Chapter 28 Roche Limit

Chapter 28 Roche Limit

"Hmm?" Jiang Ruotang suspiciously clamped onto Lu Guifan's wrist. The other's grip was firm, but his palm felt scorching hot.

"The pancake is about to fry. Don't get so close." Lu Guifan let out a quiet breath and moved his hand away.

If his eyes got hurt, he wouldn’t be able to paint anymore.

When his vision cleared, he saw the boss covering the pan with one hand while shielding the boss's wife's face with the other.

"Wow, so cool." Only then did Jiang Ruotang notice that despite the flour smudges on his face, the boss was actually a handsome middle-aged man upon closer inspection.

"Who’s cool?" the boss asked with a smile.

"You, boss!" Jiang Ruotang added, "A man looks his coolest when he’s protecting his wife!"

The boss was even more amused. "Seems like that free ham sausage wasn’t wasted."

The pancake was done frying. The boss's wife cut it in half with a spatula, revealing vibrant green chives and golden eggs. Jiang Ruotang bent down to take a deep whiff before handing half to Lu Guifan.

"Let’s share."

"No need, I eat this often."

"I’m afraid the chive smell is strong. If you eat it too, you won’t notice it on me."

In his past life, during chemotherapy treatments when he had no appetite, he had mentioned to Lu Guifan, who came to visit, about his high school days—how every time he walked from school to the art studio, he’d pass by the entrance of No. 14 High School, where a couple sold chive and egg pancakes stuffed to the brim, so delicious it’d knock your socks off.

The very next day, Lu Guifan brought him an insulated lunchbox with the pancakes inside.

Jiang Ruotang was astonished. After graduation, he had gone back to No. 14 High’s entrance but never found that couple again. He truly had no clue how Lu Guifan managed to track them down.

Now, Lu Guifan lowered his head to look at the half portion of chive and egg pancake but eventually took it. Just as Jiang Ruotang was about to take a bite, Lu Guifan grabbed his wrist and said sternly, "Didn’t I tell you to wait until it cools down?"

"It smells so good, I’m drooling!"

With that, Jiang Ruotang puffed out his cheeks and blew on the chive filling.

Just then, a student from No. 14 High passed by and casually asked, "Smells amazing. Is it tasty?"

Jiang Ruotang nodded. "Looks ordinary, but one bite will blow your mind! The fact that we from Beicheng Guangyao (their school) came all the way to your school’s entrance to buy these—doesn’t that say it all?"

"Seriously? Then I’ll give it a try too."

In the time Jiang Ruotang stood by the roadside letting the pancake cool, several No. 14 High students went to buy from the couple.

"I think I’m a lucky charm," Jiang Ruotang said.

Lu Guifan didn’t get the reference. "What lucky charm?"

"I bring good fortune." Jiang Ruotang gestured with his chin toward the busy couple.

Lu Guifan gave a faint smile. "It should be cool enough now. You can eat."

Jiang Ruotang walked while eating the pancake, and Lu Guifan held onto the back of his collar—pulling him back when he nearly walked into a lamppost or steering him away when he strayed too close to the curb. By the time Jiang Ruotang finished his half, they had reached the glasses store.

The optician brought out the glasses upon seeing them.

The new case held lenses that were thin and crystal-clear. The clerk asked Lu Guifan to try them on.

"The new glasses might feel disorienting at first. You’ll need time to adjust."

Lu Guifan took out the glasses from the case, could instantly tell how much lighter they were. Inside the case was the receipt—the price roughly equaled half of his scholarship.

"Feeling the pinch?" Jiang Ruotang teased.

"No. Whoever broke them should take responsibility," Lu Guifan replied.

"That’s the right attitude. Tomorrow, we’ll take the receipt to Meng Yang. So many people saw him knock your glasses off—he can’t dodge responsibility."

With that, Jiang Ruotang went to wash his hands.

Lu Guifan watched him dry his hands with a tissue before walking over, eyes curved in a smile. "Class president, sit up straight and tilt your chin up. I’m taking out your contact lenses now."

His demeanor made it seem as if performing surgery.

Lu Guifan looked at him. Just like in the morning, Jiang Ruotang used his left hand to hold Lu Guifan’s eyelid open while the other hand swiftly pinched the lens off his eye.

