A Moment Too Late (GL) - Chapter 64

She propped herself up, not having slept, and leaned down to kiss Shu Yubai’s forehead, then her brow, collarbone, and continued down, her kisses falling gently like feathers, tickling the heart.

The kisses stopped at her chest.

The girl buried her head in that softness and stayed still.

“……”

At night, a bit of light filtered through the window, soft and cool, illuminating the girl’s fair, smooth forehead. Her thick eyelashes curled as if they were filled with moonlight.

“Nan Xue.”

Shu Yubai called her name.

There was no response; her breathing was even and long.

Had she fallen asleep?

Shu Yubai didn’t move. In the quiet night, she looked down, paused for a moment, and her slightly cold fingertips touched her bare shoulder. It was very smooth, with a hint of chill.

She pulled up the small blanket draped over Nan Xue’s shoulder, covering her snugly, and quietly encircled her, closing her eyes.

The weight on her chest wasn’t heavy.

Nan Xue’s arm was wrapped around Shu Yubai’s waist, very close.

Shu Yubai was in a slightly reclined position, her chest rising and falling gently. The girl’s breathing was warm and charming, spreading in gentle waves, with a hint of warm moisture.

Her heartbeat became uncontrollable.

Nan Xue, however, gently pushed her away, seemingly short of breath. She wriggled up a bit, furrowed her brows, took a breath, turned over, and continued to sleep.

Her black hair, damp with fine sweat, clung to her snow-white cheek.

At night, everything was quiet, with a faint white trace on the horizon outside the window. The night sky was pitch black. The stars were still shining, and this was a city that never sleeps. Inside the room, people gradually fell asleep.

••••

The next day.

Nan Xue slept deeply, intoxicated and hard to wake.

Shu Yubai got up on her own, washed up, dressed, and went out.

The competition was held in a private academy.

The academy was quite large. Upon entering, a Japanese painting was hanging on a high wooden platform. Below the painting, a slender high porcelain vase held several plum branches, a brown withered lotus pod, and some dry straw-like things.

Bamboo curtains hung on the glass doors of the hall, and a row of fine bamboo planted outside obscured the view inside the art studio.

Shu Yubai walked in. Inside, there were neatly arranged low square wooden tables, and the wooden floor was warm. Shoes had to be removed upon entry.

In this group of about thirty people, Shu Yubai removed her shoes at the door, and a staff member helped her put them in a locker and took her bag and phone, locking them in a small locker.

You Fu was in another group, not in the same studio, but with her senior brother.

“Are you nervous?”

Her senior brother glanced at her.

Shu Yubai shook her head, then nodded: “Not at first, but now I seem a bit nervous. What about you, senior brother?”

Her senior brother smiled and didn’t speak.

On the other side, Bei Zhen came over, saw Shu Yubai standing there, and looked at her with a somewhat indifferent and impatient expression.

“What number are you?”

Bei Zhen asked, “I’m in this room too.”

Shu Yubai picked up the small card given by the staff and saw that she was number 12.

She showed it to Bei Zhen, then put it back around her neck: “What about you? What’s your number?”

“Number 7.”

Bei Zhen showed her card.

Fortunately, their numbers weren’t close.

Shu Yubai tried to avoid her.

In the past, their painting styles were quite similar—elegant and retro, skilled in detailed depiction, with light colors, somewhat translucent, like faint paintings on porcelain.

Therefore, they were often compared.

What were the results of these comparisons?

Some praised Bei Zhen.

Others, however, firmly believed Shu Yubai’s work was better, and that she was not on the same level as someone who had “money from their parents to get in.”

Bei Zhen herself believed those praises and was completely convinced.

But at every major exhibition, it was always Shu Yubai who won awards and got featured.

It seemed that Bei Zhen’s paintings never caught the eye of the authoritative judges.

As a result, Bei Zhen grew increasingly displeased with her.

The staff signaled for them to go in. Each person found their own seat, and the air immediately grew quiet.

Shu Yubai found her seat in the second row, second column.

She sat cross-legged, but out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Bei Zhen sitting next to her—this row had five people, and indeed, Bei Zhen was right beside her.

She sighed lightly and looked away.

Only one minute until the start.

“How’s your hand?”

Bei Zhen rested her chin on her hand, her tone laced with casual sarcasm. “Can you still hold a brush?”

“It’s almost healed.”

Shu Yubai looked down, organizing her brushes and paints, while thinking about the painting she would do shortly.

The paper here was all the same size.

So, only small-scale paintings could be done; larger sizes were not allowed.

Bei Zhen clicked her tongue and sat up straight.

Since Shu Yubai had withdrawn from major exhibitions due to hand pain, Bei Zhen hadn’t taken her seriously at all.

— Without recent work, even the best artist becomes irrelevant.

