Chapter 109: Can You Really Sketch?

Chapter 109: Can You Really Sketch?

“Young Master, I’ll need at least five days,” Jiang Chuan said plainly. It wasn’t his first time handling this kind of work, so he knew it well.

“Three days! I’m giving you three!” Ding Ruilong glared at him with bloodshot eyes. “In three days I want to hear that Wu Chen died wretchedly. Can you do it or can’t you?”

Jiang Chuan was silent a moment, then nodded gravely. “I can.”

“Then go and get it done!” Ding Ruilong shouted.

Jiang Chuan bowed his head to him once more before turning and hurrying out.

He was gone.

Behind the desk, Ding Ruilong picked up several more photographs. He looked at them a while, then tore them to pieces in a fit of agitation. He swept both arms across the desktop, sending every file, dossier, and photograph flying, then caught up the keyboard and used it like a club, smashing wildly at the monitor.

“Slut! Slut! Aaah!”

Outside the office door.

Jiang Chuan hadn’t gone far. He stopped and listened to the crashing and the crazed roars inside, and deep worry gathered between his brows. Then his gaze steadied by degrees, and a ruthless light rose in his eyes.

Wu Chen had to die.

Three days.

It had to be done.

—

Donghai City, CBD Business District Tower Seven. Huancai Fashion.

The president’s office.

Wu Chen sat with one leg crossed over the other on the sofa, chatting in a Penguin group. This was already the fifth day of his new life, and his fifth day as Li Ruobing’s fake boyfriend, so he knew Ding Ruilong’s people had probably finished digging into him by now.

They were likely about to move.

After all, yesterday he and Li Ruobing had kissed in front of the villa window… and if someone truly had captured it, photographs or video, then once Ding Ruilong saw it, with a temperament like his, he would probably go mad with rage.

That had been Li Ruobing’s own home, and Wu Chen had been wearing a bathrobe. What the two of them were going to do after a kiss like that, anyone could work out with their toes.

Ding Ruilong would retaliate. Certainly.

Wu Chen knew it was time to do something about Ding Ruilong.

Penguin group name: Modu Art Tieba Discussion Group.

Wu Chen had joined the group a little over ten minutes ago. It was a public large group with room for two thousand members, and getting in wasn’t difficult. At present there were more than sixteen hundred members, though far fewer were active. The ones who spoke often numbered a few dozen.

It was an art and drawing group, sketching above all. Sketching was the foundation of drawing, and the people who studied it tended to be young—middle school and high school students, mostly—so the average age in the group was only in the teens.

Naturally, although it was mainly students, there were plenty of older members too. Some were “teachers” who had studied sketching and drawing for years. Some were parents of students.

Wu Chen watched the chat. Someone had just posted a sketch of their own.

He opened the image and glanced at it: a pile of fruit. Very ordinary work, the strokes still immature. The person had probably been learning for only a few months.

Teacher Liu: Nice drawing! You’ve improved!

Broken Pencil: Better than my daughter’s. How old are you? This is great.

Some members were praising it.

Others were envious.

Wu Chen typed quickly with one hand and sent a message of his own.

Xingchen: Work on your strokes. The light-and-shadow contrast is too low and it lacks a sense of volume…

Xingchen was the screen name Wu Chen had picked at random after logging into his Penguin account. He had revised some of the account’s personal details while he was at it.

A little over ten minutes later.

Some members had already switched from Xingchen to “Teacher Xingchen.” Others were calling him an art god, a master, a big shot. With drawing, whether someone had real skill could be shown in a few lines.

To know the true level, of course, one still had to post one’s own work.

But the overwhelming majority of people in this group were students, and the whole purpose of joining was to learn. Calling anyone above your own level “teacher” was simply habit.

Tap, tap, tap.

The sound of high heels outside. Right after, the bodyguard opened the door.

Li Ruobing came in, shrugging off her jacket as she walked.

Wu Chen sent one more reply in the group before lifting his head to look at her. He smiled. “Dropped her off?”

“I thought you’d have driven off by now.” Li Ruobing crossed to the coat rack, hung up her jacket, and moved behind the desk. “Aren’t you busy? Is that all for the Su family business? You don’t need to do anything else?”

“I told you. Just watch the show.” Wu Chen smiled. “Wait for news. I’d estimate… by this afternoon Atai will call you and tell you something major has happened in the Su family.”

Li Ruobing’s face gave nothing away. She said nothing more.

Settling into the boss chair, Li Ruobing was about to power on her computer when she paused. She had noticed things on her desk—not files delivered by a secretary or assistant, but sheets of white paper, several pencils, an eraser, and the like.

Her brows drew slightly together.

Her desk was organized every day. Her secretary handled it. Objects were not left scattered about like this.

Besides, she hadn’t asked for any of it.

“I had your secretary bring them over just now,” Wu Chen’s voice came.

Li Ruobing looked up at him, frowning. “For what?”

“To draw something,” Wu Chen said.

“Draw what?” she asked, following on.

“You.” Wu Chen smiled.

“Hm?” Li Ruobing went still. Then she frowned, narrowed her eyes at him, and said, “Draw me?” It felt utterly strange, utterly abrupt, utterly odd. Wu Chen suddenly wanted to draw, and what he wanted to draw was her.

Why?

Had something happened?

Wu Chen stood, walked over, and gathered the paper, pencils, and the rest from the desk, along with a clipboard-style folder that would serve as a drawing board. He carried it all back to the sofa and sat down facing her.

Li Ruobing watched him the whole way, her gaze tracking him as he moved.

Only once he had settled did she ask, “What are you playing at?”

“Nothing much. Drawing a sketch of you,” Wu Chen said with a smile.

“You can sketch?” Li Ruobing blinked.

A moment ago he had only said he was going to draw something, without saying how. Anyone could draw. A three-year-old could draw. The only question was whether it was any good. But now he had said sketch, and the moment sketching came up, professional technique was involved.

“A little,” Wu Chen replied.

“You’re drawing a sketch of me?” she asked again.

“Mm-hm.” Wu Chen nodded.

Li Ruobing still didn’t follow. What was the reason? To please her? To flirt with her? When had Wu Chen ever flirted with her? The bastard spent his time needling her and provoking her for no reason at all.

Then what else could it be?

Wu Chen wasn’t going to tell her. He only wanted her to serve as a prop while he made a drawing… He was going to send it into the group and use world-class, superb technique to win over one person there, someone with an extremely significant connection to Ding Ruilong.

Li Ruobing didn’t ask why he had suddenly decided to sketch her.

Because it was a small matter, and she still had work to do.

“I don’t have time to model for you,” Li Ruobing said, looking at him directly.

“You do your work, I’ll do my drawing. It won’t interfere with you. Move all you like, do whatever you want. Just pretend I don’t exist,” Wu Chen said.

“Can you really sketch?” Li Ruobing was suspicious now.

When drawing a portrait, where was the rule that let the subject move about as she pleased?