Big Miss and White Moonlight, Stop Fighting! - Chapter 1
Chapter 1: But a Love-Struck Fool
Inside the brightly lit exhibition hall, paintings of vastly different styles filled the space.
Some of the artworks were so cold and bizarre that just a glance would send a chill down one’s spine. Others were so warm and passionate they could bring someone to tears.
If not for the clear signage stating this was the solo exhibition of the artist Wen Wuxin, any onlooker would reasonably assume it was a group show featuring multiple artists.
Though the exhibition doors had only just opened, the guests had already been waiting outside for quite some time. The moment the doors parted, the crowd surged in.
Among them were society elites—whether titans of the art world, billion-dollar tycoons from finance, or the hottest stars in entertainment, every face bore the same expression: pure admiration. Every painting drew a crowd of transfixed onlookers.
“Old Zheng, your student is truly something else.”
A group of silver-haired elders gathered around a sketch titled She, speaking in hushed tones.
In the artwork, a long-haired woman sat on a wooden chair. Another woman knelt on the ground, resting her head lovingly on the lap of the seated woman. She gripped the other’s hand tightly and pressed reverent kisses to the back of it.
The only oddity—the seated woman had no face.
A woman in a cheongsam commented, her voice tinged with envy:
“Old Zheng, we’re all jealous. Your final student before retirement turned out so outstanding—she’s even surpassed the master.”
But Zheng Lu didn’t smile. Instead, she sighed.
The others were puzzled.
“You’re still not satisfied? Look at the form, the light and shadow work—Old Zheng, can any of your students compare?”
Zheng Lu raised her hand and, through the glass, gently touched the faceless figure in the sketch.
“Yes, Wuxin is gifted—a genius, even. But…”
She dropped her hand and smiled bitterly.
“These days, don’t young people call it being ‘love-brained’? Wuxin cares too much about that Jiang girl.”
A man in a traditional vest snorted.
“Cares too much? You’re putting it mildly. A woman liking another woman is already absurd, but Wen Wuxin had such a bright future in art! Instead, she throws herself at someone who treats her like a toy. She’s disgracing the whole profession!”
The cheongsam elder scoffed.
“You’re being ridiculous. What’s wrong with two women being together? You sound like an old fossil.”
Zheng Lu shook her head.
“Don’t argue. I don’t mind her loving a woman—as long as it’s mutual. But Jiang Qingyue… she may seem affectionate, but she’s the most heartless of all.”
She looked back at the sketch.
“The kneeling figure is clearly Wuxin. And the faceless woman…”
After a pause, Zheng Lu continued quietly:
“Even without the facial features, we all know who it is.”
She was sure—it was Jiang Qingyue.
The others offered her some comfort, but she fell silent again, staring at the piece—undeniably a masterpiece.
As time passed, guests sipped champagne, the atmosphere lively and elegant, everyone waiting for the star of the show.
Click. Clack. Click. Clack.
Heels tapped crisply across the polished floor.
Wen Wuxin had arrived.
The rising star of the art world wore a pale lavender strapless gown, the bodice hugging her waist, the layered skirt cascading to just above the knees. Only her slender legs peeked through.
Despite the dreamlike dress, Wen Wuxin’s gaze remained indifferent.
She walked gracefully onto the stage. First, a polite smile—though no warmth reached her eyes.
Then, she picked up the microphone. Her lips parted.
“Thank you all for taking time from your busy lives to attend the opening of my solo exhibition. I hope my work won’t disappoint.”
“I owe everything to your support. Especially my teacher, Zheng Lu—I wouldn’t be here today without her.”
Zheng Lu smiled and waved from the crowd.
Wen Wuxin paused, then continued:
“But the one I’m most grateful to… is her.”
She didn’t say the name, but her eyes softened like melting snow in spring.
“She means everything to me. Without her, I couldn’t have created these works. Be it joy or pain—whatever she gave me—I cherished it all.”
Zheng Lu closed her eyes with a sigh. She knew exactly what her student wanted.
