Chapter 30 The Painting Was Sold

Zhou Lichuan shook his head. “Zhou Kuan’s son and daughter aren’t from the same mother—you were the one who told me that. I barely know Meng Qiaoyuan; I’ve never even met her before, and I have no idea what’s on her mind now.”

Jiang Zao let out a sigh. “That’s true.”

“Zaozao.”

“Hmm?”

Jiang Zao looked up at him and found his face had lost its usual ease, now shadowed by a heavy seriousness.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

Zhou Lichuan stopped walking. “If… you weren’t with me, maybe you’d be more free, safer even. You wouldn’t be stuck at home taking care of a half-blind cripple like me.”

Jiang Zao held onto his arm and continued forward. The late autumn wind was bleak, winter just around the corner, and even Zhou Lichuan’s heart felt barren in its chill.

Softly, Jiang Zao said, “Then send me away. Perhaps while I’m still young and pretty, I could find someone else—rich and with fewer troubles.”

“…In your dreams.”

Jiang Zao stifled a laugh. Lately, this man had been acting strangely, asking all kinds of absurd hypothetical questions. He really needed to be properly set straight, otherwise he’d keep up with this nervous nonsense forever.

That night, to retaliate for her earlier words, Zhou Lichuan pinned Jiang Zao down and made love to her fiercely, not relenting until she begged for mercy, almost fainting with exhaustion.

Touching his newly regained abs, he felt with certainty that only he in the whole world was worthy of Jiang Zao. Where could she find a man richer and with fewer troubles? He was already the best there was.

…

The next morning, Jiang Zao was so worn out she couldn’t get out of bed, her whole body dull and unwilling to move.

Her man was as strong as an ox, and now that he’d tasted pleasure, he treated her like a piece of gym equipment—growing more energetic with each use. The fat he’d accumulated over months of immobility was burned away in no time.

His physique improved day by day, surpassing even what it was before.

Before leaving for work, Zhou Lichuan kissed the motionless Jiang Zao curled up on the bed, then headed to the company with his newly assigned driver.

After brunch, Jiang Zao sat dazed at the dining table, her mind adrift.

Suddenly, there was a knock at the door. Aunt Hui went to open it, and in walked Shen Mushi.

He changed his shoes and called out as he entered, “Where’s Chuan? I didn’t see his car in the garage—did he go to the office?”

Jiang Zao stood up, her waist still aching. “Yes, he said he had to personally oversee an investment in a charity project.”

Shen Mushi nodded and took a seat on the sofa. “I came to check on him. Meng Qiaoyuan said his blood pressure’s been unstable and he’s been on an IV drip for a few days—how is he?”

Jiang Zao sat down opposite him. “He’s been monitored all along, much better now. Qiaoyuan says he needs a few more days of IV, otherwise the surgery could be risky.”

Aunt Hui brought out Zhou Lichuan’s latest scans, which Shen Mushi studied against the sunlight for quite a while.

“Nothing’s changed. Looks the same as before. That’s a good sign—since things are stable now, it’s best to operate as soon as possible.”

Jiang Zao grew anxious. “Will your professor be doing it again?”

Shen Mushi smiled and shook his head. “This tumor isn’t serious. I can handle it. The professor is elderly now and has decided not to come out of retirement again. I was his best student. What—don’t you trust me?”

Jiang Zao waved her hands quickly. “Of course I do! You’re the youngest brain surgeon in the field, incredibly gifted—how could I not trust you?”

She scratched her head awkwardly. She hadn’t interacted much with Shen Mushi, and now, sharing a space together, she felt uncomfortable.

She had no choice but to start a conversation. “Meng Qiaoyuan seems really busy lately—I haven’t seen her in days.”

Still looking at the scans, Shen Mushi didn’t even raise his head. “Her department just admitted a patient with hereditary hypertrophic cardiomyopathy. The whole team is in chaos.”

Jiang Zao caught a hint of something unusual beneath his words. “You seem to know a lot about it?”

Shen Mushi hesitated, then continued examining the scans. “Ah, they called me for a consult. Same hospital, it’s not uncommon.”

Jiang Zao nodded gently. As long as Meng Qiaoyuan was safe, that was enough. For a young woman like her, navigating work and dealing with Zhou Kuan’s crowd was no easy feat.

Shen Mushi set the scans down and made to leave, but at that moment, Jiang Zao’s phone rang.

She answered, first surprised, then breaking into a radiant smile.

Her face, delicate and full of joy, seemed to light up the room. Shen Mushi felt a sudden warmth bloom in his chest. “Good news?”

A bit embarrassed, Jiang Zao nodded. “My painting sold. The exhibition manager wants me to come handle some paperwork.”

Shen Mushi smiled. “That’s wonderful. Let me go with you—it’ll be safer.”

“Thank you.”

…

Shen Mushi accompanied Jiang Zao to the art exhibition.

After several days, the commercial show had proven highly profitable. Most of the artists had reaped considerable rewards from the event.

Shen Mushi, dressed in an ivory long coat, looked clean-cut and refined, exuding a gentle elegance. He immediately became the center of attention, drawing every eye in the room.

Jiang Zao had changed into simple street clothes. She wore no makeup, but her skin was smooth and delicate. Large glasses framed her face, and with her long hair cascading to her waist, her features were mostly hidden.

As they left home, Shen Mushi had been curious about her choice of disguise.

Jiang Zao, after some thought, told him about Zhou Kuan and Lin Rui, who had been keeping an eye on her.

Shen Mushi was shocked by this revelation. He couldn’t fathom the motives of those two men.

The exhibition manager personally greeted them, treating Jiang Zao with effusive flattery—a stark contrast to his haughty attitude during the setup.

Jiang Zao exchanged a knowing look with Shen Mushi, who immediately understood: this manager was only currying favor now, having previously judged her as someone without connections.

Passing by the section displaying Jiang Zao’s paintings, Shen Mushi, slightly displeased, feigned a question for her, but his real target was the manager leading the way.

“My aunt said she wanted to buy your painting, but my uncle had to be on an IV these past two days, so they were delayed. And when you were arranging your works, you didn’t pick a prominent spot. If word gets out, won’t that embarrass my aunt? Is this how the daughter-in-law of the Zhou family is treated at an art show?”

The manager stiffened, his body rigid with shock. The Zhou family? Which Zhou family? No… But how many Zhou families are there in Jingzhou? Rumor had it that Zhou Lichuan was keeping a mistress in a gilded house—could it be the woman in front of him?

Of course. Just a few days ago, Miss Zhou herself had come asking about her paintings. This was a disaster—what a mess he’d made…

Jiang Zao had always disliked people who fawned over the powerful and scorned the weak. She had no intention of entangling further with the manager; Shen Mushi’s pointed remarks had vented her frustrations for her, and that was enough.

She chuckled softly. “My skills are mediocre—I wouldn’t dare put my work out there and risk embarrassment.”