This gave Jiang Ruotang another chance to admire Lu Guifan’s eyes.

Still breathtaking.

Like the surface of a deep amber lake, reflecting a soft glow.

Jiang Ruotang subtly brushed the tip of his index finger against Lu Guifan’s lashes, his heart gave a quiet flutter.

"These are disposable. Can’t be reused." Casually, he tossed the lens into the trash.

When the other contact lens was removed, Jiang Ruotang chuckled softly.

Lu Guifan asked, puzzled, "What’s so funny?"

"This morning, I touched your lashes. Now, I’ve touched your eyeball. You’ve never even touched it yourself, have you?"

"No."

As Jiang Ruotang turned to leave, he realized Lu Guifan’s hand was gripping his waist.

"Class president, it’s just removing contact lenses. Are you really that nervous?" He lightly patted the back of Lu Guifan’s hand.

"You said it yourself—you touched my eyeball. Of course, I’d be a little tense."

Lu Guifan let go and turned away, picking up the glasses from the table and putting them on.

The new lenses were sharp, making everything clearer. Lu Guifan walked around the store twice to ensure no dizziness.

When he turned back, Jiang Ruotang was sitting on a bar stool, chin propped on his hand, watching him.

"Alright, time to go home," Lu Guifan said.

"Let’s go. Good luck on tomorrow’s exam—you’ve gotta keep that top of the class rank."

"Mhm."

Their homes were in opposite directions.

"Xiao Gao is picking me up. Want him to drop you off too?"

Lu Guifan shook his head lightly. "It’s late, and we’re headed opposite ways. No need to make your driver take an extra trip."

Jiang Ruotang lowered his eyes with a hint of dejection: "Alright then."

That expression reminded Lu Guifan of his childhood when he lived with his grandfather. The neighbor's kid had come to invite him to catch cicadas, but he insisted on going fishing with his grandfather in Chengjiang. That child's expression matched Jiang Ruotang's exactly.

After a long while, Jiang Ruotang tilted his head and asked, "The bus stop is across the street—aren’t you going to wait for the bus?"

"I’ll wait until Xiao Gao picks you up before I leave."

A faint smile appeared on Jiang Ruotang’s face.

Lu Guifan didn’t quite understand how Jiang Ruotang could toggle between moods so effortlessly.

Xiao Gao arrived soon after. Jiang Ruotang got into the car and waved goodbye to Lu Guifan through the window.

But just as Xiao Gao drove past the street corner, Jiang Ruotang suddenly called out, "Stop for a second."

Though confused, Xiao Gao pulled to the curb.

Jiang Ruotang stepped out of the car and stood at the corner, gazing back at their meeting spot. He watched as Lu Guifan crossed the street to the bus stop on the other side. Before long, the bus arrived, Lu Guifan boarded it, and Jiang Ruotang turned back to return to the car.

"What’s wrong?" Xiao Gao asked.

"Nothing, let’s go home."

Jiang Ruotang closed his eyes, feeling the night air.

In his past life, he had watched Lu Guifan walk away from the hospital windowsill countless times. Now, he just wanted to see it once more.

Exactly the same.

He was still him.

When Lu Guifan got home, he opened the bathroom door. The old-fashioned tiled walls had a mirror embedded in them. He looked at his reflection—now that the lenses were thinner, the distortion of his eyes wasn’t as severe as before. His facial definition was sharper. It was the first time in many years that Lu Guifan could see his own eyes clearly through his glasses.

Without thinking, his fingers reached behind the lenses and lightly brushed his own eyelashes.

Was this the sensation?

Nothing particularly special—so why did Jiang Ruotang like it so much?

Even if he could score full marks on contest questions, he still couldn’t figure Jiang Ruotang out.

The only thing he knew for sure was that, from childhood till now, he had never been much liked. Yet today, someone had warmly accepted him.

About ten minutes later, Jiang Ruotang also arrived home.

He noticed an extra pair of shoes in the entryway. As he changed his own shoes, he examined them curiously.

The style looked like those showy Italian loafers often seen in idol dramas. He really hoped it wasn’t some potbellied CEO—that'd be a crime against fashion.

