After Marrying the Aloof Beauty, I Totally Fell for Her - Chapter 39

Chapter 39: You Were Cute Just Now

The woman in the car, who usually had slightly upturned, almond-shaped eyes, had widened them into perfect circles, staring at her for quite a while.

An Ning felt nervous, but at the same time, a bit pleased with herself—after all, this version of Mu Yan only appeared because of her.

The other woman could now be considered half her girlfriend. Wanting a bit of special treatment seemed perfectly reasonable.

Thinking this, she braced herself and didn’t apologize, locking eyes directly with Mu Yan.

But deep down, her logic wasn’t exactly solid, and her confidence was waning fast. The longer she held the gaze, the hotter her face burned, until she felt like it was about to catch fire.

“…Hmph.” Perhaps because her expression was getting too ridiculous, the woman on the other end let out a snort of laughter and gave up the staring match. Her tone was as cold as an early spring snowfall. “So, did it feel good?”

An Ning: “…”

That little kiss earlier had been a spur-of-the-moment decision. It was only after being stared down by Mu Yan that she came up with an excuse. Now that she was being asked to describe it, she couldn’t come up with anything coherent.

“Uh… well, it was pretty nice. Soft and fragrant, a little sweet too…” she tried to recall the brief kiss with difficulty, describing it bit by bit—only to see Mu Yan’s expression grow darker and darker. She quickly shut up obediently.

“Hmph.” Seeing her fall silent, the woman snorted dismissively, then rolled up the car window. The white SUV made a clean, sharp turn and sped off, leaving An Ning standing there in a daze.

Was she mad?

Uneasy, An Ning pulled her suitcase and started walking home. Just as she was nearing the front door, her phone buzzed.

She took it out, and a message popped up from the cactus-icon WeChat contact.

MY: Touch me again without permission next time, minus ten points.

An Ning actually laughed out loud like a fool right there at the doorstep.

Even she could tell that Mu Yan wasn’t seriously upset. Sending that message was more about saving face—it must have been that Teacher Mu felt embarrassed and needed to reassert herself.

How could she be this cute?

An Ning quickly replied with a sticker of a puppy nodding, sincerely promising not to do it again.

As for whether she was really remorseful… well, that would depend on what happened next time.

Feeling elated, An Ning entered the house and greeted her parents.

Her mom came over, gave her a once-over, and said teasingly with a touch of suspicion, “Going out with Yan Yan really is different. You’re still smiling this big after walking through the front door.”

An Ning smiled and nodded. “Yeah, it really was fun.”

She hadn’t yet figured out how to tell her parents that she was now with Mu Yan. After all, people from the older generation might not understand what a “trial period” relationship meant.

Liu Jiajing watched her daughter hum a tune as she dragged her suitcase into her room. A sharp glint flashed through her eyes as she turned to her husband. “Something’s not right.”

An Yajun: “…Calm down. Let the kids handle their own business.”

Liu Jiajing sighed. “I know, but you also know I’ve always felt guilty about that child.”

An Yajun stayed silent for a long time before saying, “Yeah. Our family owes her a debt we probably can’t repay in this lifetime.”

Back in her room, An Ning unpacked, then sat at her desk and opened WeChat.

I’m Not Jealous: Teacher Mu, are you home yet? [puppy peeking.gif]

MY: Just got home.

I’m Not Jealous: Mmhm, have a good rest~ [puppy lying down tired.gif]

MY: Got it.

Although Mu Yan’s replies were cold as usual, An Ning still smiled at those two short messages for quite a while. She could practically picture Teacher Mu’s face—annoyed but secretly pleased.

Just like a cat—clearly enjoying the attention, but acting like she didn’t care.

An Ning suddenly realized that she actually understood Mu Yan a little more than she thought.

At the very least, she knew that most of the time, Teacher Mu’s coldness wasn’t because of dislike.

She also realized that even though they had only been apart for less than two hours, she already missed Mu Yan a little.

Was this what it meant to like someone?

She opened her notes app and typed a sentence:

“The moment we parted, I started missing you.”

She stared at that line for a while. It was cheesy as hell—but she couldn’t bring herself to delete it. In fact, she pinned the note to the top.

She titled it: “Answer for MY.”

Just as she exited the notes app, a new WeChat notification popped up. An Ning thought it was from Mu Yan and quickly opened it—

Turned out it was the class rep, Li Cong, tagging everyone in the class group chat.

