If someone has a dead person living in their heart, can they still fall in love with someone alive?
Shen Chi knew the answer: no.
For seven years, he had lived like a walking corpse. By day, he was a top auctioneer. At night, he returned to the studio hung with Cheng Yuan’s paintings, every stroke a testament to his failure to hold on to her.
Until Jiang Wan appeared.
She sat in the studio that had once belonged to Cheng Yuan, sunlight falling on her like she was a painting. He stood in the doorway and, for the first time, felt that seven years wasn’t so long after all.
He drew close to her, protected her, learned to paint for her, and cleared Cheng Yuan’s paintings from the studio for her. He thought he had moved on.
But when the truth came to light, he realized:
He couldn’t save Cheng Yuan, and he couldn’t save himself.
All he could do was drag Jiang Wan into the ruins of those seven years with him.
Jiang Wan asked him, “Shen Chi, did you ever love me?”
He was silent for a long time, then said, “I don’t know.”
He didn’t know...
She had painted him three hundred times, and every painting was an expression of love.
She had waited for him for three hundred chapters, and every chapter had been agony.
She knew full well she was a stand-in, yet she still wanted to take a chance: what if?
What if, in the end, the person he saw was her?
