antique girlfriend of a chaebol heir

"The difficulty of writing inside a bottle lies in 'reversing' the characters." Master Yang's words from last week still ring in my ears.

"When you write on paper, the pen follows your wrist, and the energy flows from your shoulder—that's going with the flow. But inside the bottle, the pen is inserted, and your wrist is suspended in mid-air—every stroke goes against the flow..."

Shen Ci held his breath and concentrated all his attention on the strokes of his pen.

The brushstrokes moved and shifted within the narrow space of the plum vase, the ink flowing slowly down the vase wall, gradually outlining the skeleton of the regular script.

She wrote extremely slowly, each stroke as if she were carving, until the last stroke landed steadily, then she let out a long sigh of relief, her tense shoulders relaxing slightly.

The moment she looked up, she realized that a quiet figure had appeared beside her.

She was an extremely beautiful middle-aged woman, wearing a blue cashmere coat, with gentle features and a calm, serene demeanor.

She was leaning slightly forward, her gaze fixed on the plum vase in her hand, seemingly lost in thought.

Just as Shen Ci was about to greet them, familiar footsteps came from outside the door.

Master Yang walked in, carrying a thermos. He was taken aback when he saw the two people in the room, then smiled and said to the woman, "I was wondering why I couldn't find you at the exhibition hall. I didn't expect you to come to Shen's house."

Ling Shuyun then withdrew her gaze, a slight smile curving her lips.

The smile was faint, yet it spread slowly across her face like a drop of ink falling into water.

"Is this the little girl named Shen Ci you mentioned at the teahouse?" Her voice carried a hint of amusement. "I thought you were exaggerating, but I didn't expect—"

She paused, then looked back at the plum vase. "You really struck gold."

"Of course!" Master Yang's tone was full of undisguised pride. He then introduced her to Shen Ci, "You can call this Aunt Ling. She and I were both students at the Beijing Academy of Fine Arts. However, she was about ten years behind me."

He suddenly perked up and gestured with his hands in the air.

"She was once just as talented in painting as you. Although she missed out on it for many years after getting married—"

He glanced at Ling Shuyun, his eyes filled with the frankness only old friends could share. "Fortunately, I picked up my paintbrush again and am now a painter. I've had a proper solo exhibition, not the kind who just seeks fame and fortune."

Shen Ci had already stood up. A few ink stains still clung to her apron; she instinctively wiped her hands behind her back and gave a slight bow: "Aunt Ling, hello, it's a pleasure to meet you."

Ling Shuyun smiled and looked at her.

The young girl before me was in the prime of her youth, with a bare face and only a light touch of lip balm. Her appearance was exceptional, but what was even more remarkable were her eyes—clean, pure, like snowmelt from a mountain stream, reflecting the sunlight, yet revealing everything beneath.

It's so pleasing to the eye.

She walked slowly to Shen Ci, her gaze returning to the plum vase.

The bottle is inscribed with an ancient poem in regular script. The characters are not smooth—some strokes still show slight tremors at the edges—but the strength and style of the brushstrokes are already evident in the beginning and ending strokes.

"How long have you been studying?" Ling Shuyun asked softly.

Master Yang stood to the side, hands behind his back, chest puffed out: "Shen is still in university, she can only come over on weekends. This is her—"

He held up four fingers and waved them in the air. "The fourth time."

After hearing this, Ling Shuyun was slightly taken aback, and her gaze toward Shen Ci became even more serious.

To be able to write like this inside a teapot after only four visits shows an almost supernatural level of control and understanding of brushstrokes.

No wonder Old Yang was so excited and incoherent when he mentioned this girl in the teahouse.

She looked away and smiled gently at Shen Ci: "Alright, you can continue practicing. I won't bother you anymore."

Shen Ci practiced for several more hours.

My wrist went from feeling sore to feeling numb, and then to a kind of almost numb lightness.

I glanced at my phone; it was 11:40.

Jiang Duo should be arriving soon.

She carefully put the painted bottles into a special brocade box, then neatly arranged the brushes, ink, and palettes on the table before taking off her apron and hanging it back in its original place.

When they arrived at the reception room, Master Yang and Ling Shuyun were sitting by the window drinking tea, with wisps of steam rising from the rim of the celadon cups.

"Master Yang, Aunt Ling, I'm leaving now." Shen Ci stood at the door and greeted them politely.

Master Yang waved his hand, causing the water in his teacup to slosh around: "Come back next weekend, I'll show you the new ingredients I found."

Ling Shuyun raised her eyes and smiled slightly.

She didn't speak, her gaze lingered on Shen Ci's face for a moment longer before returning to the picture album.

Although it was early winter, a gust of wind swept through, and the air outside was already chilly.

As soon as Shen Ci stepped out the door, she saw a minivan.

Jiang Duo waited for her by the car door.

He wore a long, dark gray coat with straight shoulders, no scarf, and the collar was open, revealing a section of his dark turtleneck sweater underneath.

Hearing footsteps, he straightened up, looked over the roof of the car, and the corners of his mouth habitually curved up first, then flattened, like a kind of restrained joy.

He opened the passenger door and used his hand to shield her as she got in.

After Shen Ci fastened her seatbelt, he gently closed the car door and walked around to the other side.

Shen Ci brought her frozen fingers to the air vent and watched the gray brick walls of the old alley slowly recede outside the window.

"What do you want to eat later?" Jiang Duo held the steering wheel with one hand and adjusted the air conditioning vents with the other, directing the hot air directly at her.

"Hot pot, please..."

Jiang Duo's schedule is always packed.

In addition to his heavy academic workload, he has officially taken over and independently handled some of the Jiang family's core projects.

The unpredictable nature of the business world quickly shed some of the naiveté that comes with age, and a sense of composure and competence befitting a leader settled in his eyes.

Even when he's busy, he'll always make time to have a meal with Shen Ci.

"What's wrong?"

Master Yang and Ling Shuyun had just finalized some cooperation matters, and the two walked side by side to the door.

Ling Shuyun stopped and looked thoughtfully in that direction, past the receding car.

From a distance, she could vaguely see the tall, straight back of the boy who picked up Shen Ci, and his figure and gait bore a striking resemblance to her son.

"It's nothing."

After saying that, Ling Shuyun shook her head, thinking that she had just imagined it.

The Jiang family has so many cars, she couldn't even remember if the one she had just seen belonged to the Jiang family.

Ling Shuyun lowered her eyes slightly and suddenly realized that she hadn't seen her son for more than four months.

A cold wind swept by, and she pulled her shawl tighter around herself, a feeling she couldn't quite describe welling up inside her.

She sighed, silently mocking herself: she was ultimately not a good mother.