"Do we have a guest?" Jiang Ruotang murmured to himself.

As soon as he stepped inside, he saw Jiang Huaiyuan chatting happily with a young man.

Thankfully, it was a handsome guy—full head of hair, flat stomach—so the shoes found worthy feet.

Jiang Ruotang planned to quietly slip past the living room and make a beeline for his room without drawing attention, but Jiang Huaiyuan unexpectedly called out to him.

"Ruo Tang, this is Mu Xianqing, the younger son of Uncle Mu. He runs a gallery called *Deep Blue*—have you heard of it?"

Mu Xianqing… Of course Jiang Ruotang knew his name. In ten years, he would expand his galleries into Europe, becoming a regular at major art world auctions and a sought-after collector and art expert.

But this was Jiang Ruotang’s first time interacting with someone of that caliber—though Mu Xianqing’s fame probably wasn’t that widespread yet.

He nodded blankly, adopting polite manners befitting his age. "Hello, Mr. Mu."

Mu Xianqing smiled. "No need to be so formal. Just call me Brother Mu."

Jiang Ruotang thought to himself, *I’d only dare call you ‘Boss Mu.’ Calling you ‘Brother Mu’ might cost me years.*

Mu Xianqing continued to smile at Jiang Ruotang, as if reassuring a child who had sneaked out to play and returned home to find their tutor waiting.

"Brother Mu," Jiang Ruotang finally managed to say.

Mu Xianqing’s smile deepened as he tilted his head, studying Jiang Ruotang closely. He had expected to meet an elegant, artistic youth, but Jiang Ruotang seemed like a wide-eyed innocent who'd never known real struggle.

Could a child with no turbulent life experiences or emotional depth really create paintings with such profound feeling?

Unless… he had used a ringer for fame?

*No, no, no, Mu Xianqing. You haven’t truly gotten to know him yet. Don’t jump to conclusions—that’s how you miss genius.*

"Ruo Tang, I saw the piece you submitted to the Original Stone Exhibition. I think you have real potential. Could I see some of your other works?"

"Huh?" Jiang Ruotang wasn’t pretending—he was legitimately baffled.

Jiang Huaiyuan chuckled. "Haven’t you always talked about wanting to get into the Central Academy of Fine Arts? Let Xianqing size up your work and give you some advice."

Jiang Ruotang nodded. "Alright, please follow me."

Mu Xianqing followed Jiang Ruotang upstairs, studying his back, wondering what kind of artistic talent lay within this deceptively average teen swimming in his school clothes.

He had expected Jiang Ruotang, even if young, to have knowing eyes that hinted at depth. But whether during his conversation with Jiang Huaiyuan or when he first saw Jiang Ruotang in the living room, he seemed like just another average high school student.

Well, a wealthy, milky-complexioned, and rather good-looking high school student.

When they reached Jiang Ruotang’s studio, Mu Xianqing was impressed by how artfully the small attic had been arranged—at least it showed Jiang Ruotang had an artist's eye.

But the works Jiang Ruotang showed him were all his class assignments.

Mu Xianqing flipped through them casually while Jiang Ruotang stood nearby, obedient like a kid awaiting judgment.

Not that Jiang Ruotang was faking it—Mu Xianqing might seem refined, but in Jiang Ruotang’s memory, he had a somewhat rakish reputation. It was hard to tell whether he loved collecting art or collecting artists.

Clearly, Mu Xianqing wasn’t satisfied with these paintings.

Technically sound, but lacking spark—nothing like the striking sketch submitted to the exhibition, which conveyed intense emotion through visuals.

Mu Xianqing propped his chin on his palm and smiled at Jiang Ruotang.

His gaze was a penetrating X-ray stare, making Jiang Ruotang feel exposed and inexplicably nervous.

"I’ve seen the painting you gave to Bai Yingchuan."

Jiang Ruotang’s face went blank. *Did Lin Lu think that painting was phoned in and complain to Mu Xianqing, triggering this evaluation?*

"And I’ve also seen the sketch you submitted to Fu Chunshi’s exhibition."

Jiang Ruotang held his tongue. He could usually size people up, but Mu Xianqing was inscrutable.

