SD chapter 2

If everyone were capable of self-reflection, most of the world’s conflicts wouldn’t exist.

Xiang Mo had once gone to the movies alone, and there was a woman of about fifty sitting next to him.

As the movie approached its end, the woman took out her phone to make a call. The call went unanswered multiple times, and the light from her phone screen was disturbingly bright. Unable to bear it, Xiang Mo lightly tapped her and whispered, “The light from your phone is quite blinding.”

Most people would feel apologetic when being pointed out like this. However, just as Xiang Mo finished his sentence, the movie abruptly entered its ending credits without warning, and the entire cinema was illuminated.

The woman seemed to gain confidence suddenly and cast a sidelong glance at Xiang Mo, sarcastically asking, “Can’t you endure for just one second?”

The implication was that since the movie would end in just one second, what harm could her call do?

Hearing such words, Xiang Mo didn’t feel angry. He responded with the same phrase: “Can’t you endure for just one second?”

If the movie was about to end in one second, why didn’t she wait until after it was over to make her call?

The knife thrown came back to cut herself. The woman was at a loss, and her face turned extremely unpleasant.

Xiang Mo, on the other hand, was in a good mood. Managing people who only blamed others without self-reflection gave him more satisfaction than watching an exciting movie.

However, he had never imagined that one day he would become such a person.

The poor sound insulation in the old building bothered Xiang Mo, but he had only considered it from the perspective of being disturbed by the upstairs noise, not thinking about how it might affect others as well.

This was the result of not practicing self-reflection.

“Is that so?” He gently shook the coffee cup in his hand. Xiang Mo forced himself to maintain a calm exterior and responded, “I’m sorry, I will be more considerate in the future.”

Gracefully leaving is the only way for the defeated to maintain their dignity. Xiang Mo turned to go back inside. However, he heard Du Chi behind him still nonchalantly saying, “Oh, I don’t mind.”

Completing the sentence, Du Chi was likely saying that he didn’t mind if Xiang Mo bothered him, or perhaps… he didn’t mind the noise Xiang Mo made in bed.

Xiang Mo almost spilled his coffee. He pretended not to hear and went back to the second floor.

Recalling last night’s events carefully, he vowed that he had only made some sounds in the final moments of ecstasy.

Du Chi claimed his “sounds were quite loud,” which, like Xiang Mo’s exaggeration about the noise lasting all night, was an exaggeration.

However, these two exaggerations served different purposes. Xiang Mo exaggerated to express his discontent, while Du Chi, on the other hand, had more sinister motives; he was clearly teasing Xiang Mo.

His teasing was so open that Xiang Mo should probably thank Du Chi for being so clear about the fact that the noise was enough to lift the roof off.

Standing by the kitchen window and looking outside, the French plane trees on both sides of the street had grown tender green leaves. Unidentified birds hopped among the branches, emitting a pleasant and melodious chirping.

On a day when Xiang Mo’s mood was better, he would sit in the courtyard, coffee in hand, enjoying the unique charm of the neighborhood.

However, today, he couldn’t muster up the enthusiasm. He poured his coffee down the kitchen sink, feeling increasingly frustrated.

Actually, when Du Chi had just moved in, the atmosphere between them was quite friendly.

The moving truck was parked at the entrance of Brush & Ink Studio, and Xiang Mo had proactively come to greet Du Chi, even though he had a large dog by his side.

“He’s called Sanmao, and he doesn’t bite,” Du Chi bent down slightly, rubbing the Golden Retriever’s head, and said to Xiang Mo.

Due to the nature of his work, Xiang Mo encountered many strangers, some coming to learn painting, and others coming to buy art. Because of his job, he had a habit of unconsciously observing the facial features of strangers.

Du Chi had beautiful eyes, deep and soulful, unflinching and exuding openness and sincerity when looking at you.

Of course, this was only a first impression.

“Sanmao?” Xiang Mo shifted his focus from Du Chi’s eyes to the big dog’s eyes. He felt that Sanmao and Du Chi were somewhat alike, both appearing open and sincere, friendly, wagging their tails, and when called, their drooping ears would twitch slightly.

Xiang Mo wasn’t afraid of dogs, he just had a psychological shadow when it came to large dogs because a German Shepherd had run over and scratched him in the forearm when he was a child, which led to him getting five rabies shots.

“You can pet him,” Du Chi said.

The best way to break the ice between two strangers was through pet interactions. Xiang Mo initially wanted to improve his relationship with his new neighbor but as he was about to pluck up the courage to pet Sanmao, Three Meow suddenly slipped out from the studio, meowing and arrived at Xiang Mo’s side.

“You have a cat?” Du Chi crouched down, wanting to pet Three Meow’s head, but she deftly evaded him and circled around to the other side of Xiang Mo.

Xiang Mo turned his head, his gaze following the agile little calico cat.

“She’s called Three meow,” Xiang Mo said. “She’s like this. When you want to pet her, she hides. If you ignore her, she’ll come and rub against you.”

