After Abandoning Her, She Discovered That Her Partner Was a Paranoid - Chapter 23

As Jing Feizuo showed her exhibition pass to the staff and skillfully pushed open the side door for temporary entry, Wen Jin was still curiously observing the art museum.

The exhibition hall’s lights had just come on, and workers were pushing carts back and forth. The air was filled with the mingled scent of sawdust and paint—a novel and unfamiliar aroma to Wen Jin, but as natural as breathing to Jing Feizuo.

She glanced at the Chairman of the Wen Group, who had insisted on accompanying her. His unwavering presence made her feel as if she were babysitting a child.

Fortunately, he was a well-behaved one.

Lost in this absurd thought, her explanation took on a coaxing tone: “My booth is indoors. Most of the outdoor exhibits are large-scale sculptures and performance art.”

Her booth was in Zone E, featuring a twelve-meter-long white wall and three adjustable spotlights. It wasn’t the best location, but it was still quite prominent.

Jing Feizuo set down her bag, pulled out the exhibition plan from her pocket, and double-checked it against the actual layout.

“Adjust the spacing between the frames,” she instructed the worker hanging the paintings, gesturing with her fingers. “Move this one two finger-widths to the left.”

The worker nodded and adjusted the hook accordingly.

Jing Feizuo stepped back two paces, squinting to confirm the visual effect.

Sunlight streamed in through the high windows, striking the canvas at an angle that perfectly captured the light and shadow layers she wanted.

“Test the lighting,” she instructed the lighting technician. “See if we can achieve this natural light effect.”

The spotlights flickered on. Jing Feizuo studied the reflections on the canvas, frowning slightly. “Lower the angle a bit more. Don’t shine directly on it.”

The technician adjusted the lights several times until Jing Feizuo finally nodded in satisfaction.

“I wish everyone was as clear and straightforward as you,” the technician said, raising a hand. “Yesterday, one booth had us disassemble and reinstall the light fixtures five times.”

Jing Feizuo smiled, said nothing, and simply shook his hand. “Thank you for your hard work.”

Wen Jin watched Jing Feizuo bustling around, completely captivated.

Today, Jing Feizuo was wearing denim overalls, the deep blue fabric hugging her slender frame. A baseball cap pulled back her usual loose black hair, leaving only a few strands peeking out behind her ears.

The practical outfit, combined with her unpolished sharpness, gave her the air of a young rancher.

The moment Wen Jin stepped into the space, she felt it clearly: this was Jing Feizuo’s domain.

Wen Jin followed Jing Feizuo, watching her effortlessly command the space. Every precise movement declared this was her domain.

Wen Jin recalled the first time she saw Jing Feizuo’s name. She had eagerly inquired about her from the curator.

The old man had pointed to Jing Feizuo’s photograph, stroked his beard, and lavishly praised her as a natural-born creator.

Wen Jin gazed at Jing Feizuo’s back as she crouched to inspect the wiring, the denim fabric stretching tautly across her thighs.

A familiar restlessness stirred in her veins, but it wasn’t the usual urge to control. Instead, it was an unfamiliar impulse—a desire to be conquered by this woman.

“President Wen, are you planning to just stand around all day?” Jing Feizuo’s voice cut through Wen Jin’s drifting thoughts.

Wen Jin smiled, trying to mask her distraction. “How’s the setup going?”

Jing Feizuo waved her hand. “Almost done. After all, I only have space for three paintings.”

She crossed her arms and gazed at the three canvases hanging on the wall, then couldn’t resist explaining to Wen Jin, “The middle one was painted during my university days. It inexplicably gained a lot of attention and became my breakthrough work.”

Wen Jin had never been interested in painting or art, but she was intensely curious about Jing Feizuo’s work. “Hmm?”

Jing Feizuo rested her chin in her hand, a self-deprecating smile playing on her lips.

“You know, this painting has been incredibly controversial in the art world. Some criticize its unbalanced composition, others find the color palette too deliberate, and many argue that its ability to generate buzz is the most absurd thing about it. I almost locked it away in storage.

“But my teacher said that if this painting bore her signature, those criticisms would transform into praise. I found that rather amusing, so I decided to bring it after all.”