Mu Xianqing's father and Lin Chengdong moved in the same circles. The Mu family's "Deyi Tianxia Cinemas" was a dominant force in the theater chain industry. Whenever Lin Chengdong produced a film, the first step was to cultivate connections with the Mu family. The Mu family and Lin Chengdong were likely allies, at least on the surface.

Jiang Ruotang remained wary, not letting his guard down just because the other party was a famous collector.

"I want to see the works you’ve created. I think you understand what 'creation' means, right?"

Mu Xianqing’s expression darkened.

Jiang Ruotang looked at Mu Xianqing, flashing a perfect eight-tooth smile, and tilted his head. "Then... want to see something interesting?"

Mu Xianqing laughed, loosening his collar. "You should’ve shown me something interesting earlier."

Jiang Ruotang tiptoed to take a sketchbook from the shelf and handed it to Mu Xianqing.

Sitting on the chair, Mu Xianqing finally felt like he had achieved his goal. But the moment he opened it, he almost gasped, his back pressing tightly against the chair, goosebumps rising on his skin.

Because on the sketchbook was a snarling demon, as if trying to drag Mu Xianqing’s soul into the hellish depths of the paper.

"You... what is this?"

"A nightmare. Never had a nightmare?" Jiang Ruotang retorted.

Mu Xianqing initially wanted to ask why he would draw such things, but the more he flipped through, the more he felt something unsettling.

At first glance, they were twisted and terrifying, but the longer he looked, the more real they seemed—like the rawest, most primal desires buried in one’s heart.

Jiang Ruotang had meant to mess with Mu Xianqing, but he didn’t expect the man to become more engrossed. This made Jiang Ruotang begin to suspect he might have misunderstood him.

Mu Xianqing flipped through in silence until he reached the last page of the sketchbook.

"What exactly are these?" Mu Xianqing looked up, his scrutiny deepening.

It also made Jiang Ruotang feel the weight of his scrutiny. "Nightmares."

"Not just nightmares. Your fear, struggle, loneliness, and anxiety—it's all here. These... aren’t emotions someone as young as you should have."

If Jiang Ruotang had been skeptical about Mu Xianqing’s intentions for visiting earlier, now he believed it—Mu Xianqing was here solely for the artwork.

Jiang Ruotang paused to consider before speaking slowly.

"I once had a terrible nightmare. In it, I lost my father, got cancer, burned through every penny, and became a burden to everyone close to me. Day after day of chemotherapy and the smell of disinfectant in the hospital room offered no relief—only deeper despair. Every breath and heartbeat was a countdown to death."

Mu Xianqing’s hands gave a slight tremor. His intuition told him Jiang Ruotang wasn’t lying—no other explanation could account for the visceral fear in these sketches.

"And now? Do you still have nightmares like that?" Mu Xianqing’s voice softened.

"No, I’m fine now."

Mu Xianqing smiled, his smile unexpectedly bright and genuine. "Then, how about showing me something that represents you being 'fine'?"

Jiang Ruotang stood up and produced several canvases from beneath the wooden shelf.

Mu Xianqing rose and accepted them with both hands, handling them with reverence.

Though his reputation in relationships wasn’t great, his love for art was genuine.

Just the first painting struck a chord with Mu Xianqing.

It was a sunflower—a sturdy stem supporting a heavy bloom, placed in a transparent glass vase by a sunlit window, yet its head was bowed. The petals around the flower’s center grew darker, suggesting the first signs of decay.

The sunlight was so bright and beautiful, yet it seemed to weigh the flower down unbearably.

Mu Xianqing studied it at length. He knew he wanted this painting, wanted it exhibited in his collection. But he couldn’t appear too eager—it might scare Jiang Ruotang.

Immediately, he recognized the artistic value of this piece, his mind racing with selling points to recommend it to collectors and connoisseurs.

The second painting was a plump sparrow pecking at food in the grass—fluffy and round, radiating cheerful energy, even making one want to reach out and stroke its feathers.

Mu Xianqing was certain now—Jiang Ruotang was a master of emotional expression. His paintings could naturally, effortlessly stir emotions—a gift that couldn’t be taught.