Li Cong: This weekend, a fluid art exhibition hosted by the Provincial Art Association will be held at Yun University’s Art Department gallery. Some of our alumni’s paintings will also be featured. The main exhibit is Mr. Tieshu’s new piece, Wildfire. If you’re interested, feel free to check it out. @Everyone

It was obvious this was an announcement the school had asked him to forward—not Li Cong’s personal initiative. No normal person would expect a bunch of sports majors to go back to school during winter break to look at art.

The rest of the class responded normally—joking that the class rep must have attendance quotas to fill and asking for red packets as bribes to go.

The old An Ning probably would’ve glanced at the message and moved on.

But now, her eyes lingered on the name “Mr. Tieshu” and couldn’t move away.

Mu Yan’s new work?

People often say a creator’s personality and their work aren’t as inseparable as people think.

But if An Ning wanted to understand Teacher Mu better—this really wasn’t a bad way to try.

Her eyes fell on the utility knife under her desk.

But she didn’t know anything about art. If she went to look, would she even understand what she was seeing?

A sly smile curved her lips as if she had just thought of a brilliant idea.

I’m Not Jealous: Teacher Mu, there’s an art exhibition at my school this weekend, and your painting is the main feature! I want to go check it out. Do you have time to come with me? [happy puppy.gif]

Mu Yan didn’t reply immediately.

About five minutes passed before the chat updated.

MY: Sure. Let me know two hours in advance—I’ll pick you up.

I’m Not Jealous: Okay! [excited puppy.gif]

Putting down her phone, An Ning opened her browser and started researching Tieshu.

If she could say something smart about the art when the time came, Teacher Mu might be impressed, right?

But the results weren’t very satisfying.

Most of the search results about Tieshu were the usual rumors about her “disappearance” or gossip about her supposed rivalry with an artist named Zhehua. There was very little real analysis of her actual artwork.

Apparently, most of Tieshu’s paintings were sold directly through auctions at sky-high prices to private collectors. Only a few circulated online and attracted fans. But unlike Zhehua’s fans, who liked to analyze her techniques and praise her skills, Tieshu’s fans mostly just… groveled in the comments.

Honestly, An Ning could relate.

She stared at those paintings for a few minutes and felt the same.

Tieshu’s works usually depicted a single scene or figure. They weren’t about intense sensory stimulation, but they somehow made viewers feel the pain, as if they were part of the painting.

Just like the time she saw that suffocating expression on a woman’s face—it made her feel like she couldn’t breathe.

Fans even gave Tieshu’s works a nickname: “Monsters.”

Her skill was no less than Zhehua’s, but compared to the raw feeling in her paintings, technique almost felt irrelevant.

Average viewers couldn’t put it into words—most comments were just things like “holy sht I’m on my knees.”*

Professional critics weren’t usually the type to post on fan forums.

But An Ning finally found something useful in the comments of a news article about Zhehua.

The article mentioned a rabid Zhehua fan who made a post bashing Tieshu, accusing her of being overhyped and undeserving of her fame, saying she only got popular because of some secret backer.

The reason the post became newsworthy was because a professional appraiser actually replied.

Reply: I always find it funny when you guys fight like this. Do you think those rich people paying millions for paintings are all idiots? Zhehua’s work is amazing—great technique, beautiful aesthetics. If Tieshu didn’t exist, I’d happily call her the best in the country. But let’s be honest—whether or not you understand art, as long as you’re not blind, if you put their paintings side-by-side, it’s obvious they’re not on the same level. Let me put it this way: Zhehua paints like a master martial artist. Tieshu? She paints like she’s cultivating immortality. You get it?

That exaggerated?

An Ning blinked, then typed Zhehua’s name into the search bar.

She remembered seeing Zhehua listed among the exhibiting artists. She was curious about this painter who always came up in discussions of Tieshu.

Zhehua’s online profile was the polar opposite of Tieshu’s.

The first result was a headline: “The Inspirational Life of a Beautiful Painter.”

It showed a high-resolution artistic portrait of a woman in her thirties, holding a bouquet of flowers and standing by a sunlit window, smiling peacefully.

The accompanying article was filled with emotional storytelling about a tough childhood, a hardworking single mother, and a talented, driven daughter who grew up to become a renowned artist.

The more An Ning read, the more familiar it all sounded.

Teacher Mu also came from a single-parent family, right…?

Was a tragic backstory a prerequisite for being an artist?

Toward the end of the article, it mentioned Tieshu again—though the author’s bias was obvious even through the screen.

