Chapter 8: Just Go Home and Wait for Further Notice

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Shi Yun hurriedly answered the phone. Before she could speak, the anxious and tense voice of Ji Xiaolin came through: "Xiao Yun’er, something’s happened. Come to Mo Ru Hall quickly."

"Alright, I’m on my way."

As she responded, Shi Yun recalled her grandfather’s parting instructions when he entrusted her with Mo Ru Hall.

Mo Ru Hall was a precious legacy left to her by her grandfather, Shi Min’an—a master of the intangible cultural heritage of mounting and restoration.

Since childhood, under her grandfather’s guidance, she had grown up immersed in the fragrant ambiance of calligraphy, painting, and ink.

Later, she was admitted to the Fine Arts Restoration Department of Huaqing University, where she studied systematically.

Wholeheartedly, she dedicated herself to inheriting her grandfather’s craft.

Under his careful nurturing and guidance, she honed her mounting and restoration skills, growing ever more proficient.

After her grandfather’s passing, she took on the heavy responsibility of being Mo Ru Hall’s heir, determined to carry forward this intangible cultural heritage.

Now that Mo Ru Hall was in trouble, how could she not be anxious?

Shi Yun took a deep breath and urged the driver to speed toward Mo Ru Hall.

Half an hour later, she rushed to the entrance of a classical courtyard, only to have her pupils constrict in shock at the sight before her.

The blue tiles and white walls stood quietly, the flying eaves and bracket sets full of charm, yet the gates of Mo Ru Hall were covered with glaring red paint.

Under the carved door lintel, sheets of paper filled with insults were pasted, completely clashing with the courtyard’s elegance.

The signboard bearing “Mo Ru Hall” that once hung proudly above the door now lay trampled on the ground, shattered into a chaotic mess.

Shi Yun crouched slowly and picked up a fragment of the broken sign. The cracked wood grain pierced her eyes deeply.

Once, in this courtyard, her grandfather had patiently taught her how to mix paste and choose Xuan paper.

On warm afternoons, his voice was gentle and patient, full of affection.

Now, to see Mo Ru Hall desecrated like this—

Would her grandfather blame her for failing to protect it?

She hugged herself tightly but could not fend off the sorrow spreading from her heart.

Suddenly, footsteps approached, and Shi Yun raised her head alertly.

Fu Siyu’s figure appeared in her line of sight.

Ignoring the risk of dirtying his shoes with the red paint, he strode forward and tore down the insulting papers.

Then, he quickly pulled out his phone, swiped swiftly across the screen, and made a call with a cold tone: “Find out who did this to Mo Ru Hall. Once confirmed, hand them over to the police.”

Shi Yun’s nose tinged slightly red, and the corners of her eyes glistened with a faint, pitiful redness as she stared blankly at him.

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He stood tall and upright, his well-tailored expensive suit wrapping his broad shoulders and slim waist perfectly.

From head to toe, he exuded a natural, overwhelming presence, like a sovereign lord commanding everything.

In truth, Fu Siyu was very much to Shi Yun’s taste.

His features were strikingly handsome—deep-set brows and eyes, a high nose, thin lips—the kind of beauty that directly assaulted one’s vision.

After finishing the call, the sound of his dress shoes echoed softly as he stood before Shi Yun.

He lowered his head slightly, a subtle tenderness barely perceptible in his deep gaze, and extended his hand: “Get up, the ground is cold.”

Shi Yun’s long, curled eyelashes trembled with faint tears.

Looking at his well-defined hand, she hesitated for a moment, then gently placed her hand in his.

Fu Siyu’s grip was light yet firm, steadying her as he pulled her up.

Her voice was soft as she asked, “How did you get here?”

Without answering, the man’s gaze shifted from her beautiful, delicate face down to her fingers.

It seemed the warmth and smoothness of her skin still lingered on his fingertips.

After a moment, he finally said, “Passing by.”

Shi Yun said nothing more and turned to enter Mo Ru Hall.

Fu Siyu took long strides to follow closely behind.

Inside Mo Ru Hall, ancient calligraphy and paintings hung on the walls, some awaiting restoration, others already restored, the old paper faintly scenting the air with ink.

Among them were some of Shi Yun’s own works, with delicate strokes and elegant, subdued hues, inviting people to linger and admire.

In the center of the room stood a large worktable, neatly arranged with various restoration tools—from exquisite brushes and sharp carving knives to specially made paste bowls, all in place.

Nearby, bookshelves overflowed with ancient texts and rare editions on calligraphy and painting appraisal, restoration techniques, history, and culture.

A few green plants in the corner added a touch of vitality to the antique atmosphere.

Shi Yun walked straight to the tea table in the corner, gently took out tea leaves, placed them into a Yixing clay teapot, rinsed the tea set with hot water before discarding it, then poured boiling water again.

The tea leaves unfurled and floated gracefully, the fragrance gradually filling the room.

She picked up a delicate teacup and poured one for Fu Siyu first.

The steaming tea rose wisps of white smoke in the cup, reflecting her cool, composed face.

A few strands of hair were slightly disheveled, brushing against her cheek.

Shi Yun extended the cup toward him.

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Fu Siyu took the cup, sipped lightly, silent, but his gaze remained fixed on Shi Yun.

The corners of her eyes still bore a trace of pitiful redness.

Her slender figure was as graceful as a willow swaying in the breeze, every gesture imbued with an innate classical elegance.

She looked like a beauty stepped right out of an ancient painting.

The perfect blend of cool composure and delicate softness made it impossible to look away.

Finally, Fu Siyu cleared his throat, breaking the moment’s silence and spoke slowly, “I’ve already sent people to handle this matter.”

Shi Yun’s eyelashes fluttered lightly, her eyes shimmering faintly.

She took a small sip of tea; the bitterness on her lips seemed to sober her slightly before she gently set the cup down, her tone even: “Why are you helping me?”

Fu Siyu recalled the vile insults on the door and a fierce glint flashed briefly in his eyes.

His pupils darkened as he stared at the slight redness at the corner of her eyes, tilting his head slightly without answering, instead asking, “Miss Yunyun, when are you planning to invite me to dinner?”

Shi Yun’s eyes sparkled, a half-smile playing on her lips as she glanced at him: “There are too many people wanting me to treat them. Wait for the notice at home.”

Fu Siyu’s narrow eyes narrowed slightly; crossing his arms, he uttered a single word calmly, “Fine.”

Shi Yun finally smiled, raising her hand to gently tuck the loose strands of hair behind her ear. “Just joking. Tonight then. I’m busy now, do as you please.”

With that, she slowly stood and walked toward the door.

Frowning at the chaotic mess outside, her gaze grew colder.

Fu Siyu followed, arms crossed, standing quietly beside her.

Shi Yun went inside to fetch tools and began cleaning the red paint and papers from the door.

Fu Siyu reached out to help, but Shi Yun raised a hand to stop him, glancing at him: “No need.”

She thought to herself, there was no way she could bear to see the famed Fu in the capital circle doing such rough work.

Besides, did he even know how to do it?

Fu Siyu said nothing more, bent down to pick up a cloth, and began wiping by himself, saying as he worked, “It’ll be faster if we do it together.”

Shi Yun paused for a moment, pressing her lips lightly, then stopped arguing.

She knelt carefully, picking up fragments of the wooden sign, attempting to piece them back together.

Suddenly, she hissed softly—the tip of a sharp wooden splinter pricked her finger, and blood instantly seeped out.