Art Album

Finally, it was Friday. With only tomorrow morning left, Mu Qingxi felt liberation was near. She decided she could afford a bit of laziness now—after all, it was extracurricular activity time, and she didn’t have to keep drawing those incomprehensible diagrams of magnetic and electric fields anymore. It was time to sketch something different.

She lowered her head and rummaged through her desk, pulling out the sketchbook she hadn’t touched in days. She brushed her hand over the cover; it was a beautiful drawing—at least, that was how she saw it.

The image was simple: a black night sky, no moon in sight, only scattered stars. A shooting star, frozen in motion, lingered on the left side of the page. She often gazed at this meteor, quietly whispering her wishes, hoping that one day, they might come true.

She had named her sketchbook “The Yearbook of Youth.” It was already two years old, filled entirely with her own creations.

The paper was large, each page unique. Sometimes she divided the space in a thirty-to-seventy ratio, sometimes forty-to-sixty, or evenly in half—it all depended on what she needed. Every drawing was accompanied by words; the combination of image and text was what satisfied her most.

Drawing was never an instant process—time, patience, and inspiration were all essential. Over two years, she had only filled a third of the pages. Inside were people, animals, landscapes, cartoons, and even a few drawings she couldn’t quite understand herself; if she couldn’t make sense of them, no one else could.

There weren’t many pieces, but each one was crafted with her full devotion. Within them were her feelings, her memories, and her dreams—things no one else could comprehend. Whether they were good or bad, there was no one to judge, nor did she need anyone’s judgment.

Back then, she had said, “Would you let anyone judge your feelings, your memories, or your dreams? The answer is no.”

Just like her drawings. One, titled “Sky of Dreams,” depicted a wooden ladder—hardly steep—stretching straight into the clouds. An indistinct figure with no visible face was climbing upward. Countless butterflies spiraled and danced around, and the endless ladder carried that person’s dreams. Where would they go, accompanied by butterflies?

No one knew where their dreams might come to rest.

A sky without dreams was a dark one. She believed people shouldn’t let their sky be dark, for darkness meant despair and death. Instead, one’s sky should be filled with colors as magical as dreams themselves.

Looking at each of her drawings, Mu Qingxi was deeply moved. Suddenly, she realized that a colored picture wasn’t necessarily beautiful, but a picture without color could be exquisite. The blending of colors was a matter of free imagination, which left space for creativity.

This time, she wanted to draw a piece that captured the essence of family, to express her feelings through a family portrait. Every time she saw other families’ portraits, she felt a pang of envy at their smiling faces, each one radiating happiness and joy. Her own family had never taken such a picture. Since she never had the chance to have a family portrait, she would draw one herself. Even if it wasn’t perfect, it would be the family portrait in her heart.

Mu Qingxi picked up her phone and glanced at the screen—four thirty. She opened her notes app and typed: “Family Portrait.”

Qin Yu, who sat nearby, looked over curiously. “Mu Mu, what’s up with the family portrait? Why are you putting that in your notes?”

She smiled. “It’s nothing—just a reminder for myself.”

Mu Qingxi wasn’t sure why she typed it, perhaps because she was afraid her rebellious streak might flare up again and make her forget this wish.

Qin Yu simply looked at the sketchbook in her hands with curiosity. “Oh, I don’t get it. By the way, Mu Mu, how come I’ve never seen this sketchbook before? It looks so new—did you just get it?”

“It’s not new,” she explained. “It’s been two years. I just never show it to anyone, so you haven’t seen it. The others are just what I draw from time to time.”

Qin Yu didn’t press further. She picked up the English textbook from Mu Qingxi’s desk, hinting, “That makes sense—if that’s the case, I won’t look at it either. Oh, and I came to tell you, I just saw the notice. There’s a monthly exam after next week, so be sure to come early tomorrow. We’ll keep going.”