four

Where is your model? I couldn't help but ask

That day, Wei Lan temporarily had something to attend to and left me waiting. I ran along the riverbank, feeling utterly bored. As I passed by the row of stalls where portrait artists were at work, I merely glanced at the artists swiftly sketching on their drawing paper, a scene I encountered daily and found unremarkable. The reason I suddenly stopped and turned back was that there was clearly no one sitting on the small stool in front of one of the male artists, yet he was lifting his gaze and putting pencil to paper, occasionally extending his pencil into the air to gauge proportions.

This is the scene of my first encounter with Xia Zhi, which was neither thrilling nor aesthetically pleasing, yet I was captivated by his cool and melodious voice, as well as the extraordinary focus he displayed while moving across the canvas

Qinghe is the only river in this city. Every summer, the banks of the river become particularly lively and bustling. As dusk falls, various vendors begin their activities, offering a dazzling array of snacks, shooting balloons, tossing rings, and crafting sugar figurines. There are also those with cameras, calling out to take snapshots and draw portraits. During the summer solstice, I was one of the many artists setting up easels along the riverbank to paint portraits of passersby

The most beautiful things I have known in life have all been taught to me by the summer solstice. Monet's paintings, Antonioni's films, the candies secretly hidden in my pocket, the magnificent sunrise at the mountain peak at four in the morning, the hand that he held high above my head during a torrential downpour in the evening, the kisses infused with the scent of mint, the embraces on the winter streets, and the sweet and fragrant first love at the age of 15. He opened a window in my naive emotional world, taking my hand and leading me to touch another beautiful world that I had previously been unable to reach. The embraces on the winter streets, and the sweet and fragrant first love at the age of 15. He opened a window in my naive emotional world, taking my hand and leading me to touch another beautiful world that I had previously been unable to reach.

He slowly raised his head, glanced at me, then switched to a new sheet of sketch paper. With his thin lips pressed together, he uttered five cold words: "Twenty yuan for one."

At that time, the greatest entertainment for Wei Lan and me was to go jogging by the Qing River every evening. After breaking a sweat, we would each order a bowl of refreshing cold jelly from a stall by the riverbank. I always ate quickly, and after finishing, I would reach my spoon into Wei Lan's bowl, swift and nimble, stuffing it into my mouth before she could react, which often led her to scold me, calling me a reincarnated starving ghost. I would grin and retort, "It's you who insists on pretending to be a princess and acting refined!" Amidst our laughter, so much time slipped away unnoticed.

I met him during the summer after I graduated from middle school

I curiously walked around to his back. On the canvas was a nearly completed portrait of an old woman with a cart. Although I knew nothing about painting and had no artistic eye, I still felt that he painted exceptionally well. I even secretly compared his work to all the portraits of people on the riverbank, and none of them were as beautiful as his.

Then why don't you draw one for me? In a moment of inspiration, I went around and sat down on the small stool in front of him

"In my heart," the boy replied without raising his head, his voice surprisingly melodious