AWB Chapter 253 Flowers Bloom in the South of the City, Time to Return 24
Chapter 253 Flowers Bloom in the South of the City, Time to Return 24
I thought the time would be hard to bear.
But the days, like the leaves of the old ginkgo tree outside the study window, fall silently, spreading a soft, golden carpet on the ground.
Three weeks passed by unnoticed in the regular and tranquil rhythm of the Huo residence.
The study gradually became the corner where Shen Shuwan most often stayed, besides her bedroom.
The area next to the bookshelf, which always received the afternoon sunlight first, seemed to have been tacitly granted as her exclusive space.
Not only was there an extra cushioned armchair, but a small side table was also neatly placed next to it.
There is often a plate of novel snacks or a cup of tea at just the right temperature on the table.
Correspondingly, Huo Xingzhou seemed to be spending more time at the old house.
His presence in the study handling official business in the afternoon or evening became more frequent and regular, seemingly forming an unspoken routine.
They didn't communicate much.
It was usually when Shen Shuwan encountered unfamiliar dialects or local expressions, or strange place names and products, that she would quietly walk over with her book in the brief moment when she noticed his pen had paused and his expression had relaxed.
Huo Xingzhou would also take the book, glance at it, and then explain a few sentences in a calm and clear tone, sometimes even going so far as to introduce a related local custom or family history.
In just a few words, the dry records on paper are subtly connected with the vast expanse of misty waters, the footprints of the family, and even the ever-changing world.
The place names and local customs that had been sleeping in the piles of old papers seemed to be infused with the saltiness of the sea breeze and the warmth of the tropical sun through his narration, becoming vivid and three-dimensional, and sounding very interesting.
Occasionally, he would ask her for her opinion in return.
She didn't know much about these local customs and traditions, so she couldn't offer any opinions. However, she found the simple "sketches" casually drawn by her ancestors between the texts in the book quite interesting.
In the past, her mother loved to paint ink landscapes at home and also painted some Western oil paintings, so she learned some of those as well.
But this method of using simple lines to capture shapes and record information was particularly novel to her.
She spoke casually, treating it as just idle chatter, and quickly forgot about it.
Unexpectedly, the next day, a small wicker basket appeared next to the corner where she usually sat.
The basket contained brand-new sketching pencils, charcoal sticks, erasers, and a stack of fine-textured sketch paper.
Without any labels or descriptions, it simply sat there quietly, like something that was meant to be in the study.
He didn't mention it, so she didn't thank him.
Expressing gratitude verbally would seem insincere.
That afternoon, facing the swaying ginkgo tree branches outside the window, she picked up her brush and painted her first picture in nearly two years.
The initial strokes were still a bit clumsy, but the instinct to observe and capture light and shadow seemed to be slowly awakening.
From then on, paintbrushes and drawing paper became her new pastime.
The carved window frames, the curved eaves of a corner of the courtyard, and the seasonal flowers that are changed daily in the porcelain vase on the tea table can all become objects of her exploration and recording.
Until one day, her gaze involuntarily fell on the person behind the desk.
As if guided by some strange force, she turned to a new page of drawing paper.
The heart was still hesitating over this transgressive thought, but the fingertips, with a kind of spontaneous pull, had already drawn the first extremely light line.
First, there's the general outline, then the clean lines of light and shadow created by the light.
She drew slowly, occasionally glancing up to confirm the figure behind the desk before quickly looking down again to continue sketching based on her brief impression.
The arc of light and shadow on his profile, the distinct and steady knuckles of his hand holding the document, and his lowered, serene eyes that seemed to absorb all the noise...
This seemed to have become another secret pleasure for her.
In the following days, whenever he was in his study, engrossed in his official duties and unable to attend to anything else, she would quietly pick up her paintbrush and add a few strokes to a corner of the page.
One sheet, two sheets... the blank spaces on the drawing paper were gradually filled with his marks.
As she became more adept at drawing, she grew bolder and began to experiment with using charcoal sticks to create more delicate shadows, attempting to capture more of the spirit rather than merely resembling the form.
But the more engrossed you are, the easier it is to forget what's happening around you.
Until a shadow gently enveloped the drawing paper in front of her.
She suddenly woke up and looked up, meeting Huo Xingzhou's downcast gaze.
He stood very close, his gaze sweeping across her face, which had turned deathly pale, before slowly moving down to rest on the drawing paper that was spread out on her lap and had not yet been covered up.
The air seemed to freeze for a moment.
Shen Shuwan subconsciously tried to cover the drawing paper with her fingertips, but she was too stiff to move.
Huo Xingzhou didn't speak, but just quietly looked at the painting.
The man in the painting is facing out the window at an angle, the light outlining his clear jawline, his gaze focused and distant. It's a painting she just finished this morning.
Time slipped away in a chilling silence.
Shen Shuwan could almost hear the sound of her heart pounding against her ribs.
After a long while, Huo Xingzhou finally moved.
Instead of showing the displeasure or scrutiny she had expected, she leaned down slightly and examined the painting more carefully.
His gaze moved from the outline of the figure in the painting to the treatment of shadows, and finally settled on the eyes that she had depicted with exceptional care.
Then he reached out, not to take the painting, but with his slender index finger, and gently touched the pupils of the "eyes" on the paper.
“Here,” his voice rang out, unexpectedly calm, as if she were only painting a landscape, “the light and shadow could be sharper, and the reflection in the pupils is often the most invigorating feature.”
Shen Shuwan was stunned, staring blankly up at his profile so close to hers.
Huo Xingzhou straightened up, shifting his gaze from the drawing paper back to her face.
His usually deep and unfathomable eyes clearly reflected her panicked image, but instead of blaming her, there was an indescribable gentleness.
“Well done,” he said, his words seemingly encouraging, “more spirited than the previous scenes.”
After saying that, he didn't linger or ask her why she painted him, as if it were just an ordinary interlude in the study.
He turned and walked towards the door, but as his hand touched the doorknob, he paused almost imperceptibly. Without turning back, his voice came clearly:
"If you run out of paper and pens, or if you want some other paints, you can just tell Uncle Fu."
The door was gently closed with a soft "click," clearly and crisply breaking the almost stagnant air.
Only when the footsteps completely disappeared at the end of the corridor did Shen Shuwan seem to be freed from the spell and begin to breathe again.
The fingers that were tightly gripping the charcoal stick slowly loosened, and the palms were already covered in cold sweat.
She carefully pulled out the painting, laid it flat on the side table, and lingered for a long time on the eyes that she had painted with such care.
The feeling of being fully accepted, even encouraged, mixed with lingering shyness and fear, stirred up an extremely complex and indescribable emotion in her heart.
Outside the window, a gust of wind blew by, and the last few stubborn golden leaves on the ginkgo tree finally fluttered down.