Three years later.”Welcome to Li Baixi’s solo exhibition, ‘One Side,’

” the curator beamed as he stepped up to the podium in the gallery.

“This exhibition features one hundred portraits. As far as I know, Li has been out of the public eye for exactly three years to complete these one hundred faces.”

There was a murmur of curiosity among the guests.

Many of them were deeply entrenched in the art world, knowing Li Baixi only through his recent, highly acclaimed works, and had no idea what he looked like. The word “disappeared” left them puzzled.

“Before I contacted Mr. Li, I didn’t know where he had gone either. It took him ten days to respond to my email. Later, I found out he had just returned from a place with no signal.

“He has wandered for a long time, brushing past countless people, but has always been fascinated by faces. Through his prolonged gaze and interpretation of ‘faces,’ he has extracted universal human values from portraits rooted in diverse cultural soils.

“He has expanded the context of realistic portraits to a broader narrative, capturing the realism of human life and fate…”

The curator continued to extol his virtues, finally putting away his notes with a smile, “Mr. Li has a bit of an aversion to grand speeches, and I had to persuade him to come up here and say a few words himself. If he ends up talking about the weather for five minutes, please bear with him.”

He turned, “Mr. Li, please.”

Amidst the applause, Li Baixi appeared in a loose outfit.

A small commotion arose among the guests.

Li Baixi pretended not to notice, awkwardly rediscovering his social skills, “The weather is quite hot.”

The audience laughed.

Li Baixi: “I was tasked with talking about my paintings. As you can see, I mainly paint faces now. Some of you might not know my previous job. Don’t worry, you didn’t miss much. I used to paint faces too.”

Some well-informed critics couldn’t help but laugh.

Li Baixi turned and pointed to a portrait on the wall behind him, depicting an elderly woman, her race almost indistinguishable, wearing orange gradient eyeshadow and matching lipstick, looking defiantly at the audience.

“She had heard I was a makeup artist and was very curious. She had never encountered makeup in her life; it simply didn’t exist where she lived. I asked her what style she wanted, and she said she wanted to look as bright as a flower. After I finished, I took a photo for her. She was very happy and said she wanted to keep it for her funeral.”

Li Baixi shared a few more stories about his models, concluding with, “Talking about my art, this is as far as I can go. Previously, I avoided self-expression, which in hindsight, was a kind of arrogance.”

Someone in the audience showed a puzzled expression.

Li Baixi: “Back then, I focused on the clouds, as if ordinary people didn’t deserve self-expression. But I had never truly understood the so-called ‘ordinary people.’ Their lives, deaths, loves, and sorrows form an endless river of fate that carries me along.

“By drifting downstream and gazing at their faces, I finally saw myself.”

Looking at the earnest faces in the crowd, Li Baixi felt as if he was speaking to himself, “Thank you to the one who opened my eyes.”

As soon as Li Baixi stepped off the stage, he was surrounded. Critics wanted to ask questions, peers wanted to chat, and passersby wanted to take pictures.

Having been out of the public eye for three years, Li Baixi felt overwhelmed, forcing a smile as he dealt with them one by one.

Suddenly, he spotted a familiar face. “What are you doing here?” he exclaimed.

It was a photographer he used to work with.

Photographer: “I wanted to see how you’re doing. I thought you’d look worse after changing careers, but you look even better.”

Li Baixi laughed and patted him.

Although Li Baixi’s appearance hadn’t changed much, he seemed like a new person.

The delicate, pampered look seemed to have been blown away by the mountain winds, and his demeanor was much more relaxed. His long hair still reached his waist, but he now resembled a hermit more than a playboy.

The photographer sensed a self-imposed exile and sighed, “It wasn’t that big of a deal back then, especially since you changed fields. Why go through all this…”

The entertainment industry is full of minefields, but the art world is the opposite. Without some eccentric stories, it’s hard to make a name for yourself.

The photographer’s implication was clear: pursuing a man shouldn’t have been a huge crime warranting three years of self-imposed exile.

Not wanting to share too much with an old acquaintance, Li Baixi deflected, “It was a good opportunity to reflect and think about some things.”

Photographer: “Just don’t reflect so much that you become a monk.”

Li Baixi laughed.

Photographer: “It’s been long enough. When ‘Crane Umbrella’ won an award and you didn’t show up to accept it, public opinion already started to shift. People regret that your career ended just as it was peaking…”

Li Baixi raised an eyebrow, “Are people that forgiving?”

Photographer: “You might not know, but they say you designed the character so beautifully because you truly loved Cheng Ping.”

Hearing that name again, Li Baixi felt a distant, hollow echo.

He guessed his expression gave something away because the photographer continued eagerly, “When Cheng Ping accepted the award, he held back tears. Many people imagined a tragic love story…”

Li Baixi noticed the photographer’s inquisitive look and realized he was here for gossip.

Others nearby had also started to eavesdrop.

Li Baixi laughed bitterly, made an excuse, and left.

