A Aloof Beauty Becomes a Tiny Kitten / Transmigrated as the Disabled Tycoon’s Tiny Kitten - Chapter 4

Lin Xingmo got up to answer the door.

Outside stood a delivery courier who handed over a stiff cardboard document envelope. It was thin and light; his name was written in black marker across the blank space.

“Please sign here, sir.”

“Thank you.”

Lin Xingmo took the package and turned back inside, tearing it open as he walked. However, the contents were not the divorce papers from Xu Yi’s lawyer. Instead, it was an invitation to an art exhibition sent by a senior from his university days.

Lin Xingmo stared at the invitation, searching his memory. He had a slight impression of this senior; they’d had a decent relationship, but they hadn’t kept in touch after graduation. He was the type of “semi-acquaintance” who simply sat idle in one’s contact list.

He hadn’t expected the man to suddenly send an invitation after all this time. Along with the invitation was a business card: Wu Liangyu.

Lin Xingmo glanced at it, pulled up the long-unused number on his phone, snapped a photo of the invitation, and sent it with a single question mark attached.

The reply came almost instantly.

Senior Wu Liangyu: [It seems you really are still living at Spruce Villa.]

Lin Xingmo had lived there since university. It was a house left to him by his parents, and he had kept it as his art studio after marriage. However, because Xu Yi raised a cat and he was allergic to cat hair, he had simply moved back here to live. He had stayed here right up until the two of them moved toward divorce.

Lin Xingmo didn’t reply, waiting for the other man to continue. The senior seemed to understand his temperament, as a new message arrived shortly.

[If you’re free Saturday night, come take a look.]

[I want to share some joy with you.]

Lin Xingmo thought for a moment, replied “Okay,” and added a “Congratulations.” That was the end of the conversation; he had no interest in small talk. He forwarded the photo of the invitation to Assistant Xiao, told him to pick him up at the scheduled time, and then tossed his phone aside to resume staring blankly while hugging his cushion.

As soon as he sat down, sleepiness swept over him again. The young man’s head nodded rhythmically until he finally couldn’t hold out any longer, collapsing onto the sofa and falling asleep once more.

As time passed, the sunlight faded from intense to dim. When he woke up again, night had fallen. The ghostly moonlight poured in through the window, making the room feel cold and desolate.

Perhaps the medication had finally worked; Lin Xingmo felt his mind was much clearer. He stared at the bright white moonlight for a while before slowly raising his hands. His beautiful light-blue eyes reflected a pair of human palms—the thing he feared hadn’t happened. He was still Lin Xingmo, the human.

So, turning into a cat… was it really just a nightmare born from a fever?

He pressed his hand against his chest.

Thump—thump—

His heart beat steadily. Even the sound of the heartbeat was calm. But he clearly remembered how, in that “dream,” this heart had pounded so passionately within his chest…

Ding-dong—ding-dong—

Assistant Xiao rang the doorbell twice. Unsurprisingly, there was no vocal response, and no one came to open the door. He waited a moment, then habitually punched the code into the lock. As the door clicked open, he stepped inside.

A wave of heat from the heater hit him. Assistant Xiao hung his coat on the rack, took off his shoes, and placed them neatly before entering. He efficiently finished the cleaning, brewed a pot of hot tea, arranged a plate of snacks on a tray, and headed to the art studio, knocking on the ajar door.

Glancing into the room, he saw a slender figure sitting by the window, dabbing at a canvas. He intentionally made some noise, but the young man didn’t turn around. He was painting with such focus that even his back exuded a sense of cold solitude.

“Mr. Lin, you’re doing an oil painting today.”

Lin Xingmo finally seemed to notice his arrival. He shifted his gaze from the canvas, looked at the assistant, then returned to his unfinished work. Assistant Xiao didn’t mind; he placed the tray on a side table and focused on the canvas.

Mr. Lin’s style was incredibly realistic. He seemed to possess the ability to 100% reconstruct a scene from memory. His paintings often made it difficult to distinguish whether they were photographs or artwork. To someone like Assistant Xiao, who didn’t know much about art, Lin Xingmo’s skill was practically magic.

Today’s painting was of an unknown courtyard, featuring a koi fish leaping mid-air. Painted from a low angle, the red-and-white koi jumped powerfully under the white sunlight, splashing water droplets that refracted into miniature rainbows. The falling droplets looked so real that Assistant Xiao instinctively wanted to raise his hand to shield his eyes.

“Mr. Lin, did you go out to see some fish recently?” he asked curiously.

Lin Xingmo’s paintings were almost always scenes he encountered in daily life. Assistant Xiao didn’t remember taking any such assignments for him recently. Furthermore, the courtyard in the painting looked like Southern scenery—in this freezing weather, outdoor fish-keeping was impossible.

Lin Xingmo’s hand paused. A faint light flickered in his light-blue eyes. “I saw it in a dream.”

He looked at the painting, feeling as if he had become that little white cat again, crouching by the pond and being captivated by the koi’s thrashing tail.

Assistant Xiao nodded in realization, once again marveling at his employer. Everyone dreams, but to not only remember the dream but also paint it with such exquisite detail? There were probably few people in the world like Mr. Lin.

Lin Xingmo soon finished the final stroke, set down the brush, and went to the bathroom to wash up.

“Wait, there’s another one…” Assistant Xiao noticed another canvas in the corner. Judging by the wet paint, it was also from today. He picked it up curiously.

