Chapter 44: Opening up the Ren and Du Meridians
The bustling wedding had been prepared with great fanfare for a long time, yet it concluded swiftly. Most of the friends and relatives spent just an hour or two eating, leaving their red envelopes as a token of participation before heading out.
Jiang Xiaoyuan picked up her makeup kit, pondering what to do once she got home—after assisting with the bride’s makeup from dawn, she was utterly exhausted. She figured she wouldn’t be able to do anything that required much skill and might as well take advantage of her dazed state to sketch a few quick drawings to keep her hand in practice.
The newlyweds saw the guests off at the door one by one when Chen Fangzhou’s bride pulled Jiang Xiaoyuan aside, speaking a bit bashfully: “A few of my classmates and colleagues just asked who my makeup artist was. They’re all getting married soon and want to hire you.”
Jiang Xiaoyuan laughed it off. She thought about how busy she was recently—preparing documents for going abroad, setting up her studio, brushing up on her English, and getting ready for exams the following spring. She had no time for this kind of favor work, getting up before dawn just to do someone’s makeup. Besides, bridal makeup styles were always so repetitive; doing more of them wouldn’t help her grow, and no matter how many she did, they wouldn’t count as part of her portfolio.
Jiang Xiaoyuan replied, “Sister-in-law, the thing is, I’ll be going abroad for training with my boss soon…”
Being adults, there was no need to spell it out. The bride understood immediately and quickly said, “Right, someone as talented as you is bound to have a big future in this field. Studying is more important… You won’t laugh at me, right? I told them you charge 300 yuan for morning makeup and 800 yuan for a full day without discounts. If they ask you later, don’t blow my cover, okay?”
What?
That much?
Jiang Xiaoyuan’s tired eyes instantly lit up. All her high-minded thoughts about being too refined to take on bridal work were obliterated by the lure of money, with her principles thrown out the window.
Jiang Xiaoyuan said, “You know, someone once said that time is like, you know, you can always squeeze a little more out if you try. I still have a ton of things to do before I leave, and I won’t be able to go for at least two or three months. If anything comes up, just have them call me. A friend of my sister-in-law is a friend of mine, right? I couldn’t possibly neglect you no matter how busy I get!”
Chen Fangzhou’s look wasn’t quite “contempt”—it was more like “disgust,” if one had to describe it.
As they left the hotel where the wedding was held, Jiang Xiaoyuan felt light as a feather. Even when carrying a large box, her waist and back were not sore, and her legs were not cramped.
“Is my appearance fee worth that much now?” she thought, floating on air. “If I build up a reputation, I could start my own matchmaking company and stop dealing with that effeminate Jiang’s attitude. The money will just keep rolling in!”
While she was lost in these thoughts, the effeminate Jiang called her. “Where are you? Are you still working or just having a leisurely meal? Have you died outside or something? Get over here! We’re going to see a property. Hurry!”
Jiang Xiaoyuan: “Damn.”
Her daydream shattered with a pop, reduced to nothing. Defeated, she tidied herself up and started looking for a bus stop. At that moment, Qi Lian’s car pulled up next to her. “Where to? Get in, I’ll give you a ride. Don’t worry, I didn’t drink today—fooled them all with Sprite.”
Jiang Xiaoyuan, unfamiliar with the area and struggling to find decent transportation, gratefully hopped in.
Jiang Xiaoyuan said, “Take me to Earl Apartments. That tyrant is on my case again.”
After driving a while, Qi Lian adjusted the rearview mirror and asked: “Do you know who’s been following you? Someone’s been tailing you.”
Jiang Xiaoyuan: “…”
She looked back in confusion, leaning on the seat, and didn’t notice anything unusual among the cars behind them, but after rubbing her eyes, she spotted a bright pink vehicle standing out in traffic.
“I think it’s the same car from the other day,” Qi Lian said. “Who is it?”
Jiang Xiaoyuan frowned as she fumbled for her phone. “My boss said it’s his mom…”
Jiang Xiaoyuan had only met Jian Bo’s mom once. She couldn’t understand what she had done to offend the older woman—why did she keep bothering her?
First, she’d scared her with her car, and now she was tailing her…
She may not be stunningly beautiful, but she’s certainly not ugly enough to make people dislike her at first sight, is she?
She directly called the Empress Dowager Jiang. She had just been scolded by Jiang Bo, and she finally found a chance to scold him back: “Boss, what’s going on? Your mom has nothing better to do than tail me in her cute little flower-fairy car first thing in the morning. What’s her problem? I’m practically in tears from fright!”
Jiang Bo’s tone immediately turned tense: “Are you sure it’s my mom? I thought you said you hadn’t met her?”
Jiang Xiaoyuan thought for a moment and recounted the time she encountered the “road menace” when delivering a letter.
