3 Gu Shi

Chapter 3

“Nannan.”

When Shen Qian heard the news of the breakup, he thought it was a hallucination. It wasn’t until he saw Xuan Congnan’s figure leave the private room and appear downstairs that he snapped out of his daze and hurried after him.

“Nannan—”

A figure suddenly rushed over and bumped into Shen Qian, interrupting their words. She joyfully ran ahead, excitedly telling her companions, “I definitely wasn’t mistaken! It’s him!”

“Why is he here? Are you sure?”

“Wait a moment, I’ll check his schedule. The fan club posted something yesterday... Here it is! He’s endorsing something here!”

“Wow, so many people!!!”

Out of nowhere, a crowd appeared, both men and women. They all chased after a car as if bandits were about to ambush it. But when they finally reached the vehicle, everyone politely stopped at a proper distance.

Shen Qian found himself blocked from behind, while Xuan Congnan walked farther and farther away.

The windows of the Porsche Cayenne’s backseat were all rolled down, and the man wearing a hat and mask gave a brief wave outside.

Excited screams broke out one after another. Hearing the commotion, curiosity drew Xuan Congnan to look back and see what was happening.

Through the crowd, he saw Shen Qian gazing at him from afar before shifting his eyes to the person inside the car.

There were too many people; Xuan Congnan couldn’t see who was the cause of the uproar, but it didn’t concern him.

He had just broken up with Shen Qian. He was sad.

The art studio at school was open all day, even on weekends.

Xuan Congnan slung his bag over his shoulder and crossed most of the campus. Leaves from the camphor trees fell, casting shadows that fluttered like butterflies in the wind. Stepping on these shadows, he arrived at the studio and pushed open the door.

On the two long tables near the teacher’s desk sat various Western sculptures. When thinking of still life drawing, Xuan Congnan dreaded the teacher randomly tossing a water bottle onto the table to be sketched as it appeared, or dumping irregular shards of broken crystals across the surface—nightmares for any student. But now, he no longer feared such things.

For him, drawing sculptures was the easiest.

The studio, worn with age and often patched up, still showed oil paint stains scattered across the floor—here a patch, there a blob—each with a distinctive character.

Inside was far from tidy; it could even be called messy. Art students needed inspiration most of all, and any change in the placement of objects drove them mad.

Xuan Congnan walked in with practiced steps, immediately stepping onto a small empty spot no bigger than a palm, navigating past obstacles until he reached the window.

The window was closed. Outside, the street below the studio saw students passing by in small groups, never alone.

He unfolded a fixed easel, set it up, pulled out his sketchbook, and placed it on the stand. His bag was tossed carelessly on the floor. He wanted to refine the sketch he had been interrupted from finishing at the restaurant.

His charcoal pencil hovered over the area representing dark clouds but hesitated to land.

Xuan Congnan silently stared at the charcoal and his hand, feeling his mind blank and foggy, everything blurring.

He rarely felt this way.

The past year seemed like a dream. He thought Shen Qian liked him, but Shen Qian’s affections lay elsewhere—and that person must resemble Xuan Congnan somewhat.

Only then could Shen Qian’s repeated strange and abnormal behavior be explained.

Xuan Congnan was slow, slow enough to realize the truth too late. The idea of building a family with Shen Qian was so foolish and laughable.

…He was very sad.

Maybe he wouldn’t fall in love anymore.

“Congnan, you’re in the studio?” The door opened, and a male classmate followed the same path Xuan Congnan had just taken, reaching the window. “There’s less and less space to stand around here. It’s May 20th, why are you drawing in the studio instead of going on a date?”

Xuan Congnan replied, “You didn’t go either.”

Zhang Que sneered, “I’m single. Who would I date?”

“Same here.”

Zhang Que let out a surprised, monosyllabic “Ah…”

He glanced at the sketchbook on the easel, which showed a landscape, and said, “It suddenly got cloudy not long ago. You’re drawing that, right?”

Xuan Congnan said, “Yeah.”

Zhang Que asked, “Why did you stop? The sunlight was clearly about to pierce through the clouds.”

Everything was right before his eyes, but Xuan Congnan’s inspiration was shallow; he didn’t want to rush.

He remained silent.

Setting the easel upright, Zhang Que grabbed a bucket of paint, intending to paint in oils. “If you don’t kick it, you won’t get it done. Long live being single.”

He selected brushes and said, “You should go outside for a walk. Outside suits you better right now.”

The food Xuan Congnan ate at noon was quickly consumed by his sadness. He went to the supermarket and bought a 0.5 yuan lollipop with blue wrapping, flavored like yogurt.

The candy’s sweetness was absorbed into his bloodstream through saliva, raising his blood sugar and stimulating serotonin and dopamine in his brain. Xuan Congnan felt somewhat uplifted. He took out the sandalwood Guanyin pendant he had just put back on his neck today, looking at it again and again. The Guanyin’s compassionate eyes and divine presence accompanied him.

Afterwards, he carefully put it back inside his clothes.

By 5:30 in the afternoon, the sunset had turned red and began to sink westward. Xuan Congnan jogged along the park outside the school.

One lap around the lake was 1.6 kilometers; he ran nearly six laps at a slow pace. More than an hour later, his dopamine was fully released.

Holding onto the fence by the lake, he tilted his face up to feel the last rays of the sunset, letting the cool breeze tousle his long hair.

After a whole afternoon of gloom, he finally wanted to smile.

