This nonsense was so obvious that Xiang Mo couldn’t believe anyone would take it seriously. In fact, the man in front of him seemed to wear an expression of disbelief, but beneath that disbelief, his anger appeared even more apparent.
Following his gaze, Xiang Mo looked down to his own waist and noticed that Du Chi’s hand rested there. It wasn’t a casual touch, but rather a firm and intimate connection through the fabric, fitting closely to his waist’s contours.
“How is this possible?” The man took a deep breath, glaring at Du Chi with a sense of grievance. “Didn’t you say you wouldn’t date anyone?”
Xiang Mo found himself in an unexpected situation. Staying in Du Chi’s embrace, he remained motionless, unsure of how to react.
Thinking about having to deal with this stranger upstairs, Xiang Mo hesitated briefly. He ultimately relaxed and let Du Chi hold him, as refusing now would make future neighborly relations difficult. Still, he remained outwardly calm, looking as if he were just an old man taking a leisurely walk, watching a ping-pong match between two young people.
“You knew?” Du Chi retorted, with a hint of impatience. “Then, what do you want me to do with you?”
Xiang Mo hadn’t intended to get involved in the affairs of these two people, but with nothing better to do, he reluctantly began to analyze the current situation.
It seemed like Du Chi was also someone who didn’t want a relationship, someone who was only interested in physical connections. They might have had an agreement not to involve feelings, but it seemed that the other person didn’t understand that boundary.
—How does this situation remind him of what happened with Tang Song?
No, Tang Song was more reasonable, and he would never stage such a drama. Perhaps there were other emotions and complications between these two.
Or perhaps Du Chi’s refusal to date was just an excuse, and this person failed to comprehend that, thinking they could try harder.
Xiang Mo sighed inwardly.
Life was beautiful, time was precious, so why would anyone be so eager to get into a relationship?
“I…” The man faltered for a moment, obviously overwhelmed by his thoughts. Then he turned his attention toward Xiang Mo for some reason. “So why him? What’s so great about him?”
Apparently, he had believed Du Chi’s earlier nonsense.
“Oh, he’s an artist,” Du Chi responded, glancing lazily at the calm Xiang Mo held in his arms. “I just like artists.”
Xiang Mo noticed that when Du Chi casually used the word “oh,” he was likely making things up. The term “artist” is typically a compliment, but for some reason, it sounded ironic when Du Chi said it, at least in Xiang Mo’s ears.
Perhaps it was the aftereffect of calling himself an “erotic artist.”
“What kind of artist? I can be—”
“That’s enough, Ye Xing.” Du Chi interrupted the man. “It’s getting late. You should go rest.”
In general, Xiang Mo thought Du Chi was more understanding. If Tang Song were bothering him, Xiang Mo would just deliver him a “block” package and not bother trying to persuade him.
“Let’s go,” Xiang Mo was about to leave when someone grabbed his wrist. He heard Du Chi’s natural tone, “Go check out your newly organized room.”
It sounded as if he really intended to show him.
Playing along with the act, Xiang Mo let Du Chi lead him, and after turning the corner, the world seemed to quiet down. Without needing a reminder, Du Chi released his grip on Xiang Mo.
Only then did Xiang Mo realize that both of them were wearing flip-flops. Walking side by side, they made a “pat-pat” sound in rhythmic unison, like an impromptu nighttime melody.
Du Chi was taller with longer strides, and he took a slower pace. Although they didn’t match their footsteps, they remained side by side.
“Thanks.” Away from the corner, Du Chi explained the recent events. “Today is his birthday, and he insisted on me offering myself as a gift.”
“You’re being cruel on his birthday,” Xiang Mo replied in a nonchalant tone.
He wasn’t particularly concerned about the situation, but since Du Chi brought it up, he didn’t mind having a conversation.
“I gave him a birthday gift,” Du Chi said dispassionately, shrugging. “But he wasn’t satisfied.”
Xiang Mo guessed these two must be quite close, as he didn’t even know Tang Song’s birthday month.
He didn’t immediately respond, maybe out of concern that he might misinterpret. When Xiang Mo turned back, he noticed that Du Chi’s eyes were focused on his waist.
The narrow and steep wooden stairs in the old house made it impossible for him to walk with his eyes closed.
“About the sketching class on the weekend,” Xiang Mo said, not too concerned. “Can your motorcycle be used as a subject?”
“Sure,” Du Chi casually replied. “Feel free.”
The art studio was quite small and only accommodated five students during the week. On the weekend, if some of Xiang Mo’s former students joined the class, a few more could attend.
On Saturday afternoon, it was customary for advanced sketching class, and Mr. Li arrived at the studio on time.
Although Xiang Mo had placed him near the motorcycle, providing a new background compared to previous times, students still complained, “Why are we drawing Mr. Li again?”
“What’s wrong with drawing me?” Mr. Li sat upright on a stool, straightening his tie. “Back in the day when I was a fashion model, it was—”
“Top, in the nation,” the students chimed in, interrupting him.
“Hmph, at least you know.”
Although he was nearly seventy years old, Mr. Li was still upright and had an air of a gentleman. Simply sitting there, he perfectly matched the atmosphere of the old house.
The students’ complaints were not without merit. He had served as a model for Xiang Mo for a long time, making the students tired, and even Xiang Mo had noticed that Mr. Li had several sets of clothes in his wardrobe.
“Teacher Xiang, how about letting the students draw you next time?” After the class ended, Meng Yun packed her art supplies and chatted casually with Xiang Mo.
She had been a student of Xiang Mo’s and was now a freelance illustrator. When the studio was crowded on weekends, she occasionally helped Xiang Mo with classes.
Previously, she had posted the portrait of Xiang Mo with a straight face on her social media.
“I can’t model and teach at the same time.” Xiang Mo arranged the messy chairs, and then, on a whim, he looked at Meng Yun and said, “Or perhaps you could make the sacrifice?”
“I can’t sit for three hours.” Meng Yun quickly declined. “But you should really consider changing the model. When I was in your class, it was always Mr. Li, and we didn’t even need to look at him. I could just paint him from memory.”
“That’s because you’re skilled.”
Although he said that, Xiang Mo actually felt that since he was running a business, he should consider the students’ feelings. Painting could be quite tedious, and maintaining their interest was essential.
After closing the art studio, Xiang Mo returned to his room and turned on his computer.
It had been a while since he had written anything. He stared at the blinking cursor in his document for a while before slowly pressing a key—
Model Wanted
Requirements: All genders, ages 18 and above, with distinctive features, able to sit still for three hours or more.
Compensation: $100 per hour
Wait a minute.
Xiang Mo suddenly felt something was off. A model is a person, so why use the term “compensation”? It made it sound like an improper transaction.
He deleted the word “compensation” and replaced it with “salary,” which seemed simpler. He added a line: “Salary is negotiable for exceptionally talented models.”
[mfn]
An exceptional model lived upstairs.
[/mfn]
