Chapter 11: The texture of the canvas
[Four years?!]
Mu Mu was a little surprised.
He had read books and knew that humans are social animals. If humans had no contact with the outside world, their mental state could occasionally collapse.
[Then… does Mr. Painter not have any friends or family?]
Mu Mu asked cautiously.
[Not really.]
[I don’t know much, just that Mr. Fu has a very distant relationship with his family. As for friends… probably none either.]
[Mr. Fu sets extremely strict boundaries with the people around him. Let alone friends, he’s very resistant to anyone entering his territory and has already driven away several batches of servants.]
Reading this, Mu Mu immediately felt a little guilty about the harsh words he had said before.
It seemed he had accidentally stabbed right into the painter’s heart…
[The outside world describes Mr. Fu as cold and indifferent, but I actually think the words ‘reclusive and eccentric’ suit him better.]
[Alright, let’s not talk about him anymore.]
The five cats shifted the topic.
[Before, I clearly guessed that Mu Mu’s friend was Mr. Fu. I even wanted Mu Mu to come out and give a gift, which made you guys quarrel… I’m really sorry.]
Seeing Five Cats sincerely apologizing, Mu Mu immediately typed a reply.
[I don’t blame Kitty. It’s him who said something too much. If not today, it would have been tomorrow.]
[But, today, Kitty happened to tell me about the painter’s past. I’ve read a lot of books and know how to handle this kind of situation!]
[Books say that friends don’t have to fear conflicts; what’s feared is conflicts that cannot be resolved! The sooner a problem is discovered and solved, the better.]
Mu Mu glanced at the time on his tablet and did the math—his ten-minute period of cutting ties wasn’t even over yet! There was no way he was going to take the initiative to reconcile.
He crouched in the corner, staring at the tablet interface, completely unsure of what he wanted to do.
Mu Mu squatted in the corner, staring at the tablet screen, completely unsure of what he wanted to do.
Is this what sulking feels like? And he even said the word “cutting ties”.
Mu Mu stared blankly.
It felt strange, and he didn’t like it.
He didn’t like the word “cutting ties” either.
Mu Mu reflected inwardly—this word was too hurtful, he shouldn’t say it lightly in the future.
As he kept reflecting, he suddenly felt a shadow appear in front of him.
Mu Mu knew it was the painter coming. He almost instinctively looked up first, but he was still angry!
Mu Mu was determined not to initiate any interaction with him.
Fu Heqing walked over to where the little skeleton toy was hiding, saw it sitting motionless in the corner with no reaction, crouched down, and grabbed the little skeleton in his hand.
Even his fingertips and eyelashes trembled slightly.
Mu Mu remained in his original position, motionless. Out of the corner of his eye, he seemed to glimpse the painter opening his mouth as if to say something, but nothing came out.
Fu Heqing took the little skeleton back to the studio, placed it in its original spot before their quarrel, and then continued painting the unfinished work he had been working on.
Not a single explanation!
Mu Mu was furious. He also didn’t speak or move, keeping his original posture, silently stewing in anger.
Why did ten minutes feel so long!
Mu Mu angrily looked around everywhere, just refusing to look at the painter himself.
The painting Fu Heqing was working on now was something Mu Mu had never seen before—not a copy, not a casual sketch—but seemingly a depiction of the starry sky.
Mu Mu’s memory was excellent, and he immediately recognized it as the stars they had seen together a few days ago.
This painting was still only at the composition stage, but Mu Mu instantly noticed it was different from the others.
Most of the other paintings were just practice pieces. Once finished, they would be torn up. They were mostly done freely, without drafts or careful composition—just painting wherever inspiration struck.
But this painting, the painter was painting very slowly.
It was as if he was thinking continuously with each stroke.
And Mu Mu seemed to be able to feel a kind of warmth emanating from the painting itself.
Before, he had thought the portrait felt warm perhaps because of the use of warm colors, or because it had sunlight, flowers, and a bright smile.
But this time, the warm, comforting feeling was even stronger—like it came from the painting itself, growing more intense with each stroke the painter made, and then seeping into his body.
After the painter added a few more strokes, he painted even more slowly. Mu Mu vaguely sensed that if this painting were completed smoothly, it would surely be a perfect piece—worthy of a gallery exhibition or even an auction.
But now, the painter’s creative flow seemed to have been interrupted.
Mu Mu stared at the painting, suddenly feeling a force hit him, and the little skeleton toppled backward.
In the corner of his eye as he fell, Mu Mu saw the finger that had nudged him curl slightly, a little tense.
“Ten minutes are up.”
Fu Heqing spoke first.
“Come back.”
“No!”
Mu Mu blurted out again, “Who are you trying to fool! You have to apologize first!”
Fu Heqing lowered his gaze, looking at the skeleton toy, which had gone from stillness to lively chirping again, and responded in a low, deep voice.
“Mm.”
“Mm what?”
Mu Mu sat on the small table, grumbling in dissatisfaction, hands on his hips.
“Apologize.”
“But it’s dirty outside…”
Mu Mu immediately understood—the meaning was clear.
Apology—okay. Going outside—not okay.
He was about to explode with anger. He jumped down from the table again and hid directly in what he had previously thought was a very safe little cabinet, ignoring anything Fu Heqing said outside.
Mu Mu didn’t know how much time had passed. When he finally came out, it was completely dark outside. The wind was blowing hard, as if a heavy downpour was about to begin.
He passed by the studio, which was completely dark. The painter had already packed up and left.
