After a One-Night Stand with a Seductive Bad Woman - Chapter 26

Sheng Shubai seemed to be in a particularly good mood.

 

Lu Jia followed behind the woman, who led her toward the Fourth Exhibition Hall. She glanced at the woman’s upturned lips, her smile radiant, and couldn’t resist stealing another look.

 

Was it because of what I said earlier?

 

During their earlier conversation, Lu Jia had noticed Shen Yunwei’s displeased expression and realized her remark might have been too direct.

 

Rong Yi had smoothed things over, explaining that Xiao Lu was simply straightforward and that Shen Yunwei shouldn’t take it personally.

 

“Professor Sheng,” Lu Jia said, holding her hand. The woman’s thumb occasionally brushed against the base of her palm, a soft, delicate touch.

 

Sheng Shubai hummed in acknowledgment. After a moment’s hesitation, Lu Jia asked if her earlier comment had been too harsh.

 

The woman’s smile widened, and she slowed her pace slightly.

 

“Not at all,” she replied, glancing at Lu Jia’s expression. “She grew up in Country A, where people pride themselves on avoiding formalities and pretense. She won’t mind.”

 

Lu Jia nodded.

 

Sheng Shubai’s emotional intelligence far surpassed her own. To outsiders, she appeared as a charming and cunning fox, always smiling.

 

If Sheng Shubai said there was a problem, there definitely was one.

 

They first toured the Fourth Exhibition Hall, which featured several printmaking works Lu Jiazhi had only seen in photographs.

 

Later that evening, Sheng Shubai said she would introduce Lu Jia to the artists themselves, and she kept her word.

 

The artists, all respected veterans in the field, were remarkably approachable. They chatted warmly with Lu Jia, then, with gentle smiles, invited her to share her interpretations of the paintings.

 

The actual artworks were naturally different from their photographic representations. The ink on the paper seemed to radiate a warmth that was absent in the images.

 

Lu Jia had formed many thoughts about the works. She had originally planned to consult Rong Yi or Sheng Shubai about them. But now, faced with the artists’ encouraging smiles, she instinctively began to speak, then paused, glancing at the woman beside her.

 

She wasn’t afraid to express her opinions, but since Sheng Shubai had brought her here, she worried about saying something inappropriate that might embarrass her.

 

In the next moment, the hand she was holding was subtly squeezed twice, with a gentle pressure.

 

Lu Jia understood Sheng Shubai’s message: Speak freely. I’m here.

 

Lost in organizing her thoughts, Sheng Shubai didn’t notice the subtle shift in her heart, like early spring snow melting from a treetop, silently softening a corner of her chest.

 

A message had indeed arrived, from Rong Yi, likely with something for Lu Jia.

 

Sheng Shubai opened the message preview and glanced up as she unlocked her screen. She saw Lu Jia surrounded by several seniors, clearly unable to check her phone.

 

She tapped into the message interface and scanned the brief text:

 

Sent to Lu Jia, but meant for her eyes as well:

 

“Shen Yunwei just mentioned that Country A will be reviving the Qinghui Cup next year. The details are almost finalized. If Xiao Lu is interested in participating, tell her to spend some time in the Seventh Exhibition Hall later. There are more award-winning prints there.”

 

The Qinghui Cup had once been one of the most prestigious international competitions for young printmakers, but it had been suspended for eight years.

 

Its revival suggested fierce competition ahead.

 

Shen Yunwei, having overheard Sheng Shubai tell Rong Yi to send messages if needed, was deliberately using Rong Yi as a messenger to bring the competition to her attention again.

 

Despite her young age, Shen Yunwei’s intentions ran deep.

 

Sheng Shubai’s gaze lingered briefly on the text before she suppressed her emotions and turned her attention back to the child nearby.

 

Her gaze was sincere, her expression earnest, radiating a humble yet confident demeanor, a thirst for knowledge, and an endearing, obedient charm.

 

Moreover, her talent was undeniable. After just a few exchanges, anyone would feel compelled to nurture her potential.

 

Lu Jia is such a good girl, Sheng Shubai thought.

 

Before long, two senior printmaking professors hinted at wanting to take her on as a doctoral student.