Wen Jin studied the painting intently. Across the wide canvas stretched a shattered mirror.

Up close, each fragment reflected a different emotion of the same face, the pieces separated by hairline-thin black lines that resembled both cracks and the connecting threads of nerves.

Yet when Wen Jin stepped back three paces, the fragments visually reassembled themselves. The fractured emotions miraculously coalesced, and the mirror’s reflection reverted to its most ordinary state: a serene curve of the lips, relaxed brows, as if the earlier turmoil had never existed.

Only the deliberately left hairline gaps along the “cracks” in the mirror served as a reminder of the myriad fissures beneath this facade of perfect tranquility.

Wen Jin sighed sincerely, “You’re a natural-born creator.”

Though the paintings for the exhibition had been arranged, the details were far from finished.

Before she could catch her breath, the curatorial assistant hurried over and handed Jing Feizuo a newly printed proof of the exhibition labels. “Ms. Jing, please verify the text.”

Jing Feizuo took the proof and quickly scanned it.

She pointed to one line. “The material description is missing ‘mixed media.’ Everything else looks correct.”

The assistant jotted down the correction and handed her a thick guidebook. “This is a sample copy of the exhibition guide. Your work is featured on page 47.”

Jing Feizuo flipped to the page and glanced over the text.

The writing was standard and accurate, but the accompanying photograph was too dark, making the painting appear duller than it was in reality.

She tapped the image. “Who took this photo?”

“It was a sample shot taken by the official photographer last week. Is there a problem?”

“Yes,” she said, closing the guidebook. “Use a different photo. I’ll send you one later.”

The assistant nodded, confirmed there were no other issues, and hurried off to the next exhibition booth.

Jing Feizuo let out a short breath.

Only after Jing Feizuo finished communicating with her assistant did Wen Jin approach. “It’s almost lunchtime.”

“President Wen, would you like to be a culinary explorer for once?” Jing Feizuo suggested.

Wen Jin chuckled and readily accepted Jing Feizuo’s assignment.

By noon, the exhibition hall had gradually come alive with activity.

Standing before her booth, Jing Feizuo watched art professionals from various fields weave through the crowd. With Wen Jin dispatched elsewhere, the area around her booth remained completely silent, as if protected by an invisible barrier.

Of course, the silence was only temporary.

A booming female voice soon shattered the quiet.

“Jing, I knew you’d arrive early!”

Turning, Jing Feizuo saw curator Marl striding toward her in high heels, wearing her luxurious suit with the commanding presence of battle armor, a cup of coffee in hand.

“Marl, it’s been a while,” Jing Feizuo said. She wrinkled her nose, having caught the bitter aroma of the coffee from afar. “What’s that you’re holding?”

Marl offered the cup. “My lifeline—double espresso, no sugar. Want to try some?”

Jing Feizuo laughed and shook her head.

Marl didn’t genuinely offer the coffee. She took a sip herself, her gaze sweeping over the hung paintings. “The light and shadow work is even sharper than when I last saw them.”

Jing Feizuo replied tersely, “I switched to a different primer.”

Marl suddenly lowered her voice, winking meaningfully. “I heard you turned down Di Jinxuan’s offer?”

“Who told you that?”

“Everyone’s talking about it, even betting on which company you’ll ultimately sign with.” Marl grinned. “Someone saw you having dinner with Wen Jin yesterday, and now they’re speculating that the Wen Group poached Di Jinxuan’s target. So, are you planning to sign with them?”

Jing Feizuo was both surprised and exasperated.

“Are they all trying to become entertainment reporters now?” She paused slightly. “The Wen Group’s business has nothing to do with the art market, does it?”

“Darling, your business sense is abysmal,” Marl said, her tone exasperated. “The Wen Group has been signaling its expansion plans for months. Everyone’s scrambling to get on their good side.”

Jing Feizuo was about to retort when she caught a glimpse of Wen Jin approaching in the distance.

She nodded toward Marl’s back. “Are you talking about her when you say ‘good side’?”

Marl followed her gaze, turned around, and exclaimed in surprise, “Is your sponsor already here to see your exhibition setup?”

