The mentor and apprentice got out of the car, and Agnes helped Mr. Johnsons take the freshly bought groceries from the trunk. “Let me handle it,” the middle-aged man said to her. “You go inside and check on Ansel, give him some advice on his competition piece. I’ll cook; today we have the best chopped pepper fish head.” “Alright,” the girl handed over all the bags to him, “Thank you.” She then watched him walk towards the kitchen.
Agnes turned around and walked towards the studio with ease. When Ansel saw her silhouette through the window, he didn’t feel particularly excited; instead, he felt a bit guilty. After all, he knew exactly what he had done. He had gone down the mountain to complain to Mr. and Mrs. Campbell and had even slandered Andrew. In hindsight, he realized how childish he had been. If Mr. and Mrs. Campbell hadn’t reacted at all, Agnes definitely wouldn’t be their biological daughter. He guessed that Mr. and Mrs. Campbell had confronted Agnes.
Agnes was still very polite; she knocked on the door before entering. “Come in,” Ansel snapped back to reality. When the door opened, Agnes appeared in his sight, meeting his gaze as she stepped inside.
The girl didn’t start questioning him right away. Ansel suppressed his guilt deep down. “Bubu, would you like to take a look at my competition piece? Give me some advice?” He directly changed the topic.
“I can’t say I have advice, but I’m interested in appreciating it and learning from it.” Agnes walked towards him, “With your father here, how could it be my place to give suggestions?” “Creating art is a personal endeavor; everyone has their own ideas. You’re younger than him, closer to my age, so maybe you can hit the mark better.”
Ansel led her to an easel not far away. Agnes bent slightly at the waist and seriously admired the painting. Meanwhile, Ansel’s gaze fell on her profile; her pure beauty made his heart race even more.
“Warm Sun on Muddy Fields-just the name of this piece is great,” Agnes turned her eyes to him and praised, “Your calligraphy has improved a lot.” “I practiced these characters deliberately,” Ansel straightened his back, his gaze still on her profile. “How about the piece? Do you see anything in it?”
Agnes seriously appreciated his work; it was clear he had put real effort into it, and compared to his previous works, this one indeed showed significant improvement. “In exploring the language of oil painting, you seem more inclined to be like spring rain nourishing flowers now, with less of a young person’s impatience. Do you feel that yourself?” She asked, turning her eyes to look at him but found herself caught in his infatuated gaze.
The sudden turn startled Ansel; meeting those bright eyes made him blink nervously, not wanting her to see through his thoughts.
Agnes looked him up and down from head to toe, “Were you distracted? Did you hear what I just asked?” “Yes,” Ansel replied, “I am expressing in a silent way.” “Hmm?” “I mean my work is like spring rain nourishing flowers; this is what I’ve been pursuing recently,” Ansel stared at her intently. “The competition is coming up soon; can I get an encouraging hug from you?”
Hearing this, Agnes frowned slightly.
She straightened up; Ansel had been looking haggard recently-staying up late too much? He even had some stubble now, looking more and more like an artist.
He looked at her with childlike anticipation while also seeming a bit afraid of her.
“You still want a hug?” Agnes suddenly became serious and asked softly, “Did you go see my mom yesterday?”
Ansel’s chest tightened; eventually, he would have to face this topic.