 

Absolutely not, Sheng Shubai thought.

 

As the girl’s fingers nervously traced the hem of her dress, Sheng Shubai raised an eyebrow, smiled warmly, and draped an arm around Lu Jia’s shoulder. With a lighthearted chuckle, she gently declined on Lu Jia’s behalf:

 

“Lu Jia is still young. She hasn’t decided on her future city or specialization yet. No need to rush.”

 

Given her sister’s attitude toward Lu Jia last night, it was only a matter of time before the family elders discovered the child’s existence.

 

Sheng Shubai herself had no interest in printmaking, but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t let Lu Jia study with the Sheng Family.

 

Isn’t this far better than that… Rong Yi?

 

They stayed until nearly noon.

 

As the senior professors gradually departed, the last one even proactively added Lu Jia’s contact information, saying they should stay in touch.

 

Sheng Shubai paused.

 

If this professor hadn’t been close to her family—if she hadn’t even called her “Auntie” when she was little—she…

 

She wouldn’t have done anything.

 

Few works at the exhibition truly warranted close attention.

 

After Sheng Shubai accompanied Lu Jia on a thorough tour, they found themselves back in the main hall on the first floor by around four o’clock in the afternoon.

 

The young woman bowed her head, flipping through her exhibition notes to check for any omissions or works she had missed appreciating. Sheng Shubai stood quietly beside her.

 

At 5:10 PM, under Rong Yi’s watchful gaze, they boarded the car sent by Sheng Shujun, taking all their luggage from the hotel.

 

Naturally, Rong Yi wouldn’t let them go without a word.

 

Sheng Shubai argued vehemently that the hotel was too remote. While she didn’t mind driving Lu Jia back and forth daily, it wasted considerable time. “With that time, Lu Jia could spend nearly two more hours at the exhibition hall. Wouldn’t she prefer that?”

 

“More materials to review? So much reading? Being Professor Rong’s student must be tough.”

 

Only then did Sheng Shubai fall silent.

 

As she boarded the car, the woman radiated triumphant smugness, not forgetting to wave at her colleague standing nearby. “Don’t worry. Lu Jia and I have been neighbors for months. I wouldn’t sell her out, would I?”

 

Rong Yi silently averted her gaze, speechless with frustration.

 

She truly wasn’t reassured.

 

Sheng Residence, Exhibition Hall.

 

Having visited just yesterday, Sheng Shubai had specifically instructed the museum to maintain only the essential security posts.

 

Almost all the display rooms on the fourth floor were left open, including Sheng Ling’s room.

 

Except for one.

 

Sheng Shubai retrieved a key from her bag and handed it to Lu Jia.

 

It was a small, gleaming brass key, as pristine as the day it was made, resting in the woman’s warm, pale palm.

 

Years ago, when Lu Jia severed ties with her family, she had taken the key with her. Later, it had been stored with Sheng Shujun until last night, when she finally retrieved it.

 

Lu Jia’s fingers paused slightly.

 

As she picked up the key, her fingertips inevitably brushed against Sheng Shubai’s palm. Whether it was the museum’s cool temperature or something else, the woman’s skin felt even colder than her own fingertips.

 

Sheng Shubai’s decision to have her open the door must have a reason.

 

After a moment’s thought, Lu Jia refrained from offering polite but pointless remarks like, “Shouldn’t you open it yourself?” She knew Sheng Shubai wouldn’t want to hear such platitudes right now.

 

The door creaked open slowly.

 

Contrary to expectations, the room wasn’t dusty or neglected. Every corner, even the tile grout, was spotless. The slanting rays of the evening sun streamed through the window, bathing the entire room in a warm glow.

 

Lu Jia turned her head in surprise, looking at the woman beside her.

 

“I asked Aunt Xie to have someone give it a quick cleaning this morning before we left,” Sheng Shubai explained.

 

Sheng Shubai, sensing what Lu Jia wanted to ask, proactively reached out and pushed the door wider.

 

The creaking door swung open, revealing the entire exhibition room to Lu Jia’s eyes.

 

This truly reflects Sheng Shubai’s personality, Lu Jia thought.

