Chapter 7: Here to Cause Trouble

At the entrance, a dozen bodyguards in immaculate suits strode in first, forming two neat rows to create a path. As soon as the red carpet was unrolled and smoothed, a tall, striking young man stepped forward. He wore a coffee-colored trench coat, his broad shoulders and narrow waist giving his long frame an elegant silhouette. Beneath his slightly wavy short hair was a face so handsome it could steal one’s breath, and those soulful, almond-shaped eyes seemed capable of drawing out a person’s very soul.

Sang Ke stared at the man’s face, rubbing her eyes several times, still unable to believe what she was seeing. As the man drew closer, she instinctively crouched lower and lower, wishing she could melt into the floor. Fortunately, the hall was packed with people. When Huo Yanting passed by her at a mere fifteen centimeters away, he still failed to notice her. Soon, he swept right past her entire world, heading straight to the center of the crowd, to the host of the art exhibition. It was as if he had come for Song Linlang alone; no one else could command even a fraction of his attention.

Sang Ke watched his retreating figure for a long time, unable to recover her composure. Was it really him? Was it a hallucination? It couldn’t possibly be him. Although she had lived with the man for nearly a month, and he was often too lazy even to wash a cup, treating her like a maid with an unbearable sense of entitlement, she had simply chalked it up to a flawed personality, never imagining he was the scion of a wealthy family.

After all, he seemed so poor—his only possession of value was a camera, and he rode shared bikes everywhere. The more she recalled, the harder it was to reconcile the idle layabout from her memory with the princely figure before her. Aside from their faces and physiques, they were nothing alike!

Before Sang Ke could make sense of it all, Huo Yanting suddenly halted. His gaze lingered on Song Linlang for only a heartbeat before shifting quickly to the director of Xingchen. His voice carried a chill, like a storm about to break: “Where is she?”

Sensing Young Master Huo’s anger but unsure of the cause, the director stammered, “Young Master Huo, this is Miss Song, Song Linlang.”

Song Linlang, called by name, approached with a bright smile, offering her carefully prepared gift. “Young Master Huo, thank you so much for lending me this venue for my exhibition. As a token of my gratitude, I’ve painted this piece for you over several sleepless nights. I hope you like it.”

Song Linlang had done her research and knew Huo Yanting loved astronomy, so she had specially painted a depiction of the Milky Way. She was confident he would be pleased. But at this moment, Huo Yanting showed no intention of accepting the gift. Song Linlang stood awkwardly, holding her painting.

Sensing the tension, she forced a smile. “If this one isn’t to your taste, you’re welcome to choose any other piece from my exhibition.”

But Huo Yanting only asked coolly, “Song Linlang—graduate of the Royal Academy of Fine Arts in France, Libra, born in the year of the Rabbit, fond of sweets, dislikes bitter coffee?”

Song Linlang was surprised that the young master knew her so well, even her preferences, and her embarrassment vanished in a rush of delight. “Young Master Huo, how did you know all that?”

Realizing he had been deceived, Huo Yanting’s gaze darkened, and a cold smile touched his lips. “Excellent.”

“Excellent in what way?” Song Linlang asked, puzzled.

Huo Yanting had no patience for further conversation and strode away. The surrounding crowd, confused by his abrupt arrival and departure, whispered among themselves.

Only Sang Ke, with the benefit of hindsight, understood what was happening. For that month, whenever asked about herself, she had answered according to Song Linlang’s “standard responses.” Yet, even though he had never seemed attentive or engaged when they were together—always cold and perfunctory, never truly responding—he had remembered every detail.

Who would have thought that this man had remembered it all!

Now certain that the heir of the Huo family was the very man she’d had an affair with, Sang Ke’s heart plunged to its lowest depths. And as if fate could not bear to see her at peace, just as Huo Yanting was about to reach the exit, he suddenly turned back and walked in her direction.

Sang Ke felt as if her blood had turned to ice.

“What’s wrong?” Pei Xuyun, noticing her pallor, stepped closer.

With a man six foot one standing in front of her, shielding her from prying eyes, Sang Ke’s sense of security rose a little. She swallowed hard and whispered, “Pei Xuyun, I think I might have somehow offended this Huo heir. If you don’t want to be implicated, please just stand still and don’t let him notice me.”

Pei Xuyun frowned, about to retort that it had nothing to do with him, when Huo Yanting was already striding toward them. Sang Ke’s heart leapt into her throat!

Fortunately, Huo Yanting didn’t notice them and brushed right past Pei Xuyun. As he did, Sang Ke, separated from him by nothing but Pei Xuyun, seemed to catch the scent of his cologne. For so many nights, it had been that very scent that lulled her to sleep.

She had thought that everything that happened in France was long since forgotten, not realizing that a single familiar scent could call back every memory. Huo Yanting didn’t stop until he reached a particular oil painting.

Song Linlang, seeing Young Master Huo apparently captivated by her graduation project, felt her insides twist as if a nest of vipers had taken hold. Why? Was that wretch Sang Ke’s painting really so good? Not only did her own mother favor it, but even Young Master Huo was entranced.

Though it made her sick with jealousy, Song Linlang still forced herself to smile and walked over to Huo Yanting. “Do you like this painting, Young Master Huo? I painted it over a year ago and was lucky enough to win an award.”

Huo Yanting stared at the painting, his voice flat. “You painted this?”

“Of course. This was my graduation project from my studies in France. Many people know that.”

His gaze shifted from the painting to her face. “I’ll ask you again—did you paint this?”

Song Linlang had no idea why he was pressing the question, but feigned calm. “O-of course.”

Huo Yanting smiled—a terrifying smile. “The person who painted this offended me. Are you sure you want to take the blame?”

Song Linlang was suddenly caught in a dilemma. Bearing the anger of the young master was no small matter. But to admit in public that she hadn’t painted the piece was as good as a death sentence.

Pei Xuyun, hearing Huo Yanting’s words and recalling what Sang Ke had just told him about offending the young master, was seized by a wild suspicion. He looked at Sang Ke in disbelief. “You painted that?”

“So what if I did? Does it change your view of Song Linlang?” Sang Ke looked at his surprised face, wanting to laugh.

Pei Xuyun, both irritated and embarrassed, retorted, “Of course not. There must be some misunderstanding. Linlang is so talented—she’s a better artist than you, so why would she need to steal your work?”

Sang Ke curled her lips. “As long as it makes you happy.”

No longer bothering with this lovesick fool, she turned her gaze back to Huo Yanting, the brightest presence in the crowd, unable to comprehend how he recognized the painting as hers. After all, her style and Song Linlang’s were nearly indistinguishable. Otherwise, Song Linlang would never have chosen her as a ghost painter.

For years, only Liu Wanqin had been able to tell their works apart. Even she had been deceived for years, only realizing the truth after taking Sang Ke as her apprentice and, after months of teaching, finally discerning the differences in their styles—discovering that her favorite works submitted by her daughter had all been painted by Sang Ke.

As for this man, he had only lived with her for a month...

Meanwhile, Huo Yanting, having waited in vain for Song Linlang’s answer, soon lost patience. “I can’t find her. And as for her paintings, you can forget about keeping them.”

“Young Master Huo…” Song Linlang gazed at him in terror.

He ignored her, sweeping his gaze across the hall, pointing to a dozen scattered paintings—including the prize-winning graduation piece before him—and gave a chilling order.

“Smash them!”