“She’s not my sponsor,” Jing Feizuo said, pursing her lips. After a moment of hesitation, she finally settled on her words, letting them fall softly into the air. “She’s… a friend.”

Marl, oblivious to Jing Feizuo’s hesitation, brightened.

“So you two are friends? That’s wonderful!” She frowned, struggling to find the right words, and finally blurted out in Chinese, “First come, first served, right?”

Jing Feizuo chuckled at Marl’s attempt at the idiom, but ultimately shook her head. “I’m not planning on signing with a company right now.”

Marl nodded understandingly. “Just like your teacher. Still, it’s nice to be free from the constraints of a commercial company.”

As they spoke, Wen Jin drew closer.

Marl stepped forward to greet her. The two exchanged a few polite formalities, and the conversation quickly ended.

After Marl walked away, Wen Jin turned to Jing Feizuo. “Hungry? Want to try out my latest culinary discovery?”

Jing Feizuo whistled. “Let’s go, food critic.”

The international exhibition offered ten times the exposure of a typical gallery show, but Jing Feizuo wasn’t particularly enthusiastic about it.

She especially disliked the accompanying media conferences and endless photo sessions.

Whenever she was surrounded by flashing lights and microphones, she couldn’t help but wonder if she was creating the exhibits or if she herself had become the exhibit.

Unfortunately, reality left her no choice. After only a brief midday rest, Jing Feizuo had to rush back to work.

Wen Jin, finally tied up with other matters, didn’t accompany her this time.

The afternoon’s media interviews were tightly scheduled.

Several art media outlets took turns, their questions largely the same: creative inspiration, feelings about participating in the exhibition, and future plans.

Jing Feizuo answered concisely, occasionally adding a touch of dry humor, but never uttering a single unnecessary word.

In short, she gave the reporters no opportunity to create sensational headlines.

“Last question,” a reporter called out, holding up a microphone. “We heard that Luna went against the consensus to recommend you for this joint exhibition. Is that true?”

“Forcefully overcome opposition? My teacher said she merely suggested it, and the exhibition readily agreed,” Jing Feizuo replied, her tone unusually sharp as she shrugged. “Luna opened the door, but I walked through it myself.”

After the interview, the official photographer approached to take portrait shots.

Jing Feizuo stood with her hands in her pockets.

The shoot had been going on for fifteen minutes. She constantly adjusted her posture and angle at the photographer’s direction. As the flash went off, she instinctively squinted.

“Last shot. Please look to your left.”

Jing Feizuo turned her head, her gaze landing on the workers setting up the exhibition in the distance.

Just as the shutter clicked, a subtle shift crossed her face: the corners of her mouth softened, the sharpness in her eyes faded, revealing a rare vulnerability.

The photographer lowered his camera. “Perfect!”

Jing Feizuo walked over to review the images on the camera screen, swiping through the photos until she reached the last one.

She stared at her frozen expression, momentarily stunned.

She had seen countless close-ups like this before.

Every time, she had been the one holding the camera. Now, it was her own face staring back from the screen.

In a daze, the image on the screen suddenly distorted. She saw the faces of countless ex-girlfriends swirling between the pixels.

“Ms. Jing?” The photographer’s voice pulled her back to reality. “Should we keep this shot?”

The image on the screen reverted to her own face.

Staring at that soft, unguarded expression, she suddenly felt a wave of discomfort.

It looked too much like the faces she had once collected.

“Delete it,” Jing Feizuo said.

As she left the studio, a familiar voice called out from behind.

“Jing!”

She turned to see Amy, a college classmate, jogging toward her, a folder clutched in her arms. In this commercialized atmosphere, Amy’s academic aura stood out like a sore thumb.

Jing Feizuo looked slightly surprised. “Amy! What are you doing here?”

“I’m still at school, but they needed volunteers for the exhibition,” Amy explained briefly, eager to get to her main point. “I saw your name on the list and have been looking for you. There’s a reunion coming up soon. Want to join?”

She blinked. “Same old place. Since you’re here, everyone’s really hoping you’ll come.”

Jing Feizuo’s eyes lit up instantly. “When is it?”