After finishing her story, Jiang Xiaoyuan added dramatically: “But if she’s planning to throw a 30 million yuan check in my face and tell me to leave her son, I’ll forgive both of you.”
Jiang Bo was silent for a while. After a pause, he said in a low voice: “My mom’s getting old. She’s a bit paranoid. She doesn’t want me doing this job anymore. Maybe she saw you delivering that letter and misunderstood.”
Jiang Xiaoyuan: “Wait, misunderstood what? Sister, you need to explain yourself.”
Jiang Bo snapped, “Shut up. Find someone to go with you today. Don’t come over later. Be careful. I’ll send you the studio address once I finalize it… Sorry for dragging you into my family’s mess. I’ll handle it.”
This was the first time Jiang Bo had ever said “sorry” to her, leaving Jiang Xiaoyuan a bit stunned.
But before she could fully absorb it, Jiang Bo added one more thing.
Jiang Bo: “And who gave you the idea you were worth 30 million?”
With that, he hung up cleanly.
Qi Lian: “So, where are we headed?”
Jiang Xiaoyuan hesitated for a while: “How about… let’s just head back to school for now.”
Qi Lian didn’t respond immediately. After a while, he casually asked: “Want to come over and see some of my old photos?”
Jiang Xiaoyuan: “…uh.”
Since she had gotten up in the middle of the night, her mind was still groggy and she hadn’t fully processed what he’d said, but Qi Lian had already turned the car around. Apparently, he wasn’t really asking, more like informing her of the plan.
Jiang Xiaoyuan: “Alright.”
She mused briefly. If it had been Empress Dowager Jiang that had made such a decision to change his mind without asking, she would have fought back tooth and nail. But somehow, it didn’t feel strange coming from Qi Lian.
Why was that?
Perhaps in this unfortunate world, there really was something like “luck value,” and for Qi Lian, about 80% of that luck seemed to manifest on his face.
Qi Lian didn’t live at home. He had his own sleek, furnished bachelor pad downtown, which he rarely cleaned, so the place still had the generic look from when the developer first sold it.
His photography work was diverse, mostly landscapes, with some close-ups of flowers and architecture. Jiang Xiaoyuan, having studied photography herself, found the artistic style familiar. Though the photos didn’t particularly move her, she did have a hard time putting down his high-end equipment.
“I sometimes sell these to publishers,” Qi Lian explained. “They’re used for book covers—starry skies, skies, forests, oceans, that kind of thing. Romance novels like using flower and grass images. Magazines and newspapers buy them from outside sources sometimes too.”
Jiang Xiaoyuan asked casually: “You don’t photograph people?”
Qi Lian: “…I do.”
He pulled out a thick, old photo album from a cabinet. The first picture Jiang Xiaoyuan flipped to stunned her.
It was an enlarged photo of an elderly man with graying hair, sitting hunched over on a bench in a residential community. His hands, with prominent knuckles, were covered in wrinkles. Each wrinkle seemed to be filled with dirt of unknown origin. In his palm was a crumpled tissue, on which was scrawled half of a formula that Jiang Xiaoyuan couldn’t understand.
He stared blankly at the camera, his greasy hair frozen in the wind, as was the look in his eyes—caught in the gap of time.
The photo was titled: “Professor.”
The post-processing on the photo was minimal. The background showed a lively neighborhood, with a red scarf from a nearby laundry line drifting in the air, suspended like a banner above the professor’s head. It stood out sharply against the gray stones and sky, almost as if mocking his existence.
He had spent his life teaching and enlightening others. Now, who could enlighten him?
Jiang Bo sometimes threw around the word “soul” when dragging Jiang Xiaoyuan along to side gigs, forcing her to look at tons of material related to styling. She always thought he was just messing with her when he was in a bad mood.
But at that moment, upon seeing the photograph, she suddenly felt as though she had vaguely touched upon an unknown realm.
A thought swept through her mind—everything, it turns out, has a soul.
As she thought this, certain techniques that Empress Dowager Jiang had once used, which she hadn’t fully understood, suddenly began to make sense.
Everyone knows what features are considered beautiful. For instance, if the eyes are too far apart, they need to be drawn closer; if someone lacks vitality, eyeliner can be used to make the eyes look spirited; for a flat nose, contouring is applied, and for a round face, shading is added… All of these are technical aspects that Jiang Xiaoyuan had always strived to perfect.
Yet, until this moment, she recalled how unreliable the makeup she had applied on Jiang Bo at the beauty center training had been.
It seemed as if she had completely transformed Jiang Bo, turning his oily complexion into the kind of handsome man she personally admired. But in hindsight, it was merely a superficial makeover.
