The car stopped in front of a yard. The yard was not big, with an iron gate covered with vines.
There is no sign at the door, just a small house number.
Zhao Chen turned off the engine, got out of the car, walked around to the passenger side, and opened the door for Su Wantang.
Su Wantang got out of the car, stood in front of the yard, and looked at the place.
She didn't know where this place was, or why Zhao Chen brought her here.
But she noticed one thing - the door to the courtyard was unlocked, as if it was reserved for someone specifically.
Zhao Chen pushed open the iron door and walked in.
Su Wantang follows.
The yard is not big, and is paved with bluestone slabs, with thin moss growing in the gaps.
There is an osmanthus tree in the corner. It is bare in winter, but its branches are beautiful, like an ink painting.
Directly opposite is a two-story building with white walls and black window frames, simple and clean.
Zhao Chen walked to the door, took out the key, and opened the door.
He turned sideways and let Su Wantang go in first.
Su Wantang was stunned the moment he walked in.
This is a painting studio.
It's very big and bright. The first floor is an open space, and the south-facing side is full of Floor-to-Ceiling Window. Sunlight pours in from the outside, illuminating the entire room.
There are light gray wooden floors on the ground, and several blank picture frames hang on the walls.
There is a huge workbench in the middle, with paints, brushes, and palettes neatly placed on it - all painting tools are available.
There is a row of shelves against the wall, with canvases of various materials - coarse grain, fine grain, linen, cotton.
There is a small bookshelf in the corner, with several picture albums and an open sketchbook on it.
There is a camellia drawn in the sketchbook. The lines are still very rough, but it can be seen that the person who drew it is very serious.
Su Wantang stood at the door, motionless.
Her eyes moved from the workbench to the shelf, from the shelf to the bookshelf, and from the bookshelf to Floor-to-Ceiling Window.
"This is..." Her voice was a little tight and she didn't finish her sentence.
Zhao Chen stood behind her and said in a very soft voice, "Your studio."
Su Wantang turned around and looked at him.
Her eyes were red, but she didn't cry.
She just looked at him, as if she wasn't sure if what she heard was true.
Zhao Chen said, "You said before that you studied painting when you were in college. Then something happened at home, so you stopped painting.
You said something - 'Once you put something down, you can never pick it up again.'"
He paused. "I don't believe it. So I want you to try it."
Su Wantang lowered his head and looked at his fingers. Those hands had not held a paintbrush for a long time.
When was the last time she held a pen? She thought about it, it was about five years ago.
Five years ago, she could sit in the studio for a whole day, painting the fog of Shan City, the ship of the Yangtze River, and the plum blossoms outside the window.
Later, her father's business failed and she married Zhao Family and never touched a paintbrush again.
She thought those things had been put down.
Once you let it go, you won't think about it again.
But now, standing in this studio, looking at the paints and brushes, she suddenly realized that she had never put them down.
"This place," Zhao Chen's voice came from behind,
"I searched for two weeks. I looked at seven or eight places and this one is the most suitable.
It's not far from the company, a twenty-minute drive. It's quiet, has good lighting, and there's a plum tree in the yard."
Su Wantang didn't look back. She was afraid that if she looked back, tears would fall.
Su Wantang smiled softly, with a little nasal tone. "Xiao Chen, thank you!"
"We don't need to talk about this between us." Zhao Chen said, "As long as you are happy."
Su Wantang said no more.
She walked to the workbench, stretched out her hand, and touched the paintbrushes.
The pen barrel is made of wood and has a warm texture to the touch.
She picked one up and turned it around in her hand. Her movements were a bit unfamiliar, but the way her fingers held the pen was still correct - it was like a muscle memory engraved in her bones.
"I don't know if I can still paint," she said.
Zhao Chen leaned against the door frame and put his hands in his sweatshirt pockets. "You will know after you draw it."
Su Wantang turned around and looked at him.
Then he slowly walked towards Zhao Chen, plunged into his chest, and held his waist tightly with both hands.
The sun shines in from Floor-to-Ceiling Window, casting half light and half shadow on Zhao Chen's face.
His expression was very calm, as if he was talking about an ordinary thing - not romantic, not a surprise, just a normal and determined way to give her back what she had lost.
Her tears finally fell.
It wasn't because she was moved, it was because she suddenly understood something -
This twenty-two-year-old young man has done something in one year that countless people cannot do in a lifetime.
He was ups and downs in the market, fierce and decisive in Board of Directors, and remained motionless when the stock price plummeted.
But it wasn't those things that made her cry, it was this studio.
It was him who drove around Shan City in those days when he was too busy to see anyone, looking for a yard with a plum tree and a place where she could pick up the paintbrush again.
"Xiao Chen." She called his name in a very soft voice.
"Huh?"
"It's great to have you."
Zhao Chen smiled, took out a key from his pocket, and placed it on the workbench.
"I'll give you the key. Come anytime you want to come. If you don't want to come, it doesn't matter."
He paused, "But I think you will come."
Su Wantang picked up the key and held it in his hand.
The metal was cool to the touch, but she felt warm.
She walked to Floor-to-Ceiling Window and looked at the plum tree in the yard.
The pale pink flowers swayed slightly in the sunlight, like a painting she had painted a long time ago.
"I will come often." she said.
Zhao Chen smiled, turned around and walked out. "Then I'll leave first. You take your time and watch."
"You won't stay?" Su Wantang turned around and looked at his back.
Zhao Chen didn't look back, just waved his hand. "This is your place. I'm here, you can't draw it."
There will be something else for a while, Bubble Mary Wang Zong has arrived at Shan City, and we have made an appointment to discuss Labobo's authorization and Existing Shares transfer issues.
You can just arrive at the company before eleven o'clock."
He walked to the door, suddenly stopped, and turned around:
"By the way, the sketchbook on the workbench was bought by me.
I drew a flower on the first page, and it's ugly. Please help me change it when you come next time."
Su Wantang was stunned for a moment, then opened the first page of the sketchbook.
There is a camellia painted on it.
The lines are crooked, the curvature of the petals is wrong, and the direction of the leaves is wrong. It looks like the doodles of a five-year-old child.
But the person who painted it was very serious and pressed every stroke hard on the paper, as if he was trying to remember something.
Su Wantang looked at the crooked camellia and smiled.
Tears were still hanging on his face, but the corners of his mouth were already curled up.
She closed her sketchbook, walked out of the studio, and stood in the yard.
Zhao Chen's car has already driven away, the courtyard door is ajar, and the sun shines in from outside, drawing a golden strip of light on the ground.
She looked back at the small white building. Floor-to-Ceiling Window reflected the sunlight and was dazzlingly bright.
The plum tree swayed gently in the wind, and a few petals fell to the ground, pink and small.
She gripped the key in her hand a little tighter.