But when he saw the last oil painting, Mu Xianqing went still.

Countless shattered hues filled the canvas, instantly reminding him of Van Gogh’s *Sunflowers*, *Starry Night*, even Monet’s *Water Lilies*—a fusion of countless beautiful colors. Yet at the center of the painting was a faint, solitary silhouette, vaguely resembling the outline of a young man.

It was a peculiar feeling, stirring inexplicable envy of that shadow—swathed in such radiant ardor, even in its loneliness... it luxuriated in cosmic favor.

Mu Xianqing looked up. Before him, Jiang Ruotang looked down calmly. Once again, Mu Xianqing was certain—this young man was a genius.

"Ruo Tang, would you be willing to let me represent your paintings?"

"Huh? Represent?" Jiang Ruotang didn’t immediately grasp the meaning.

Mu Xianqing gestured. "As an emerging artist, I’d be your agent. Is that hard to understand?"

Jiang Ruotang widened his eyes. What was happening? Had Mu Xianqing actually seen potential in him?

Of course, he wasn’t narcissistic enough to think Mu Xianqing wanted to "collect" him. He was just skeptical—*Am I really that good?*

From Teacher Liang in the studio to Mu Xianqing, a future heavyweight in the art world and a renowned art manager—both had praised his work?

An overwhelming rush of joy flooded his heart. Perhaps having lived through two lives had given him a different perspective, making his art unique.

"If I let you handle them, do I have to listen to you?"

Mu Xianqing chuckled. "You’d need to follow my guidance in promoting your work."

"Cooperate with you to inflate the value of my paintings, fabricate all sorts of stories?" Jiang Ruotang pressed.

Mu Xianqing lowered his eyes, resisting the urge to pinch his forehead.

This was the troublesome part of young artists—hard to tell whether they were principled or just naive.

"Spin melodramatic tales about my paintings... or use your connections to have collectors and critics hype me up?"

Mu Xianqing found Jiang Ruotang’s assumptions amusing, though they did align with his usual methods.

He also understood Jiang Ruotang had grown up privileged, without the desperate need to monetize his art.

But Jiang Ruotang’s next words stunned him.

"You can do all that if you want. Because no matter how many critics sing praises in unison, they can never truly change how a viewer feels."

At that moment, Mu Xianqing saw a rare clarity in Jiang Ruotang’s eyes.

"But if you truly like my work, I can’t hand all of it over to you. Some are my own secret garden." Jiang Ruotang pointed to his head. "Permanent collections here."

Mu Xianqing was silent for two seconds. "So... you agree?"

Jiang Ruotang bent down and picked up the third painting. "Mm, you're welcome to take these two for closer study."

Mu Xianqing straightened his back, grew anxious. "What about that one?"

"I already said, it's my permanent private collection."

Looking into Jiang Ruotang's clear, bright eyes, he understood almost instantly. "You like him—this is the person you love."

Jiang Ruotang didn’t hide it, merely placing a finger to his lips. "Brother Mu, I thought seeing through but not speaking out was the mark of adult maturity."

But Mu Xianqing’s personality was such that once he wanted something, it was hard to let go.

"You can set a price for the third painting."

Jiang Ruotang turned away, carefully putting the painting away, and said softly, "I won’t sell it."

"Everything has its price," Mu Xianqing remarked, watching Jiang Ruotang’s back.

"Adults always think teenage love is just make-believe, that it’ll sour with age. But when we’re teenagers, it feels like the world is vast, and the one we love is the most important—we can’t betray that. And once we compromise, even if everything changes when we grow up, we’ll regret betraying our younger selves. So, knowing the likely outcome—why make our future selves sad?"

Mu Xianqing wanted to call Jiang Ruotang naive, but he also found him so pure.

If this purity were to be broken, it should be by time, not by someone like him who was an art lover.

"Fine. Lend me this painting for an exhibition. We can sign a contract to display it as a non-sale item. The style is something my mother would love—I want to place it in her gallery for a year. Since money isn’t your priority, we can work out different terms."

Indeed, money didn't mean much to Jiang Ruotang. How much could an unknown painting be worth?

But gaining a friend this way wasn’t bad.

