Knowing that Shen Qinglan was shy, Fu Hengyi did not tease her. He got up, "I’ll make breakfast, you sleep a little more."
Shen Qinglan shook her head; once she was awake, she couldn’t fall back asleep.
Fu Hengyi got up and, without bothering to put on any clothes, casually walked to the wardrobe to get dressed. Seeing the scratch marks on his back, Shen Qinglan’s face grew increasingly uncomfortable and she turned away to not look at him.
Only after Fu Hengyi had left the bedroom did Shen Qinglan get out of bed. She rubbed her sore waist and thighs, and couldn’t help but marvel at Mr. Fu’s stamina.
She felt quite refreshed, as she had fallen asleep immediately last night, exhaustingly, and it was Fu Hengyi who had carried her to wash.
By the time she had washed up, Fu Hengyi had already made breakfast, an egg pancake and a glass of milk.
Shen Qinglan did not like drinking milk, but whenever Fu Hengyi was home, he would prepare a glass for her every day. Facing Fu Hengyi’s firm gaze, even if she didn’t like it, Shen Qinglan would drink it anyway.
After finishing breakfast, Shen Qinglan and Fu Hengyi nestled at home watching TV, not going anywhere. Fu Hengyi had planned on taking Shen Qinglan out for a walk today, but knowing she wasn’t feeling well, he decided to rest at home instead.
Fu Hengyi sat on the sofa, with Shen Qinglan nestled in his arms, watching a seemingly youthful drama that was quite boring.
Shen Qinglan fell asleep before long, listening to her steady breathing. Fu Hengyi smiled tenderly, pulled over a thin blanket, and covered her with it, not moving her to the bed, knowing even in her sleep, she could be easily awakened.
To make her sleep more comfortable, Fu Hengyi stayed still in the same position, looked down, and quietly admired her peaceful sleeping face, suddenly feeling as if he held the whole world in his arms.
When Shen Qinglan woke up, half of Fu Hengyi’s body was numb.
"Did I fall asleep? Why didn’t you wake me?" Shen Qinglan’s eyes were still slightly blurred from sleep.
"You looked so peaceful, I didn’t have the heart to wake you," Fu Hengyi said with a smile, not minding the soreness in his arms.
Shen Qinglan got up from Fu Hengyi’s embrace, and he still maintained the same position; he couldn’t move.
Naturally, Shen Qinglan noticed and crouched down, squeezing him, "Next time I fall asleep, remember to wake me up." Such a fool, letting himself serve as a pillow like that.
Fu Hengyi smiled carelessly, enjoying his wife’s massage, remaining silent.
"That’s enough, you can stop." Once his body recovered a little feeling, Fu Hengyi told Shen Qinglan to stop, not wanting her to get tired.
"What do you want for lunch? I’ll make it."
Shen Qinglan had just woken up and wasn’t very hungry, "Anything is fine."
Seeing her lack of enthusiasm, Fu Hengyi smiled and, without asking further, went straight into the kitchen.
When he came out again, he carried two bowls of noodles topped with mixed sauce. Whatever he put in the sauce smelled delicious, and even though Shen Qinglan had no appetite, she finished a bowl of noodles.
Having stayed home all morning, Shen Qinglan did not want to go out in the afternoon, nor did she want to watch the boring drama. She looked at Fu Hengyi, sizing him up from head to toe.
Fu Hengyi felt somewhat puzzled by her scrutinizing gaze, "What’s the matter?"
Shen Qinglan circled around Fu Hengyi, seemingly thinking about something. She already knew that Fu Hengyi was well-built—having seen it firsthand the night before—she understood clearly how the muscles under his casual outfit were well-defined, filled with immense explosive power.
"Will you model for me?" Shen Qinglan spoke, her eyes brimming with interest.
It was Fu Hengyi who looked at her in surprise, "You can paint?"
There was indeed an easel on the balcony at home, but Fu Hengyi had never seen her paint before, so he had assumed it was just for decoration.
Shen Qinglan smiled, taking that as a yes, "Are you unwilling?"
"Absolutely willing to serve the mistress," Fu Hengyi smiled. He followed Shen Qinglan into the study, only then realizing that the easel from the balcony had been moved there, his hand resting on the hem of his clothing. "Do you need me to be completely undressed?" He didn’t mind posing naked.
Shen Qinglan’s cheeks heated up, and she gave him a glare—such a rogue—while a touch of regret flickered in Fu Hengyi’s eyes.
Fu Hengyi sat on the couch as Shen Qinglan had directed, while she moved a small stool in front of the easel, picked up a paintbrush.
This was the first time Fu Hengyi had seen Shen Qinglan paint. Her expression was serene and agelessly peaceful as she worked. He watched her—attentive, tender—and she focused on the canvas intently.
Shen Qinglan was painting an oil painting and didn’t rush to finish; she didn’t require Fu Hengyi to remain completely still either.
Despite the wait being quite boring, there wasn’t the slightest impatience on Fu Hengyi’s face. His gaze upon her was tender and loving, and occasionally, when their eyes met, they shared a light smile.
This version of Shen Qinglan shed all her armor and chill, appearing just like any ordinary twenty-one-year-old girl.
As evening neared, Shen Qinglan finally put down her paintbrush. Fu Hengyi stood up, "Are you done?" He walked over, his eyes landing on the canvas, and he paused.
The oil painting on the canvas wasn’t vibrantly colored but used a fresh, light green background, seemingly depicting a hillside where a man lay on a vast grassland. His posture was straight, dressed casually, one leg bent with a hand resting on his knee, while the other leg stretched out carelessly.
He was squinting with one hand over his eyes, his face unclear, but the side view showed his sculpted features and a prominent nose.
Not far off, a woman sat on a tree branch, intently watching the man on the grass.
That man was unmistakably Fu Hengyi, and the woman was Shen Qinglan.
"I’ll get this painting framed tomorrow and hang it in the study," Fu Hengyi said, reaching out to take the painting. Shen Qinglan stopped him, "The paint is still wet; let it dry first."
Seeing the wet ink, Fu Hengyi withdrew his hand, allowing Shen Qinglan to pull him out of the study.
What Fu Hengyi didn’t see was that beneath this painting, there lay another. Unlike the freshly colored previous one, this one was filled with large swathes of black, covering three-fifths of the canvas, with only a corner showing a patch of white, like the first light piercing through darkness.
In the vast blackness, a slender, pale woman’s hand extended from the ground, fresh red blood and mottled scars on it, desperately reaching toward something.
Following the direction of this hand, one could see a larger, wheat-colored hand with calluses on the palm, behind which, was a bright light.
At the bottom right of the canvas were two faint words—"Redemption."
He was her redemption.