953 Art Studio
Sifang Street was located near a famous scenic spot in Yangdu, part of the old town area. The Jinxiu Dongfang Community was also quite old, with no building exceeding six floors or having elevators installed.
Lumian followed behind Anderson, turning towards the building closest to the community entrance.
As they climbed the stairs, he couldn't help but raise his right hand to pinch his nose.
A mixture of strong odors permeated the air.
Anderson turned sideways and laughed. "The whole building is being renovated."
He had somehow already stuffed two wads of white paper into his nostrils.
"Why is everything being renovated?" Lumian didn't hide his confusion.
Anderson glanced at him and said with a smile, "This gated community is too old. Most owners have moved away and chosen to rent out their vacant apartments. Someone has rented all the rooms in this building, planning to…"
At this point, Anderson paused, his smile becoming more pronounced in the dim stairwell as his voice deepened. "Planning to open a boutique hostel."
Colorful, right? And that person is you, right? Lumian was somewhat mentally prepared for this and frowned slightly as he said, "Isn't there still an art studio in this building? How can you say all the rooms have been rented?"
Anderson tightened the white paper wads in his nostrils. "Is it possible that the person who opened the art studio is the same one who rented the other rooms?
"The boutique hostel he wants to open is adjacent to scenic spots, hidden in a gated community, with painting as its theme."
Lumian, still pinching his nose, feigned sudden realization and said, "I see."
Due to the strong renovation smells permeating the stairwell, the two didn't slow their pace as they conversed, quickly reaching the top floor, which was the sixth floor.
The doors of both units here were open, and on the wall facing the stairwell was a brightly colored mural. At its center were four characters:
"Mute Art Studio"
"That name is quite… special," Lumian commented sincerely.
By this point, the renovation smells had faded.
Anderson removed the white paper wads from his nostrils and explained earnestly,
"Painting is done with hands, not mouths. 'Mute' represents the studio's expectations for its students: focus, quietness, and dedication."
"That's a great explanation," Lumian applauded.
Anderson wasn't offended and said with a smile, "This isn't my forced interpretation, it's what the studio owner said."
"My sister once taught me dialectics, believing that even the worst words can have a positive side. Do you think that's right?" Lumian asked with a smile.
Anderson nodded. "If you think it's right, then it's right."
He led Lumian towards the door on the left.
Lumian didn't rush in, standing at the doorway to survey the fairly spacious living room.
There was a piece of darkness with only a hint of golden-red "Dawn" in the distance, a "Storm" with deep blue waves surging, "Pilgrims" with numerous blurred figures walking across a wasteland, and a grotesque "Monster" emerging from the seabed alongside "Pirates" trying to save their ship.
The "Pirates" painting suddenly reminded Lumian of the latest volume of "The Great Adventurer". He saw vines growing from the figures' heads, bearing watermelons, while milky white liquid sprayed everywhere on the deck.
Is this recreating Gehrman Sparrow's experience? As Lumian pondered this, he stared for two seconds at the sea monster that resembled a giant leech with its maw full of sharp teeth.
Anderson walked to the easel in the middle of the living room and turned around.
Lumian looked around once more before slowly following him in, "curiously" asking, "Where's the studio owner?"
Anderson raised his right hand and pointed at himself.
"You're the studio owner?" Lumian "surprisingly" confirmed.
Anderson nodded.
He left the place, going down the stairs to see tenants of the community gathering in small groups, looking around.
They had heard the sound of an explosion earlier but couldn't find its source or any damage to the buildings in the community. They could only attribute it to a high-speed fighter jet passing overhead.
Lumian passed through the group and returned to the community entrance.
Suddenly, a figure was reflected in his eyes.
The figure had blonde hair and blue eyes, wearing a white shirt and black trousers, with hands in pockets, looking like someone watching the commotion.
Anderson!
Anderson Hood!
Upon seeing Lumian, Anderson asked with a surprised expression, "You're already here? Have you already entered?"
Lumian smiled. "I'm in the habit of arriving early."
Anderson smiled as well. "Me too."
As Lumian walked up to him, he asked with a smile, "Did you enjoy yourself earlier?"
"Very much," Lumian maintained his smile, saying meaningfully, "I'd like to do it again."
Anderson Hood nodded slightly.
He was about to speak when he suddenly looked around.
"Maybe next time," Anderson said with a smile, shifting his gaze back. "Let's keep in touch via WeChat."
He raised his right palm, holding his phone.
He didn't mention visiting the art studio or ask if Lumian's friend was interested in taking classes. Lumian didn't bring up these topics either, waving his hand and saying, "I'll be going then."
"See you." Anderson waved back.
Lumian walked past the tutor towards the roadside.
A gray sedan pulled up and stopped in front of him.
Lumian opened the door, got in, and said to Anthony in the driver's seat, "Let's go to Worker's Road."
Anthony nodded and merged into traffic.
Franca, Luo Shan, and Zhou Mingrui had arranged to have dinner on Worker's Road tonight at a taro chicken hotpot restaurant.
As the car drove, chomping sounds continuously came from the back seat.
…
On Worker's Road, inside the "Yizhou Roast Chicken" taro chicken hotpot restaurant.
Franca and Luo Shan had arrived earlier, choosing a window-side table. They had ordered chicken and taro but hadn't selected any other dishes yet.
Each of them had ordered a bottle of iced soy milk, not finding any issue with Zhou Mingrui choosing such a noisy, lively place that wasn't quite bourgeois enough for a meal.
What mattered was whether the food tasted good!
At nearly 6:50 p.m., Zhou Mingrui, wearing a black shirt, walked in.
"Over here, over here!" Luo Shan waved cheerfully.
Zhou Mingrui weaved through the other tables, came over, and said as he sat down, "Some extra work came up just before clocking out."
"We agreed on 7 p.m.," Luo Shan said, not minding at all. She pointed at Franca and said, "This is my neighbor and colleague, Luo Fu."
Zhou Mingrui glanced at Franca and said with a smile, "We've met before. Let's order first."
Franca looked outside at the darkening sky, feeling a bit uneasy.