Everyone knew Wen Wuxin was just one of Jiang Qingyue’s many lovers. A special one, perhaps—but still, nothing official.
Zheng Lu would’ve preferred if Wuxin only wanted money. But tragically, she wanted love.
Some guests exchanged glances. Some sneered, some sighed, but most wore carefully maintained smiles.
Wen Wuxin didn’t care. She continued gently:
“Now, I’ll unveil the final painting.”
She handed the microphone to a staff member and approached a large crimson cloth—two meters tall and wide.
Back to the crowd, she exhaled slowly, eyes lowered, hiding her emotions.
Her pale, delicate hands grasped the fabric. With a single tug, the final piece was revealed.
“Oh my god!”
“Beautiful…”
“Stunning…”
Gasps echoed, followed by involuntary praise.
It was an oil painting of a single woman.
She stood in a sea of flowers, wearing a white, Grecian-style gown—pure and sacred amidst the riot of colors.
Her left hand was raised, holding a white camellia.
But—bl00d stained the petals. Faint, almost invisible unless inspected closely.
The woman’s face? None other than Jiang Qingyue, heir to the Jiang family.
Everyone first marveled at the beauty—then recognized her.
Although “surprise” didn’t quite fit—Wen Wuxin’s obsession with Jiang Qingyue was no secret.
Regardless of the subject’s identity, it was a work of genius. Praise abounded.
But one person didn’t join in.
Zheng Lu’s expression turned grave. She stared hard at the woman’s eyes in the painting.
Almond-shaped, glowing black irises, warm and sacred.
But that was not Jiang Qingyue’s gaze.
Her years of artistic intuition screamed at her—this wasn’t Jiang Qingyue.
But the resemblance was perfect… if it wasn’t her, then who?
Ignoring her friend, Zheng Lu rushed toward the stage.
Wen Wuxin noticed and walked over with a calm smile.
“Teacher Zheng, what’s wrong?”
Zheng Lu hesitated, knowing she was being blunt, but asked:
“Is that person in the painting really Jiang Qingyue?”
Wen Wuxin neither nodded nor shook her head. Her eyes momentarily lost focus, then quickly cleared.
She brushed her hair back and replied gently:
“Of course it’s her.”
Zheng Lu tried to reason with her:
“Wuxin, don’t be so stubborn. You know the two of you aren’t right for each other. This path will only lead to pain.”
Wen Wuxin smiled sweetly.
“I don’t care. If it’s her—even if I’m crushed to pieces—I’m willing.”
The older man from earlier stormed over.
“Wen Wuxin, you’re talented and lucky—but you should cherish your reputation. No one respects an artist who throws away their dignity for love.”
Still unmoved, Wen Wuxin replied:
“I’ve said it—I’m only here today because of her. I don’t care what others think. If she’ll just look at me, that’s enough.”
The old man trembled with rage. Zheng Lu quickly pulled him aside.
“Xinxin!”
A soft, drawn-out voice echoed through the hall.
Wen Wuxin turned, her previously cold gaze now sparkling with light.
A woman in an elegant white suit approached, smiling as she called out.
Wen Wuxin’s face lit up with shy delight.
“Qingyue? Didn’t you say you had a meeting today?”
She ran toward her, her pace speeding up.
Guests graciously made way.
That was when disaster struck.
From the patrolling security team, a man suddenly lunged toward Wen Wuxin. It happened so fast, no one had time to react.
In his left hand glinted something sharp—a knife.
Wen Wuxin’s pupils contracted. She instinctively raised her arms to block the attack.
But someone moved faster.
A flash of white—Jiang Qingyue appeared like magic, blocking her path.
The man groaned in pain.
Jiang Qingyue shielded Wen Wuxin, deflected the attacker’s arm, and kicked him hard in the stomach.
The man flew backward several meters, hitting the ground hard. Security swarmed him.
Crisis averted.
Jiang Qingyue exhaled and turned back, voice soft:
“Xinxin, are you okay?”
But Wen Wuxin didn’t answer. Her lips parted—eyes brimming with tears.
“Your hand,” she choked.
“It’s bleeding.”