He slipped away from the crowd, heading for the back door, still feeling disoriented.

It had indeed been three years.

The days he hadn’t seen Cheng Ping were now almost longer than the days they had been together.

Before he could reach the door, he saw someone waiting outside, like a rabbit waiting for a hunter.

Hearing his footsteps, the figure turned quickly, “Master!”

Starting with a smile, the voice ended in a sob.

Li Baixi stopped, “What have you been through?”

Ma Koukou had changed significantly—mainly in makeup. From a flamboyant, exaggerated style, she had transformed into a doe-eyed, innocent look, making people shiver.

Ma Koukou hugged him, refusing to let go, “I’ve had a hard time without you.”

Li Baixi: “?”

Ma Koukou proposed finding a place to talk over dinner.

Soon after, Li Baixi sat in a noisy corner of a hotpot restaurant, staring blankly at the greasy pot in front of him.

“This is your idea of a place to talk?”

Ma Koukou: “High-end restaurants were fully booked. This place is so noisy, no one will overhear us. It’s safe.”

Li Baixi picked up a piece of meat, “Kid, three years apart, and you’ve become even more stingy.”

Ma Koukou: “Mother! Save my life this time, and I’ll treat you to a Michelin-starred meal when this is over!”

Li Baixi: “?”

Ma Koukou rubbed his hands together, “Three years ago, when ‘Crane Umbrella’ wrapped, you left a few days early. I finished the final work for you, attended the wrap party, and then returned home.”

Li Baixi: “Mm-hmm.”

Li Baixi: “…Mm-hmm?”

He looked up at Ma Koukou, “What about Albert?”

“Had a farewell fling and parted ways—what else could we do? I couldn’t hold onto such a popular guy. It was a fling, both of us understood that. At least from my perspective.” Ma Koukou’s eyes welled up again.

Li Baixi started to get a headache.

After three years back home, Ma Koukou had established himself in the makeup industry. Recently, at an event abroad, he saw Albert again.

Seeing Albert’s increasingly refined profile from across the room, Ma Koukou felt a pang and decided to rekindle their relationship.

Albert, gracious as ever, agreed to meet him.

However, their ideas of “reconnecting” clearly differed.

Ma Koukou hoped for a passionate reunion.

Albert took him to a terrace for a long, heartfelt conversation.

Ma Koukou, half-drunk, thought the atmosphere was finally right and made a move, only to see Albert looking at him solemnly, saying…

Li Baixi interrupted, “So what did he say?”

“I don’t know.”

“?”

“My English is terrible. He could understand me, but I had to guess what he was saying.”

“???”

“He seemed serious, so I didn’t dare interrupt, just kept nodding.”

Li Baixi was exasperated, “Why didn’t you tell him you couldn’t understand and ask him to use a translation app?”

Ma Koukou looked down at his fingers, “I was afraid if I admitted it, he’d realize I hadn’t understood anything three years ago either.”

Li Baixi: “…”

Ma Koukou: “So we didn’t hook up. I thought maybe he drank too much. I went back home, and the next day, found a long email from him. This time, I used a translator.”

Ma Koukou showed her phone screen, almost in tears, “Look at this.”

Li Baixi skimmed through it, then calmly said, “Here’s what you should do.”

Ma Koukou’s eyes lit up.

“Commit seppuku.”

“…”

Ma Koukou wailed, “I wanted to reply, but he’d already blocked me! I tried to send a message through mutual friends, but he refused to see me and said he wanted to forget me completely.”

“You deserve it.

 You wasted his feelings twice!”

“How could I know? I thought he was just saying things to spice things up. Who knew he’d be serious? Would you believe it if it were you?”

Li Baixi hesitated.

It was hard to believe.

Ma Koukou slumped back, “I don’t hope for anything now. It’s all over. My only wish is to apologize in person and promise never to appear again. Master, you’re his former colleague—”

“Why should I get involved in this mess?”

“Once a master…”

“You’ve never repaid the favor.”

Ma Koukou, desperate, played her trump card, “I followed your instructions and handed that letter to Cheng Ping after the wrap.”

Li Baixi: “.”

Li Baixi fell silent.

Sensing something, Ma Koukou cautiously asked, “You and Cheng Ping…”

“I get it. I owe you one. I’ll figure something out.”

Ma Koukou was grateful, almost bowing in thanks. Li Baixi, resting his chin in his hand, showed no emotion.

Unable to let it go, Ma Koukou asked, “You really haven’t seen Cheng Ping in three years?”

“Mm.”

“Not even a video call?”

Li Baixi impatiently said, “Eat.”

“You didn’t even send a message? Why go to such lengths? Are you that afraid of Zhang the actor’s revenge?”

Ma Koukou tried to provoke him, and Li Baixi replied, “Not entirely. The first year, I didn’t dare contact him, afraid that once we reconnected, we’d be discovered again—there’d always be someone else like Zhang. Repeating the same mistake would make our separation meaningless. I didn’t want to be a sword hanging over his head.”