If he entrusted this painting to Mu Xianqing, he would surely cherish and protect it. Jiang Ruotang didn’t know if he was an undiscovered genius, but at least Mu Xianqing was a well-connected patron.

"Alright then. Remember—you owe me one. As for what, I haven’t decided yet."

Mu Xianqing exhaled, belatedly realizing Jiang Ruotang had been leading him by the nose all along.

This kid… was really special.

"Tomorrow, I’ll have a lawyer bring the contract. If your 'beloved' is priceless, then at least name a price for the *sunflower* and the *sparrow*."

Jiang Ruotang smiled. "You can handle the *sunflower* and *sparrow*, but any sale needs my approval. Still want them?"

"Yes, of course." Mu Xianqing stood, giving Jiang Ruotang’s studio one last look, as if searching for anything else worth taking.

Unfortunately, the studio was just set up and still rather empty.

Mu Xianqing wanted to take everything, but Jiang Ruotang wouldn’t budge.

Strangely, this suited Mu Xianqing’s taste—chatting with Jiang Ruotang was far more interesting than humoring that kid Lin Lu.

Before leaving, Mu Xianqing said, "Give that painting of your beloved a good name."

He stepped into the night, driving away in good spirits.

The future suddenly seemed full of possibilities—watching a rising star.

Oh, he hadn’t told Jiang Ruotang his mother’s gallery was overseas.

"But I doubt Jiang Ruotang would mind."

After seeing Mu Xianqing off, Jiang Ruotang returned to his studio.

He gazed at the painting Mu Xianqing couldn’t forget, feeling melancholy.

In his past life, he wouldn’t have dared dream of catching the eye of an art world big shot.

More importantly… what should he name this painting?

An intense desire rose in Jiang Ruotang—he wanted Lu Guifan to see it.

Painting was Jiang Ruotang’s own language. He didn’t know if, in Lu Guifan’s eyes, he was just a whale on a different frequency, circling a lonely island in the sea.

He wanted to know if they had any connection.

Jiang Ruotang turned on the studio lights, photographed the painting, then opened Lu Guifan’s chat and sent that clichéd: [You there?]

Lu Guifan replied instantly: [Here. Ready to spend the 50 cents you’ve deposited with me?]

Jiang Ruotang chuckled.

If anyone ever claimed Lu Guifan wasn’t funny, he’d take issue with that.

He briefly explained Mu Xianqing’s plan to exhibit his painting, then added: [Mr. Mu suggested I name it. I’m stuck—maybe you can help?]

Deep down, Lu Guifan was happy for Jiang Ruotang, but he considered himself to have no eye for art.

Yet the next second, Jiang Ruotang sent the photo.

Despite the small screen, the vibrant colors suddenly filled Lu Guifan’s entire view.

It felt like a star, alone in the dark cosmos for millennia, suddenly encountering a brilliant, vibrant asteroid. With its immense gravitational pull, the star crushed the asteroid toward itself, shattering it… until it became countless scattered cosmic dust.

[Prez, any thoughts? Like… your first impression?]

Lu Guifan took a deep breath and replied: [Roche limit.]

The safe distance two celestial bodies must maintain.

Maybe like you and me—the closer you get, the more you’ll see my stiffness, dullness, and unchanging nature.

Lu Guifan habitually thought that one day, when his "academic halo" no longer held Jiang Ruotang's interest, he’d turn elsewhere.

Like childhood playmates, or junior high desk-mates who always asked him for help—eventually, they all lost touch.

Jiang Ruotang… would likely be the same.

He wasn’t a celestial body with enough gravity to keep him. He’d meet more interesting, capable, admirable friends.

"What am I thinking?" Lu Guifan pressed his fingers to his temples.

He was a typical STEM guy, while Jiang Ruotang was an art student—their thinking and values were completely different.

It was only natural they’d go their separate ways after graduation.

His phone buzzed—Jiang Ruotang’s reply:

[Roche limit—being shattered to charge forward, just for eternal companionship. Prez, you’re amazing.]

Lu Guifan’s eyes widened. He’d assumed Jiang Ruotang would look it up and realize the Roche limit was a force of destruction.

So why had Jiang Ruotang turned it into "eternal companionship"?