His supervisor remained unfazed, treating him to coffee on the way back and saying it was normal to be rejected the first time. As long as the artist hadn’t signed with another agent, the gallery still had a shot.
Zhu Ran nodded, saying he’d remember that.
Wang Ruyun’s work hardly overlapped with his—perhaps Auntie had arranged it that way—and Zhu Ran felt somewhat relieved. Though his mother’s attitude had softened a bit, he didn’t want to live under that intense scrutiny again.
In the afternoon, Zhu Ran unexpectedly assisted a same-sex couple. They said it was to celebrate their third anniversary and wanted a painting as a memento.
They deliberated for a long time before selecting a moderately priced piece they both loved and taking it with them on the spot.
Watching their retreating figures, Huo Boyan’s image suddenly popped into Zhu Ran’s mind. He opened his calendar to check his schedule, eager to free up a day to meet him.
“Little Ran, I need you to run an errand,” Wang Zhuoying said before he could plan. “One of our premium members bought a piece—help deliver it.”
Zhu Ran had done errands before. He nodded and inquired about the size and weight, asking if he could handle it alone.
“Sure, it’s a small one,” Wang Zhuoying said. “They sent a driver over. Just hand the painting to the customer.”
If they’d sent a driver, why not let them take it? Was it to prevent damage en route?
Zhu Ran followed Wang Zhuoying and saw a small work by a renowned artist—priced exorbitantly, with many zeros. He handled the framed piece gingerly as he boarded the car, even worrying about robbery on the way.
Carrying this hot potato, Zhu Ran understood why they insisted on gallery delivery—the driver couldn’t be held accountable if something went wrong.
Ten minutes later, the sedan arrived. Zhu Ran looked up at the familiar building, momentarily stunned.
Huo Boyan’s company?
Was the painting for Huo Boyan? Not necessarily—could be another client who worked here.
Zhu Ran didn’t overthink it. He took the painting to reception, where a lady in a suit was waiting. She didn’t check ID and led him straight inside.
The elevator went up, and Zhu Ran gripped the frame tightly, wild guesses flooding his mind.
Ding—
The doors opened. The lady extended her right hand. “This way, Mr. Zhu.”
Zhu Ran scanned the surroundings, suddenly unsure. He had been to Huo Boyan’s office before, but he’d been emotionally wrecked then, under immense stress, and details were fuzzy.
Before he could sort it out, the lady stopped at a glass door and opened it for him—
Huo Boyan sat at his desk working—the very desk where they’d once kissed while sitting on it. Similar scenes flashed through Zhu Ran’s mind, which he forcibly shoved away.
He took a deep breath, trying to keep his expression calm.
“You’re here?” Huo Boyan looked up, saying calmly, as if they’d long scheduled this.
Zhu Ran’s eyes darted everywhere. He nodded mechanically, saying in a tone of surprise, “So it really was you who bought the painting?”
“It was me,” Huo Boyan said, walking around the desk to stand before Zhu Ran, looking into his eyes. “I really wanted to see you, but you’re hard to pin down, so I used this method to get you here. I hope you don’t mind.”
Zhu Ran had ulterior motives himself, and hearing this nearly made him lose control of his expression.
He shoved the painting into Huo Boyan’s arms, adopting a businesslike tone. “Inspect it. Sign here if it’s fine.”
Huo Boyan didn’t even glance at it, setting the painting down and signing the document Zhu Ran had brought.
Zhu Ran: “…”
He wanted to remind Huo Boyan to check first, but then thought if the buyer didn’t care, his insistence would seem overly familiar.
Zhu Ran packed the documents away and looked up. “Then I’ll be going.”
“Stay a bit longer, okay?” Huo Boyan gently grasped his wrist, looking somewhat pitiful. “Zhu Ran, it’s been a week since we last saw each other.”
Zhu Ran: “…”
Huo Boyan’s grip was light—easy to shake off if he resisted. But Zhu Ran felt rooted to the spot. His face stayed stern, but his ears turned red uncontrollably. “Huo Boyan, is there something else?”
Huo Boyan: “No business—just missed you.”
Zhu Ran’s ears burned crimson. He lowered his gaze, avoiding Huo Boyan’s face, his voice softening. “I can’t stay long—I’m still at work.”
“Mm, I know,” Huo Boyan nodded, ever the gentleman. “I won’t keep you long.”
Next, Zhu Ran and Huo Boyan sat on the sofa at a half-arm’s-length distance, chatting about trivial topics.
Huo Boyan asked if Zhu Ran was adjusting to work, if things were still tense with his family, and mentioned how much he liked the little pig keychain Zhu Ran had given him.
Prompted, Zhu Ran noticed the changes in Huo Boyan’s office. On the desk sat the pink Jellycat Little Pig Keychain—the one he’d given. A larger one was on the sofa, and various pink pig plushies dotted the other corners—a far cry from the sleek, minimalist style when he’d first visited.
Zhu Ran: “…”
If he still didn’t get it, he’d be a total fool.
Huo Boyan pulled Zhu Ran into his embrace, smiling as he asked, “Aren’t my bb pigs cute?”
The man’s chest vibrated with laughter, mingling with his appealing woody scent, bringing a flush-inducing warmth.
Zhu Ran’s ears reddened again. He retorted fiercely—but unconvincingly—”Huo Boyan, have you no shame? Who belongs to your house?”
Huo Boyan laughed. “I meant the pink plushies.”
Zhu Ran: “…”
Zhu Ran got angry, loudly declaring to Huo Boyan that he was mad.
Huo Boyan’s smile deepened as he bundled Zhu Ran up and hugged him tight.
Yes, he had practically bundled Zhu Ran into a ball and held him tight.
It wasn’t the kind of hug where they both sat on the sofa. Huo Boyan had Zhu Ran sitting sideways on his lap, his arms wrapped around Zhu Ran’s body—like the way one might hold a child.
This embrace wasn’t common, but its advantages were obvious. As long as Huo Boyan wanted, he could pull Zhu Ran entirely into his arms.
Zhu Ran had never been held like this by his parents, even as a child. And now, in his twenties, here he was, bundled up in Huo Boyan’s grasp.
An intense wave of shame nearly overwhelmed him. He struggled instinctively, but his arms and legs dangled in the air, his body unable to muster any strength. All he could do was shout, “Huo Boyan, put me down!”
“Shh, let me hold you a little longer.” Huo Boyan buried his face in the crook of Zhu Ran’s neck. His voice was deep and low as he murmured in Cantonese right by his ear, “Baby, I missed you so much.”
The Cantonese was simple enough that Zhu Ran understood it right away. His face flushed red, and he turned into a pliant lump of dough, ready to be kneaded and shaped at will.
At the same time, Zhu Ran thought pettily to himself: If I were the Chief Executive of Hong Kong, my first law would be to ban Huo Boyan from ever speaking Cantonese again.