It said that while Tieshu was just as famous as Zhehua, her rise to fame was bizarre. She was unknown until five years ago, when she painted a piece called Remnants, which was bought for an exorbitant amount. After that, Tieshu’s reputation skyrocketed. For a while, owning a painting of hers became a status symbol among the wealthy.

Zhehua, on the other hand, had first gained a following online with her consistently high-quality output before eventually earning professional recognition.

Tieshu was the opposite—praised by experts first, then known to the public due to her sky-high painting prices.

The author, clearly pro-Zhehua, implied that Tieshu’s early success was suspicious.

Seriously?

If Teacher Mu really had some powerful connections like those people claimed, would she have lived in that run-down faculty housing before she got famous? It’s not like that place had good feng shui or something.

An Ning frowned and closed her browser.

Forget it—reading all these baseless rumors wasn’t helping. She might as well ask Teacher Mu directly.

If she was willing to talk.

A few days passed in a blur, and soon the weekend arrived.

An Ning woke up early, went for a half-hour jog, and then helped her mom make breakfast.

Her mom stared at her for a long time before suddenly asking, “You’re going out with Yan Yan again today, aren’t you?”

How did she know?

An Ning paused mid-whisk, staring at her mom in surprise.

“You’re smiling so hard your gums are showing,” her mom gave her a sideways look but sounded genuinely pleased. “If you’re going out, listen to Yan Yan and don’t make her mad, okay?”

An Ning couldn’t help but laugh. “Mom, when have I not listened to you? And why do I feel like you’re more affectionate to Teacher Mu than to me?”

After a cheerful breakfast, An Ning sent a message.

I’m Not Jealous: Teacher Mu, I’m ready!

The reply came quickly and concisely.

MY: Wait.

An Ning was just about to change clothes and go downstairs when Mu Yan sent another message.

MY: Don’t come down until I call you.

Was she worried she’d get cold?

An Ning stared at her phone and giggled like a fool.

Her parents exchanged a glance, sharing the unspoken joy of parents whose daughter had finally figured out how to chase a girl.

Over an hour later, her phone buzzed. An Ning answered as she dashed downstairs.

She didn’t even let the person on the other end speak before blurting, “Teacher Mu! I’ll be right there!”

“…Slow down.”

The woman’s cool voice came through the line—tinged with helpless gentleness.

An Ning replied quickly, but still got to the gate in half the usual time.

The white SUV was already waiting.

“Teacher Mu,” she greeted as she climbed in.

The woman wore a white sweater and black slim-fit pants, her thick brown coat draped over the seat.

“What are you staring at?” Mu Yan noticed her gaze and looked over in confusion.

“Uh, nothing. It’s just… we haven’t seen each other for a few days,” An Ning said honestly. “I missed you a lot.”

Mu Yan’s hand paused over the gear shift. Her refined brows furrowed slightly, and her gaze toward An Ning grew complicated.

Like someone eating a slice of cake that was way too sweet—overwhelmed, but unable to stop.

“What’s wrong?” An Ning didn’t think she’d said anything odd. She wasn’t the type to beat around the bush. Before, she’d held back because she wasn’t sure how Mu Yan felt and didn’t want to scare her off.

Now that things were clearer, there was no need to hold herself back.

“…”

Mu Yan was silent for a moment, then suddenly reached over.

Her cool fingers pinched An Ning’s cheek, pulling it into a silly shape.

“Sweet talker. Minus five points.”

An Ning sat there, letting her do whatever she wanted, until Mu Yan was satisfied and finally let go, starting the car.

“Why are you deducting points again?” An Ning whined—her voice even more syrupy than usual, so much so that even she found it unbearable.

Just like a little kid whining to get attention from an adult.

Mu Yan shot her a cold glance, her tone laced with threat. “Got a problem?”

“No, Teacher Mu is always right!” An Ning immediately sat up straight and acted obediently.

“Hmph.” Mu Yan let out a light snort, clearly appeased.

But then the passenger seat’s little chatterbox spoke up again.

“Then I should be able to give Teacher Mu points too. +10 for pinching my face, +10 for being cute just now…”

“Shut up.”

Mu Yan cut her off.

“Huh?”

An Ning turned to look—just in time to see a flush creep up the woman’s neck, slowly dyeing her ears pink as well.

Mu Yan glared at her—blushing at the edges of her eyes yet still trying to act fierce.

“No more talking!”