“Crazy!” Zhu Ran was truly angry. He retreated two big steps in a row, widened his eyes as he stared at Huo Boyan, and said vigilantly with a full face of caution, “This is someone else’s exhibit. What if you break it?”
Afraid of being seen, he looked left and right, and only relaxed with a sigh of relief once he confirmed no one had noticed. He lifted his head and continued to curse at Huo Boyan. “And what does having me touch an artwork have to do with desire? You’re the one who’s feeling guilty, aren’t you? When you can’t win the argument with words, you resort to force.”
By the end, Zhu Ran rubbed his reddened wrist, his tone carrying a hint of grievance.
Huo Boyan seemed not to have expected this reaction from Zhu Ran. His expression froze slightly before he bowed a little and said, “Sorry, that was presumptuous of me just now.”
“Liar,” Zhu Ran didn’t believe him at all and said coldly, “You’re not sincere at all.”
Huo Boyan apologized again and asked if Zhu Ran would let him make amends.
“Make amends?” Hearing this, Zhu Ran’s eyes widened even more. “No thanks. Who knows what weird thing you’ll do next.”
Huo Boyan wanted to say more, but Song Xingchen suddenly popped up from the side. “Pig! Guess what I found—you absolutely won’t believe…” Halfway there, Song Xingchen slammed on the brakes and said in surprise, “Boss Huo is here too?”
In front of outsiders, Huo Boyan reverted to his usual good-guy persona, saying mildly, “I happened to run into you. Want to look around together?”
Song Xingchen: “Sure! Sure!”
Zhu Ran didn’t say a word and turned to walk ahead.
Song Xingchen noticed his mood and asked quietly, “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” Zhu Ran didn’t want to keep talking about Huo Boyan and instead asked, “What did you see earlier?”
“You absolutely won’t believe it. Come here quick.” Song Xingchen pulled Zhu Ran along as they walked to the entrance of a small hall, where he suddenly stopped him again and said, “Close your eyes.”
Zhu Ran: “What are you doing?”
“Come on, just close your eyes first. Don’t ask.”
“What is this? So mysterious?” Zhu Ran closed his eyes.
Song Xingchen tugged his sleeve and led him a few more steps inside before letting go. “Alright, open your eyes now.”
Zhu Ran slowly opened his eyes and for a moment almost thought he was hallucinating. The entire small exhibition hall was filled with his works—even he didn’t have such a complete set of large-format prints.
Zhu Ran stood frozen in place, silent for a long time.
Song Xingchen: “How is it? Pretty surprising, right?”
Zhu Ran nodded, his voice hoarse as he said yes.
Song Xingchen didn’t yet know that his negatives had been destroyed, and the only surviving scans at home had been ruined too. In a sense, as the creator, he had completely lost this series of photos. He never imagined he’d reunite with them here.
Zhu Ran took photos of the images with his phone. Huo Boyan asked, “Do you two know this series?”
“Of course! The curator really has great taste to collect this set. Though the work itself is excellent too.” Song Xingchen patted Zhu Ran’s chin proudly. “This is our…”
“Work from a model we know.” Zhu Ran cut in ahead of him.
Song Xingchen paused, not understanding but nodding along. “Yeah, yeah. The model is a senior from our school. Who knew he had work like this? Such strong expressiveness.”
Huo Boyan shook his head, a bit disappointed. “It’s the photographer who shot it well.”
Zhu Ran: “…”
He couldn’t help coughing.
“Hahaha, right, the photographer shot it well.” Song Xingchen slapped Zhu Ran’s shoulder and laughed happily.
This series had been created half a year ago, when Zhu Ran’s mental state wasn’t great. He’d hired a commercial model at a high price for artistic creation, originally just wanting to vent his emotions. Unexpectedly, he produced a representative work of his photography career.
He had the model express a series of negative emotions in front of the lens: confusion, fear, desire, loneliness, pain, despair. There was even one where the model was bound with ropes, duct tape over his mouth, symbolizing forbidden speech and expression.
The model really was their senior. At the post-shoot gathering, the model had clutched a beer bottle and complained about how terrifying Zhu Ran was, saying he’d feel awful for months after this series and would never take another job from him. Of course, it was just a joke.
Zhu Ran posted the photos on social media, where a senior curator abroad spotted them and strongly recommended he enter a youth photography exhibition. Zhu Ran submitted on a whim and surprisingly won first prize. The physical prints were bought by a mysterious buyer, and Zhu Ran made a tidy profit.
He never imagined they’d end up as part of this art museum’s collection.
Zhu Ran knew this series wasn’t crowd-pleasing—it was even somewhat uncomfortable and offensive. Some criticized it as too dark, others misinterpreted it as erotic. Not long ago, his parents discovered the set, branded him a pervert for shooting male nudes, and forced him to delete all the photos.
Not only were the photos deleted, but the negatives were destroyed, his hard drive confiscated, and his social feeds cleared. That night, staring at the cold white ceiling, Zhu Ran even considered giving up photography altogether.
But thinking that someone here still valued his work, that there were people in the world who resonated with him, gave Zhu Ran a bit more courage to keep going.