Especially since Shu Yubai was just starting out.

A middle-aged man with white hair came in, stood on the stage, glanced at his watch—it was time. He turned on the projector, and a line of Japanese poetry appeared on the white screen, accompanied by English translation.

**Snow Field House Girl**

**雪の朝二の字二の字の下駄のあと**

Translated roughly into Chinese:

**Last night’s snow flurries,**

**In the morning, a trail of “two” characters,**

**Who left the clogs’ marks?**

Shu Yubai lowered her gaze, her red lips curving slightly. The mood of this poem was quite similar to classical Chinese poetry.

The middle-aged man on stage looked down and read out the rules and notices. Shu Yubai listened while bending down to retrieve the materials and tools she needed from the ground.

The paper could be taken freely.

The brushes and paints were uniform.

She first used a pencil to sketch a rough draft and then picked up the materials she needed.

With the brush dipped in light ink, the mountains on the paper were in water colors, gradually fading from dark to light. At the base of the mountains, there was a small pavilion, and a maid in light gauze stood on the path, surrounded by blooming plum blossoms, with white snow dotted on the tree trunk in clusters.

The maid’s skirt fluttered, and her wooden clogs trod on a thin layer of snow.

She gazed into the distance, her expression sorrowful.

In competitions, there is rarely any innovation; the focus is on the artist’s fundamental skills. How solid the fundamentals are determines the outcome of the painting—there’s no luck involved in winning.

Shu Yubai was accustomed to painting court ladies.

Seeing this poem, she picked up her brush and painted this piece.

After finishing, she glanced at Bei Zhen.

They had surprisingly chosen similar themes.

It felt somewhat subtle.

Bei Zhen had also painted a court lady, but with a different scene. Her painting featured a maid in a courtyard, with withered phoenix trees and layers of moonlight, giving a “deep courtyard locked in autumn’s clear chill” vibe.

Bei Zhen’s mood was captured well, but her fundamentals were truly poor. It seemed she had been lazy during preparation, disliking basic practice. With someone backing her, her painting didn’t matter much—she could easily get into any art academy she wanted.

Including private exhibitions later, her parents provided the support.

Bei Zhen glanced at Shu Yubai’s painting with some surprise.

It was actually… quite good?

It seemed not just good, but truly… she struggled to suppress her feelings of jealousy.

After finishing her painting, Shu Yubai stood up neatly and submitted her work, becoming the first participant to leave.

Her painting was done effortlessly; she hadn’t expected much, just to gain some experience.

As she left, many people scratching their heads looked up at her with respect. Shu Yubai paused slightly and caught sight of her stupefied senior brother, who had only managed to paint a corner of his piece.

Shu Yubai smiled and said nothing, then walked away.

••••

The competition started at 9 a.m., and each person took different amounts of time. By the time Shu Yubai finished, it was exactly noon.

She entered the hotel, went upstairs, and used her key card to open the door. Inside, she heard the sound of running water, followed by a voice from the sink: “Sister?”

Nan Xue came out with a towel, having just washed her face, and was drying the water from her face with a damp cloth.

It was noon, and the place was quiet with only the two of them inside. They exchanged glances, and the atmosphere suddenly became ambiguous.

They both remembered what had happened the previous night.

Shu Yubai wondered if Nan Xue remembered what had happened.

She quietly observed Nan Xue’s expression. Her dark eyes remained indifferent, but her earlobes were slightly flushed.

Last night

Someone had kissed and hugged her, enthusiastically inviting her to a bath together. Despite their best efforts, even after going to bed, there was still restlessness and constant touching.

Nan Xue’s slim figure was half-leaning against the door, her thin eyelids drooping and nervously blinking.

She was still wearing a loose bathrobe, looking somewhat frail. Her straight, long legs were smooth and beautiful, with a bruise on her knee from the previous night and a faint smell of medicine.

Nan Xue’s red lips moved soundlessly, unsure of what to say, nervously clenching her fingertips. She lowered her head, avoiding eye contact, with her slim, white collarbone covered by her dark, wet hair.

Seeing Nan Xue’s nervousness made Shu Yubai feel less anxious.

She placed her bag on the sofa, sat down, and looked at her, saying, “Come here.”

Nan Xue glanced at her and cleared her throat.

“Sister, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

Shu Yubai smiled slightly, watching her.

She relaxed on the sofa, propping her chin on one hand and tilting her head to look at Nan Xue.

The woman’s jet-black hair cascaded down to her slender waist, wearing only a light V-neck sweater. Her collarbone and soft, white chest emitted a warm aura.

Nan Xue’s snow-white cheeks were tinged with a faint flush.

She took one slow step after another, approaching carefully.

Shu Yubai asked slowly, “Do you remember how you fell asleep last night?”