Chapter 6

The taxi wove through the streets. Elena leaned against the window, her eyes burning again.

It wasn't until she walked into Memorial Art Museum—the cool air laced with ink hitting her face—that her tightly wound nerves finally relaxed a little.

This was the dedicated exhibit of her teacher's work. Every painting carried the passion and dreams of her youth.

Years ago, her teacher had patted her head and said, "Elena, you have talent. Hold on to that sincere love for painting."

But later, she'd abandoned her studies. She'd even missed the last exhibition her teacher had invited her to.

Elena's tears finally spilled over, sliding silently down her cheeks and landing on the cold glass of the display case, spreading into small wet spots.

"Teacher, I'm sorry…" Her voice was choked, thick with congestion, her fingertips lightly touching the glass.

Then a hand with distinct knuckles reached out from behind her, holding a pack of tissues. The fingers carried a faint scent of pine, the voice gentle. "Wipe your tears."

That voice…!

Elena froze. She lifted her head instantly, disbelief flooding her eyes as she stared blankly at the man now standing beside her.

It really was Felix! Elena's fellow student under their teacher.

Five years ago, after their teacher passed, Elena had completely severed ties with that world. Many people and things had lost their connection. After so many years apart, seeing him again felt like a lifetime ago.

Felix wore a well-tailored suit. His features had grown sharper and more striking, his eyes clear and bright.

Elena stared at him, momentarily forgetting to react.

Felix walked closer, leaning down slightly to place a warm tissue gently in her cool palm. "Even if our teacher's skill was extraordinary, one look at her paintings shouldn't turn you into a crying mess. Go ahead, wipe your face."

Her senior was still as thoughtful and gentle as before.

Elena thanked him hoarsely, clutching the tissue and wiping her cheeks.

Her slender fingers, covered in centipede-like scars, trembled the entire time she held the tissue.

Felix noticed. Just a glance. He quickly looked away, turning to face the painting Green Bamboo in front of them.

"The curator was a close friend of our teacher's. Every six months, she exhibits the paintings for free and invites me to give talks—so more people can learn about and appreciate our teacher's art."

He smiled warmly. "And if we can find someone talented to study and carry on her legacy, that would be even better."

Elena listened quietly, her heart aching with an indescribable bitterness.

Their teacher had been an unquestionable artist. She'd devoted half her life to creating art, and the other half to cultivating Elena and Felix. Though Elena hadn't kept up with the art world for five years, Felix's attire alone told her he'd achieved extraordinary success.

Elena curled her fingers. "The only one who can carry on our teacher's legacy is probably you."

"Not true."

Felix turned to look at her. "Elena, our teacher said that in terms of talent and dedication, you far surpassed me."

Elena's chest tightened. She lowered her head and shook it. "I let our teacher down."

Five years ago, their teacher had given Elena the opportunity to pursue an accelerated master's-to-PhD program, asking her to focus on studying painting at her side. She'd paved the way with the best resources, hoping Elena would rise like a new star and shine brilliantly.

But by then, Elena could no longer hold a brush. She'd had to refuse.

That night, their teacher had come to see her in the pouring rain. When she saw that Elena had ruined both hands saving Kian, she'd looked at Elena with heartbreak. After a long time, she'd managed to squeeze out a sentence—Kian is a good man with real ability. I hope you'll be happy. As for painting… stop for now.

Elena bit her lip hard, forcing back the tears gathering at the edges of her eyes.

"You didn't let her down."

Felix's voice drifted down from above, steady and reassuring.

Elena froze, slowly lifting her head.

The light fell on Felix's head, wrapping his face in a soft glow. His features blurred slightly. His gaze was warm as he looked at her and spoke slowly. "Our teacher understood you best. She told me that if I ever saw you, I must pass along a message."

"She asked you to pause, not to stop forever. She knew your nature. She knew you'd never give up painting. So you can still walk this path."

Elena's nose stung. She seemed to see her teacher's kind face again.

She looked down at her hands and shook her head gently, her voice hoarse. "But my hands can't paint anymore."

"Have you tried?" Felix asked.

Elena stared blankly and shook her head.

The doctors had pronounced her hands ruined, impossible to restore. For a painter, that was crushing despair. Fear had trapped her. She hadn't dared touch a brush since. She'd long ago accepted deep down that she could never paint again.

"Wait here a moment."

Felix turned and left. Shortly after, he returned holding an exquisite wooden box and some paper and brushes.

He spread the paper on the glass counter and gently placed the brush in her hand, his tone calm but firm. "You'll only know if you can do it by trying."

Elena's gaze locked onto the brush. Her joints throbbed with dull pain, but the passion that had been dormant in her heart for years suddenly roared to life, urging her over and over—pick it up.

When she came back to herself, her fingertips had already instinctively gripped the brush.

The tip touched down, lightly sketching a rough, crooked line on the paper.

Her old injury hadn't healed, and after five years without holding a brush, her foundational skills had grown rusty. The lines were twisted, with no sense of form.

Behind her, a few scattered but sincere claps suddenly rang out.

"Not bad."

Elena gave a self-mocking, bitter smile. "Felix, you don't have to comfort me."

Felix's lips curved slightly, his pale amber eyes clearly reflecting her current appearance. "At least you've picked up the brush again, haven't you?"

That single sentence fell like spring rain on cracked, parched earth. Her long-barren heart was gently awakened.

Felix held the exquisite wooden box in both hands and respectfully placed it in front of her.

The moment her fingertips touched the box, she felt something on the side—a letter.

"This is…" Her voice was hoarse. Deep down, she already had a hunch.

"This is what our teacher left for you. It's the foundation you need to return to this path whenever you're ready."

Felix looked at her seriously. "I don't know how severe your hand injury really is, but at least you can still hold a brush."

"Take your time. Paint stroke by stroke. I believe you can stand up again."

He softened his tone slightly, adding a bit of lighthearted teasing. "Our teacher's legacy and honor still need you to carry them forward."

Just then, Felix's phone rang.

He glanced at the message and looked at Elena apologetically. "I have work soon, so I can't stay long. Elena, let's exchange contact info."

"Okay."

After exchanging contact information, Elena clutched the wooden box and letter and quietly called a rideshare to take her home.

In the car, she tremblingly opened the letter her teacher had left her.

The letter explained that the painting was actually an unfinished collaborative piece they'd worked on together years ago. Their teacher had spent a long time planning it. The outside world believed the painting had long since fallen into a collector's hands and had been searching for it in vain—but no one knew it had never truly been completed.

In an instant, all her teacher's intentions and hopes became crystal clear, landing squarely in her heart.

Elena's eyes moistened. She silently vowed to herself—she would finish this painting with her own hands.

Two years would be enough to complete one painting.

She'd just gotten home and hadn't even had a sip of water when her phone rang.

An unknown number.

Elena thought it was Felix and answered. "Hello, Felix—"

"Elena, Kian's drunk and calling your name. Could you come pick him up and take him home?"

It was one of Kian's friends.

Elena realized belatedly—he hadn't come home tonight. Well, of course not. With Chloe around, why would he come back so early?

"Call Ryan. He'll handle it."

"Oh, Elena, even Ryan drops the ball sometimes!"

"I can't reach him. Besides, you're home with nothing to do anyway. And didn't you always want a chance to impress Kian? This is your opportunity!"