But today, he had packed somewhat hastily—not in his usual meticulous manner.
The window wasn’t closed, the brushes weren’t put away, and even the canvas wasn’t secured.
Mu Mu looked at the canvas, feeling a bad premonition. Suddenly, a gust of wind blew in, catching the canvas and sending it flying out the window!
Mu Mu immediately ran after it. He looked down from the window to gauge where it landed, then hurried to the front door.
Most of the villa’s doors were secured with codes, but Mu Mu knew the front door’s password.
He grabbed a small mobile cart that was usually used as a step, climbed onto it, and started entering the code.
“2…4…0…7…”
“Then the confirm button.”
Just as Mu Mu was about to press confirm, a hand grabbed him and lifted him off the ground.
“No, Mu Mu.”
The painter’s cold voice came from behind, slightly hoarse, carrying an eerie undertone.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
“Your painting was blown away by the wind! I need to go get it!”
Fu Heqing seemed momentarily taken aback, then said, “It’s okay. I don’t want it.”
“Don’t want it?”
Mu Mu was completely stunned. He never expected to hear such an answer.
Given the painter’s personality, there was no way he should have said something like that.
Even an painter so calm and composed could sulk! Mu Mu thought in shock.
“B-but…”
Mu Mu wanted to argue further, but Fu Heqing had already cut off all his excuses in advance.
“I can paint it again,” Fu Heqing said softly, looking at Mu Mu.
Seeing Fu Heqing’s firm attitude, Mu Mu snorted, “Anyway, it’s not my stuff that got lost!”
“I’m not trying to go anywhere. Is it really necessary to guard it this strictly?”
Mu Mu kept glancing back at the painter as he walked away.
Fu Heqing looked at the front door, where the password had already been entered, and slowly reached out to press the confirm button.
The front door suddenly let out a series of “beep beep beep” sounds—the password was incorrect.
The old password had long since expired.
The moment the alert sounded, Mu Mu suddenly spun around and turned back.
Fu Heqing looked at the returning little skeleton toy. His eyes deepened for an instant, but his expression remained calm and indifferent. He stared intently at the little skeleton and softly asked, “What’s wrong?”
“You…”
Mu Mu looked at the painter, hesitating in his tone.
“But… that painting is of the stars we saw together before, right?” Mu Mu’s gaze drifted as he spoke to himself.
Fu Heqing responded softly with a low hum of acknowledgment.
Hearing Fu Heqing’s confirmation, Mu Mu’s voice immediately became firm. “Then I still want to get it back.”
After saying this, Mu Mu glanced at Fu Heqing.
The instant Mu Mu’s gaze met Fu Heqing’s, he bolted toward the door.
Almost simultaneously, Fu Heqing reached out and grabbed the little skeleton toy in the same moment their eyes met.
“I have to go! I like that painting!” Mu Mu’s soul, at the very moment he was caught, continued drifting outward—passing through Fu Heqing’s body and even through the already locked front door.
Normally, a soul passing through a human body should feel nothing. But Fu Heqing could clearly feel something being tugged away.
He turned around, only to see the last faint thread of bluish spirit light.
…
The wind outside grew stronger. When Mu Mu reached the window outside the studio, another gust of wind swept the canvas up into the sky again.
This time, it probably wouldn’t be so lucky as to land nearby.
Mu Mu dashed forward and instinctively reached out to grab the canvas fluttering in the air.
In that instant…
Mu Mu seemed to actually touch the canvas.
Cold, soft, and slightly rough.
This was… the texture of the canvas? Mu Mu froze in shock.
He caught it?
When Mu Mu tried to grasp it tightly again, his soul passed straight through the canvas.
Mu Mu watched helplessly as the canvas floated in midair, passing through his fingertips, through his body, drifting farther outside the villa, deeper into the dense forest.
“I…”
“Did I… really catch it?”
Mu Mu looked at his hand, doubtful, but he didn’t have time to think. He followed the canvas, drifting into the depths of the forest.
During this time, Mu Mu kept trying, but he never managed to grab the canvas again. He only felt a growing fatigue, an exhaustion unlike anything he had felt before.
This was the first time Mu Mu, as a spirit, felt that he too might need rest, that he wanted to sleep properly.
After many attempts, the canvas was finally snagged firmly on a tree branch.
Mu Mu crouched down and examined it from every angle for a long time. When he confirmed that the sketch on it was completely undamaged, he let out a deep, relieved sigh.
“Thank goodness… thank goodness.”
After speaking, he looked around and suddenly realized he had no idea which direction he had drifted chasing the wind, nor how far he had gone.
It was over—he had relaxed too early.
Mu Mu looked around in confusion and tried to rise high into the air to get a view of the villa, but he couldn’t muster the strength. At barely tree-trunk height, his soul already felt like it weighed a thousand pounds.
Rain began to fall, untimely and heavy.
“Mr. Painter—”
Mu Mu wanted to shout for help like he had when he sank into the bathtub before, but then he realized belatedly: this was outside, and the painter would only be waiting inside the villa.
The painter, who hadn’t left the villa in four years, wouldn’t come…
Suddenly, Mu Mu felt his vision blocked by a patch of darkness.
The rain fell harder, pattering on leaves and umbrella surfaces, crackling with sound—but the ground beneath Mu Mu’s feet remained completely dry.
A voice, as low and indifferent as always, fell from above Mu Mu’s head.
“Why did you stop shouting?”