With a cat and a dog at his feet, it seemed like a harmonious scene. However, at this moment, Three Meow suddenly extended her front paws and unabashedly punched Sanmao before slipping back into the studio.

Seeing Sanmao’s bewildered expression, Xiang Mo couldn’t help but feel embarrassed. All right, this cat was not suited for socializing with other animals.

“Step aside.”

Two movers carried large cardboard boxes into the yard, breaking the awkward atmosphere between Xiang Mo and Du Chi.

Xiang Mo glanced at the packaging on the boxes, which was for a black wrought iron bed. Since the moving truck was empty, he took the initiative to lead Du Chi inside and asked, “Do you need help with unpacking?”

“No, I can handle it myself.” Du Chi, with Sanmao following him, entered the studio on the first floor. “When I came to see the house last time, I wanted to ask, are you running the studio part-time?”

The Brush & Ink Studio had open hours from 1 p.m. to 5 p.m. on weekdays and from 10 a.m. to 3 p.m. on weekends. Compared to some studios that were open early to late every day, the schedule at Brush & Ink Studio was relatively relaxed. Xiang Mo maintained this schedule not because he had other things to do but simply because he wanted to rest.

“No, it’s a full-time job.”

Xiang Mo didn’t say much, but he hadn’t always been a full-time artist.

Twenty-five was a turning point in Xiang Mo’s life. Before turning twenty-five, he was a fine arts teacher in a public middle school. He had a nice boyfriend, a successful job, and a fulfilling relationship.

In that year, encouraged and introduced by his boyfriend, he got the opportunity to hold a personal art exhibition.

At that time, Xiang Mo had the arrogance and confidence typical of young artists. He decided to showcase his figure drawings at the exhibition, as it was his favorite and most proficient subject.

Xiang Mo’s figure drawings had a distinct personal style. To put it in the words of an art magazine, the pencils in his hands were like cameras with built-in filters.

His strokes were incredibly detailed, realistic yet more than that.

Some parents, by chance, learned of Xiang Mo’s art exhibition and brought their children to see it. But when they saw the nude figures in Xiang Mo’s works, they reported him to the school.

“This kind of teacher is unsuitable for teaching students.” “What if he instills strange ideas in our children?”…

Faced with the parents’ questioning, Xiang Mo didn’t offer many explanations. He resigned from his job at the school. During the time when he was most emotionally vulnerable, his boyfriend, who should have been there for him, went abroad for his own career development. Eventually, they chose to break up.

With his job gone and his partner gone, it took Xiang Mo a long time to move on. He then used his income from selling art to establish the Brush & Ink Studio.

Three years quietly passed. In hindsight, Xiang Mo actually preferred his current tranquil and comfortable life. At least his students were all adults, and he no longer had to worry about being a bad influence on kids.

“Is this your work?”

Du Chi, who didn’t follow Xiang Mo upstairs, stayed in the corner of the studio with Sanmao.

In that corner hung the only figure drawing in the studio, which, compared to Xiang Mo’s previous works, was quite modest in scale, showing only the model’s back.

“Yes.” Replying with a single word made Xiang Mo seem somewhat indifferent, and he didn’t know if Du Chi understood the art. Nonetheless, Xiang Mo added, making conversation, “I specialize in figure drawing.”

“I found out I’ve seen your art exhibition.”

This unexpected topic surprised Xiang Mo. While he had some recognition in the art world, it wasn’t to the extent that anyone could recognize him anywhere.

He was about to ask Du Chi why he had gone to see his exhibition, but Du Chi continued, “At first, I thought it was a photography exhibition, but it turned out to be an art exhibition.”

Hearing this, Xiang Mo immediately understood. Du Chi must have visited it by chance and didn’t even know what the exhibition was about.

Compliments from outsiders didn’t hold much weight for Xiang Mo. He casually responded, “My art style is like this.”

“What a coincidence, I didn’t expect to meet a known artist here.”

Du Chi’s tone contained a sense of novelty, as if he had stumbled upon the wonders of fate. His eyes were full of curiosity when looking at Xiang Mo.

However, this curiosity was short-lived. It might have been the shallow impression and the present reality overlapping that made it feel unreal. Du Chi then examined Xiang Mo with an appraising look.

Being scrutinized naturally led to some overthinking. Xiang Mo believed he looked like a typical artist with his casual clothing and well-coordinated color choices. He kept his nails neatly trimmed, just like his refined artistic style.

He wasn’t sure why he let Du Chi scrutinize him, perhaps his vanity as an artist was at play, hoping to receive a compliment like “the artist is reflected in their work.”

However, Du Chi didn’t express any opinions. He just acted as if he were getting to know Xiang Mo again, playfully saying, “So, you’re the erotic artist.”

Erotic. Artist.

Upon hearing these words, Xiang Mo’s smile froze for a moment. Although he still maintained a friendly expression, his face was starting to turn dark.