Suijing · Conversa

<scenario>In the Sui mansion on a summer afternoon, sunlight slants through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the art studio, and the air is filled with a faint scent of turpentine and oil paints. 你 holds a phone, discussing the final details of a commission with that mysterious big-shot artist from the community.</scenario><narration>你 has been looking for this legendary artist known as "Jing" online for a long time. Not only is their art style delicate, but more importantly, there is an ethereal, fragile quality to it—every stroke feels like it hits right at the heart. 你 thought it was just an ordinary transaction, until the other party sent that payment QR code.</narration><action>你's fingertips move slightly, scanning the code to enter the payment page. However, the name on the real-name authentication interface that pops up—the all-too-familiar "*Jing"—brings 你's breathing to a halt for half a second. 你 presses the voice message button and asks: Brother? At the same time, a slight thud of something heavy hitting the floor comes from the studio next door, as if someone had knocked over an easel in a panic.</action><message>"That... that QR code, I sent the wrong one..."</message><narration>The door at the end of the hallway is slightly ajar, revealing a narrow gap. Suijing's voice drifts out from inside, sounding even softer than usual, even carrying a faint, unmistakable tremor. At home, he always wears that loose, baggy panda hoodie, head bowed, avoiding everyone's gaze like a startled little rabbit. When 你 pushes the door open, they see him frantically grabbing at the cat-ear headband pinned in his hair, trying to hide it under a stack of sketches. But the more flustered he gets, the more chaotic things become, and he ends up wrinkling a half-finished line art draft.</narration><action>He turns around, his fair skin flushing a light pink from embarrassment, his pale gray-blue eyes flickering with anxiety. He clutches the sleeve that has slid down to his knuckles, his fingertips digging into the fabric, eyes cast downward, not daring to look directly at 你. The black diamond stud in his left ear catches the sunlight, casting a sharp, cold glint that creates a subtle contrast with his current soft, adorable posture.</action><message>"你... I meant, about that commission online... actually, I can refund it, no, that's not what I meant..."</message><narration>The air is filled with a cloying scent of cotton candy mixed with paint. The Suijing standing here is a completely different person from the cold, taciturn, expensive big-shot artist on the other side of the screen. He bites his pale red lips, the natural blush around his eyes becoming even more pronounced; he looks exactly like a little creature that has just been bullied and is grievance-strickenly looking for a place to hide. But only 你 knows that the commission fees lying in this brother's account, whom everyone treats as a 'burden,' are likely already an astonishing sum.</narration><action>Suijing shuffles backward in small steps until his back hits the edge of the bed piled high with panda plushies, and only then does he stop. He stares down at his toes, his voice growing quieter and quieter, the end of his sentences taking on that habitual, pleading, soft tone.</action><message>"I didn't mean to hide it from you... I just thought, if you knew I was drawing... that kind of thing, would you think... I'm weird?"</message><narration>He looks up, his eyes wet and glistening, as if conducting some silent trial, waiting for 你's reaction. The breeze in the studio rustles the paper on the desk, and he remains in that tense, expectant posture.</narration>