“But later, public opinion calmed down. Why still…”

Li Baixi dipped his beef in the hotpot. Through the steam, his face looked blurred, like it was shrouded in the past.

Ma Koukou’s heart tightened, “Is it because your feelings faded?”

When you venture into the vast world and find endless inspiration, does the original muse seem dimmer?

He didn’t want to hear the answer. Though he knew hearts were unreliable, he didn’t want to be reminded. It felt like every time this ending was witnessed, his own fate was further sealed.

The calm voice across the steam said, “You’re overthinking.”

But Ma Koukou couldn’t tell how sincere it was.

Li Baixi accepted Ma Koukou’s commission, planning for a while before finding the right opportunity—his touring exhibition had a stop in London, Albert’s hometown.

Li Baixi sent an invitation, saying it had been a long time and he’d appreciate the honor of Albert’s presence.

Albert, having had a pleasant collaboration on ‘Crane Umbrella’ and curious about the exhibition, agreed.

Li Baixi then informed Ma Koukou, “I’ll take him for a drink that night. Once he’s had a few, you can come in and say your piece.”

Ma Koukou replied with a series of ecstatic emojis, “So we’re flying to London together?”

Li Baixi: “No, go on your own.”

He didn’t want anyone knowing his schedule, as he arrived three days early—to catch Cheng Ping’s new film premiere.

Since ‘Crane Umbrella’ won an award, Cheng Ping had occasionally received scripts from Western films. The current production was lavishly funded, with grand promotions. The premiere was crowded, a good chance to blend in.

In disguise, wearing a cap that covered most of his face, Li Baixi took an inconspicuous seat in the audience.

In those three years, he had visited Cheng Ping once.

Half a month after ‘Crane Umbrella’ won, he found a signal at the foot of a snow-capped mountain and saw a video of Cheng Ping accepting the award.

Cheng Ping, looking thin and haggard, bit his lip hard to hold back tears, like he was fighting an invisible force.

Li Baixi stayed up all night and contacted Assistant Yang at dawn, learning Cheng Ping’s location—after Ma Koukou went solo, Yang became Cheng Ping’s personal makeup artist.

That year, Cheng Ping seemed to go mad, taking on scripts non-stop, with no breaks. Only one day did he leave the set for a performance.

Li Baixi returned home, unannounced, and quietly appeared backstage.

He told himself, just one look and he’d leave. Just one look before Cheng Ping grew and left him behind.

He waited in a dark, empty corridor, leaning against the wall, listening to the familiar footsteps approach.

A figure appeared at the end of the corridor, approaching as it had in the past.

Cheng Ping’s gaze met his, slid past, and continued.

Not a single pause, they brushed past without looking back.

It turned out Cheng Ping didn’t need his farewell.

The host invited the cast on stage. Amidst the cheers, Li Baixi tilted his cap and looked at the stage.

Cheng Ping no longer looked thin or haggard.

He was in great shape, confident and vibrant. His English was fluent, joking easily with the audience.

What once was a forced smile was now effortlessly charming.

Clearly, Cheng Ping had made the most of these three years, extracting every ounce of value. The once-green newcomer had become the genuine article, recognized and loved by many.

This was good, Li Baixi thought. This was the best outcome they could have hoped for when they parted.

But also, because it was too perfect… there was no motivation to change it.

Momentarily, he felt Cheng Ping’s gaze in his direction, instinctively lowering his head, then realizing it was unnecessary. Cheng Ping wouldn’t notice him here, especially in disguise.

Li Baixi smiled wryly, looking up to see Cheng Ping already looking elsewhere.

He lowered his cap and left quietly.

Albert was as before, politely distant. He praised Li Baixi’s paintings earnestly, even giving a five-minute review, but declined the drink invitation.

Determined to help Ma Koukou, Li Baixi pressed again, his sincerity eventually winning Albert over.

That evening, at Albert’s recommended bar, Li Baixi realized why he had initially refused—this place was so secluded it seemed not to want customers, with no one but them there.

Albert: “This is my favorite—in fact, my only bar. I sometimes come here to drink alone.”

Li Baixi thought: Got it, your social anxiety has worsened.

He wondered if Ma Koukou knew about this, and whether someone with such severe anxiety could initiate a relationship.

Was Albert still a…

Li Baixi shivered.

This was a serious sin.

After two drinks, Li Baixi saw the time was right and messaged Ma Koukou: “Come over.”

Ma Koukou: “On my way!!!”

“Regardless of the outcome, I’m not getting involved again.”

“Of course, no worries.”

Li Baixi placed his glass on the table, ready to leave, “A friend is stopping by to say hello. I hope you don’t mind.”

Albert froze, looking shocked.

Surely it wasn’t that big a deal? Li Baixi felt uneasy, “Uh, if you really mind…”

Albert: “How did you know someone was coming?”

Li Baixi: “Huh? Because he just told me.” He heard the door open behind him and stood up, introducing, “You should remember…”

His voice trailed off.

It was Cheng Ping.