The rented apartment wasn’t far from here, only a few hundred meters away. It was an old, dilapidated complex slated for government demolition. The demolition documents hadn’t been finalized, and the property management refused to fund repairs, resulting in a barely passable environment and security. The peeling walls resembled a half-finished building.

Because of this, the rent was cheap.

The apartment had one living room and one bedroom, just over 20 square meters. The kitchen was in a corner of the living room, semi-open.

The bathroom was in the bedroom, with only a showerhead, no bathtub—it wouldn’t fit. Though small, the place was kept very clean.

His phone had been off for nearly a day, left uncharged last night, and now had only 22% battery.

The community’s electrical wiring was old and prone to power outages several times a month. Xuan Congnan searched for a charging cable to prepare for an outage.

His sluggish old phone vibrated a few times, alerting him to three missed calls and two messages from Shen Qian.

[“Nannan, the company’s busy. I’ll come find you tomorrow. Please come out to see me.”]

[“Maybe I said something wrong, but it wasn’t intentional.”]

Xuan Congnan deleted and blocked Shen Qian’s contact and WeChat. After charging his phone, he took a shower and changed out of all the sweat-soaked clothes, washing them.

After hanging up his clothes, hunger struck. He opened his mini fridge, intending to cook some instant noodles.

Unfortunately, the noodles were gone—he had to go buy some.

Checking his phone balance, by coincidence, it was 520 yuan left for the month.

He counted on his fingers—fifty yuan a day was plenty.

His long hair was hard to air dry naturally without a hairdryer, but it wasn’t cold now, so no need to waste electricity.

He put on his shoes, slung on his bag, and headed out to the supermarket to buy food for the next two days. He planned to buy extra instant noodles—he was best at cooking those.

It was past eight o’clock. The streetlights downstairs emitted a dim yellow glow, and as Xuan Congnan walked, his shadow lengthened and shortened on the ground.

A drunken man staggered into the shabby complex. Seeing Xuan Congnan from afar, he whistled at him.

“Xiao Xuan, you smell good. Did you wash your hair?”

Xuan Congnan quickened his pace, ignoring him.

Living alone, he avoided trouble with violent, drunken, impoverished people—he could not afford to provoke them with careless words.

The elderly gatekeeper spat, “Enough, you just spent fifteen days in the station last time and learned nothing.”

The drunk hiccupped, “What’s wrong with me complimenting him? Hic... I’m praising him.”

“You’re harassing him! Go away, go home!”

The gatekeeper shooed him off.

The drunk said, “Ha, I won’t go just because you say so. I’ll go drink a couple more.”

Tall buildings surrounded the area, making the old complex look like a rural relic. The supermarket wasn’t far, along the same road to the park. Though run-down, the location was good. If it were demolished, a good compensation was sure.

The moon moved imperceptibly southward. Xuan Congnan suddenly slowed his steps.

A man sat by the flower bed, his head tilted back, gazing silently at the night sky.

He exuded loneliness, as if something deeply unhappy had happened to him—yet he seemed to be basking in moonlight.

Sparse pedestrians passed by, neither disturbing nor noticing him.

The streetlight was behind him; the moon in front.

The man wore a black mask, his nose bridge high, eyebrows sharp. Xuan Congnan thought this was a composition worthy of painting.

When the charcoal touched the blank page of his sketchbook, his backpack loosely hanging at his side, he was momentarily stunned.

Painting was more important.

He propped the sketchbook on his left forearm without looking up again. The image he wanted was all in his mind.

After about ten minutes, Xuan Congnan closed the sketchbook, zipped up his bag, and was about to leave when he looked up and caught the man’s gaze directly.

Xuan Congnan: “.”

He instinctively lowered his movements, oddly reminded of what Shen Qian had said: eyes without warmth.

This man was quiet, neither smiling nor noisy.

“Finished the drawing,” the man suddenly said.

Xuan Congnan had just lifted his leg to step forward but retracted it quickly. “I’m drawing—the moon and the streetlight.”

“Mm,” the man said.

Xuan Congnan said, “You know I’m drawing you… and the streetlight behind you?”

“Mm.”

Caught red-handed, Xuan Congnan awkwardly said, “You could have told me to leave.”

“You’re drawing,” the man said.

Xuan Congnan was puzzled, “Hmm?”

“Need quiet.”

His heart stirred slightly as he studied the man carefully.

Under the dim streetlight and pale moonlight, the man wore a three-dimensional mask pulled low over his eyes, perfectly hiding his face in the dark night.

“Thank you,” Xuan Congnan said sincerely.

He wasn’t in a hurry to buy noodles anymore and asked, “What are you doing here?”

“My name is Gu Shi.”

“Ah?” Xuan Congnan didn’t ask for the name but responded confusedly, “...Oh.”

Gu Shi looked at him. “Waiting for the moon.”

Xuan Congnan’s confusion deepened. “Ah?”

Gu Shi’s eyes, darker than the night itself, remained fixed on Xuan Congnan as he repeated, “I’m waiting for the moon.”

Meeting a madman, Xuan Congnan wanted to leave quickly. His hair was still damp, heavy at the back, his T-shirt wet in places, uncomfortable against his skin.

A cool evening breeze passed by. Xuan Congnan said, “You keep waiting then.”

He turned to leave, but Gu Shi suddenly stood up. He was tall, nearly half a head taller than Xuan Congnan. The shadow he cast startled Xuan Congnan, who stopped cautiously.

“Sorry,” Gu Shi stepped back two paces to ease the tension.

Xuan Congnan remained calm. “It’s okay.”

Gu Shi’s voice was low and calm, but what he said was very rude.

“Take me home.”