 

After just a glance, she was convinced that at least 95% of the room’s design and arrangement had been personally overseen by Sheng Shubai in her youth.

 

Free. Unrestrained.

 

Unlike the effortless grace that came with age and experience, every detail of this room radiated the youthful ambition and idealism of its creator.

 

The woman standing before her now was the Sheng Shubai of seventeen or eighteen years old.

 

The moment this realization struck, Lu Jia felt her heart skip a beat, though she couldn’t explain why, nor did she have time to dwell on it.

 

A small portion of Sheng Shubai’s prints followed Sheng Ling’s artistic style, rendering figures with lifelike realism.

 

But the majority embodied her free-spirited nature, focusing on landscapes.

 

These weren’t serene scenes of distant mountains and flowing rivers, or quaint villages with arched bridges. Instead, they depicted sheer cliffs and precipices, vast deserts under scorching suns, and solitary plumes of smoke against the horizon.

 

Even the rare figurative prints weren’t static. The characters’ billowing robes seemed filled with a gust of wind, vibrant and full of life.

 

Lu Jia didn’t know where to begin looking.

 

Or perhaps, each painting here was worthy of her prolonged contemplation.

 

Sheng Shubai remained silent, allowing the girl to slowly stroll in from the doorway, her gaze sweeping repeatedly across the paintings lining the walls.

 

Every inch of this space had been personally designed by Lu Jia herself years ago.

 

She tilted her head, her eyes settling on the right-hand wall near the door. A small wooden strip was embedded there, suspending a delicately crafted six-colored wind chime.

 

It was a gift from Sheng Ling, given shortly after Lu Jia had confided in her about her sexual orientation.

 

The young girl, still in the throes of adolescence, had confessed her attraction to the same s3x. In an artistic family like hers, this revelation caused little surprise, and no one dismissed her words as childish naiveté.

 

Yet only Sheng Ling had presented her with this thoughtful gift, sincerely congratulating her on her newfound longing and yearning for her first love.

 

Sheng Ling possessed an inherently romantic nature.

 

Whether toward family, younger relatives, friends, or… lovers.

 

She filled their lives with small, unexpected joys, meticulously remembering each person’s preferences and habits, treating everyone with unwavering sincerity, as if the world were populated solely by kindhearted souls.

 

Even when she first met Song Lan, it was Song Lan who had offered her an umbrella on a rainy night. Watching the younger woman dash back into the downpour, she couldn’t help but chase after her. Soon after, she encountered the renowned and beautiful senior student, Song Lan, squatting alone under a streetlamp, feeding stray cats.

 

Back then, whenever Sheng Shubai watched her paint, the delicate and ambiguous scenes and the characters’ auras in each painting were so evocative that any single piece could be adapted into a poignant and lingering film.

 

“Your story with Teacher Song is so sweet. Do you draw inspiration from your feelings when you paint?”

 

At that time, Sheng Shubai still referred to Song Lan as “Teacher Song.”

 

The older woman had visited her a few times and offered guidance. Since Song Lan was only a few years older, calling her “Aunt Song” felt too formal.

 

Sheng Ling smiled brightly, resting her chin in her hand, and admitted frankly, “Yes, she’s my Muse.”

 

The Muse had become an executioner, mercilessly stifling her vitality, even her life.

 

There was no wind in the room.

 

Sheng Shubai raised her hand and gently brushed the tassel at the bottom of the wind chime.

 

The sound, crisp as ever after more than a decade, immediately filled the silent room, exactly as Lu Jia remembered it.

 

Lu Jia looked up at the woman a few meters away. The shadow cast on the wall seemed to carry a hint of loneliness.

 

“Miss Sheng,” she called out instinctively.

 

The woman turned to look at her, her eyes holding a faint trace of past memories, her low voice still tinged with emotion. “What is it?”

 

Lu Jia shook her head, unsure of what to say.

 

She averted her gaze, hastily making up an excuse about asking about her work. In the few seconds it took Sheng Shubai to walk over, Lu Jia found herself lost in inexplicable thoughts.

 

This wasn’t the first time.

 

Lu Jia realized she wanted… to hug her.