Jiang Bo’s own temperament was cold and volatile, with a strange aura about him. At first glance, he didn’t seem to have any outward feminine tendencies, yet people still perceived him as soft. Upon deeper analysis, it was probably because of his neurotic, gloomy vibe. Could a person with such a strong personality really be turned into a quiet, handsome man just by makeup?
Once, when Empress Dowager Jiang’s incessant nagging had worn her down, Jiang Xiaoyuan had challenged Jiang Bo to define “soul.”
Jiang Bo thought for a moment and then gave her an answer, though it seemed somewhat abstract—he said, “The so-called soul is that thing which grabs you at first glance.”
Jiang Xiaoyuan’s thoughts swiftly sifted through her many accumulated learnings.
Why is a high nose bridge considered beautiful? If no one naturally had one, would people still think it was beautiful?
Why are red lips and white teeth seen as attractive? What if blood wasn’t naturally red, or we still had to hunt for food with sharp teeth—would society then value “green faces and fangs”?
The essence of beauty is something that mesmerizes the soul, and what truly captivates isn’t about how well shadow blends into blush, nor the differences between Asian and European lip shapes.
The sudden burst of inspiration felt like a long-awaited breakthrough as if she had “opened up the Ren and Du meridians.”
Her gaze returned to the photograph, and she realized that the camera wasn’t focused on the subject’s face, but rather on his hands.
His skin was weathered, with the harshness of life etched into the wrinkles, much like the cracks of parched earth, showing a life gradually drying up and fading away. Yet, the quivering integral sign at his fingertips ended with a sharp tear from the pen, cutting deeply into the paper.
It was like a silent yet deafening scream.
Jiang Xiaoyuan couldn’t help but lower her voice: “Is this the old professor you mentioned, the one who’s losing his mind?”
Qi Lian: “Yes. I kept photos of most of you; otherwise, no one would know these people ever existed.”
Jiang Xiaoyuan quietly flipped to the next page and saw a woman standing in front of a piano.
The woman was clumsy and overweight, her back rolls clearly outlined by her undergarments, her posture slouched. She stood in front of the decrepit piano, pressing a single key with her finger, her face turned to the side, eyes slightly closed, as if listening intently. Her greasy, mid-length hair hung down, partially obscuring her face, which showed a mix of joy and pain.
“She was a world-renowned classical pianist,” Qi Lian briefly explained. “She’s deaf on this side now, the wife of a mute butcher.”
On the third page, Qi Lian added, “This one’s a scholarship recipient from the dance academy, but she had polio, so her legs are different lengths. If you look closely, her facial features are also asymmetrical.”
The next photo made Qi Lian pause. “Uh… this one resembles you a bit. Came from a wealthy family, studied at Oxford, very dignified young man. But after arriving, he discovered his father was a gambling addict who had his hand chopped off in front of him. The boy wet his pants out of fear. I found him running away from that horrifying world, and I helped him settle down…”
Jiang Xiaoyuan: “What happened next?”
Qi Lian shrugged: “He found out he was nothing but a dropout without even a primary school diploma and couldn’t handle the truth, so he committed suicide.”
Jiang Xiaoyuan: “…”
“Wait,” Jiang Xiaoyuan said. “I don’t quite remember the specifics, but isn’t there a policy where even 70 or 80-year-olds can get into university? So can’t ordinary people take the entrance exams? This guy was a genius—why didn’t he just take the exam and get into a top school? Why did it matter that his original self didn’t finish primary school?”
Qi Lian: “In his original world, he was 19, but in this world, he’s already 34.”
Jiang Xiaoyuan: “… That’s kind of a loss. So what?”
Qi Lian sighed. “To a 19-year-old boy, being in your 30s feels like life is already over. He felt like his whole life was ruined, like a game where he lost from the start and couldn’t see any way to win. Perfectionism, you understand? Even a ‘B’ on a report card was unacceptable.”
Jiang Xiaoyuan was silent for a moment. “Looks like people like us, who are okay with mediocrity and afraid of death, are safer.”
Qi Lian smiled. “Can I keep a picture of you?”
Jiang Xiaoyuan: “Huh?”
Before she could react, Qi Lian clicked the camera shutter.
The lazy afternoon sunlight streamed in through the living room window, illuminating the young girl’s long hair, loosely tied and draped over one shoulder. Her sleeveless dress revealed her pale collarbone and arms, her face lightly dusted with powder that shimmered in the light. Her features were soft and delicate, but her eyes, captured by the camera, sparkled like obsidian containing a hidden flame—clearly reflecting the path she would walk in the future.
Qi Lian couldn’t help but sigh, feeling that this final photograph was perfect.
If you like our translation for this novel and want us to release more chapters frequently, feel free to support us on either our ko-fi and paypal ❤️