The protagonist of this painting was a little boy standing under a low wall, surrounded by two or three blurry figures. Only the boy’s face was clear. He had a handsome, delicate face with a soft, gentle smile. His “puppy eyes” were bright and watery, making one want to ruffle his hair. He was reaching out toward the “camera” as if expecting something.

“So cute,” Assistant Xiao muttered. “When did Mr. Lin change his style?”

By the time Lin Xingmo emerged, the studio had been tidied. The two oil paintings sat quietly by the window to dry. Tea and snacks were laid out on the bay window. Lin Xingmo didn’t look at the paintings; he climbed onto the bay window, sat with his knees hugged to his chest, and held the hot tea in both hands to feel the warmth of the porcelain.

He gazed out at the hazy sky, seemingly deep in thought, yet looking as though he were thinking of nothing at all.

“Sir, please show your invitation.”

At the entrance of the exhibition hall, Su Zhuoyang was pushing the man in the wheelchair when they were stopped. Before he could speak, hurried footsteps sounded. A slightly pudgy middle-aged man rushed out with a wide smile.

“Mr. Xu! What wind brings you here? How is your health lately?” He rubbed his hands nervously, acting with total deference.

Xu Yi sat in his wheelchair. His lowered lashes lifted, his thin lips pursed. His handsome face was covered in a layer of frost, exuding a gloomy, cold aura that warned others to stay away. He gave a curt nod and tapped his finger on the armrest.

Su Zhuoyang understood the signal and smiled at the manager. “We’re heading in now.”

“Of course, of course! Please!” The manager stepped aside and watched them enter. Once they were inside, he turned and hissed at the staff member who had stopped them: “That’s the big boss! He owns this entire building! Remember that for next time!”

“Cousin, it’s a rare outing. Don’t keep that sour face on. Be a bit happier,” Su Zhuoyang said. Unlike Xu Yi’s gloom, Su Zhuoyang was a cheery youth who didn’t fear Xu Yi’s temper.

Xu Yi wasn’t in the mood for him. He flipped through the manual he’d taken from the desk and commanded: “Go to Zone E.”

They soon reached their target. This private exhibition was a joint venture, and the most famous contributor was the traditional Chinese painting master, Ruan Qingqiu. Master Ruan hadn’t released a work in years; he had only come out of retirement this time to support his favorite disciple.

Because they arrived early, the hall was nearly empty. However, a few people were already admiring Ruan’s work—a painting of ten thousand horses galloping, a magnificent and grand piece.

Xu Yi’s expression softened slightly; he was clearly satisfied. The manager, who had been following them, leaned in. “Mr. Xu, this is Master Ruan’s new work. To convince him to exhibit here, I—”

Before he could finish his pitch about the profits and effort involved, the big boss interrupted: “I’ll take this one.”

The manager’s expression froze. “Mr. Xu… Master Ruan’s paintings are not for sale. They are for display only…”

Xu Yi frowned, his dark eyes turning cold. The oppressive aura made the manager sweat. “Perhaps you’d like to see other paintings? Several other famous artists are participating…”

Xu Yi suppressed his irritation. “Can the gallery contact Master Ruan? The price isn’t an issue.”

The manager looked troubled. “I can… but Master Ruan is quite eccentric. He claims his paintings are only given to those he deems ‘destined’ (yuanfen), never sold.”

Xu Yi felt stifled. Before he could argue, Su Zhuoyang intervened. “In that case, let’s not force it.” He dismissed the manager.

Su Zhuoyang looked at his cousin. “You’ve never been this invested in your father’s birthday before. Why come all the way here to buy a gift personally?”

Xu Yi ignored him. Su Zhuoyang continued, “I heard you’re getting a divorce?”

Xu Yi’s face darkened even further.

“Is it true?” Su Zhuoyang marveled. “Brother, you went to such lengths to marry him. It hasn’t even been half a year. Are you bored already?”

Xu Yi remained silent until, just as Su Zhuoyang thought he wouldn’t answer, he muttered: “I’m not bored.”

How could he ever be bored?

“Then why divorce? Did you find someone else, or did Lin Xingmo cheat? Impossible!”

Xu Yi, harassed beyond endurance and thinking back to that day, muttered gloomily: “He doesn’t like Snowball.”

Su Zhuoyang blinked. “What?”

Xu Yi repeated firmly: “That’s right. He hates my cat.”

“But Snowball is already…” Su Zhuoyang paused. Snowball was the cat Xu Yi had raised for nearly twenty years. It had been by his side since before Su Zhuoyang was born. The cat’s recent death from old age had been a massive blow to Xu Yi. “If it was really about the cat, wouldn’t the problem have started before Snowball passed away?”

Xu Yi closed his eyes. The image of the young man’s habitually cold blue eyes surfaced in his mind. He let out a silent, self-mocking laugh. In the end, this marriage was something he had forced. This result was to be expected…

“I didn’t hate Snowball, and I don’t hate cats,” a calm voice sounded from behind him.

Xu Yi’s eyes snapped open. He turned around.

His beloved Lin Xingmo was standing only two steps away. The young man’s pale blue eyes watched him quietly. Under the bright gallery lights, his cold, thin, yet undeniably radiant face looked like an immortal who had fallen into the mortal realm.

Xu Yi sat dazed as he heard the young man continue:

“I’m just allergic to cat hair.”

The author says:

CEO Xu: He’s explaining to me! He definitely loves me! He wants to get back together!

Mo-zai: …