Chapter 21: Can You Take It Off?

"A model?" Shen Yanhui repeated, his tone revealing no emotion.

Gu Yan nodded, looking up at him with bright, sparkling eyes, "Is that okay?"

Shen Yanhui looked at her silently for a few seconds, an inscrutable emotion flashing in the depths of his eyes.

"Now?" he asked.

"Now." Gu Yan looked at him expectantly, feeling a bit nervous, unsure if he would agree.

Shen Yanhui said nothing more and walked back in front of her, close enough that she could smell the lingering dampness and crisp scent on him.

"Lead the way," he said.

Gu Yan was still a bit stunned, "You agreed?"

"Should I go back on it then?"

"Don't..."

The studio was on the third floor, facing north, with a floor-to-ceiling window welcoming the cold moonlight without reservation.

The room was spacious and somewhat cluttered with unfinished canvases, paint tubes, and sketches scattered about; the air was filled with the distinct scent of turpentine and linen.

In the center was a blank easel, and next to it was a wide, deep-red velvet sofa with a dust cover draped casually over it.

Gu Yan walked over quickly and pulled the dust cover off with a *whoosh*, sending tiny specks of dust dancing in the moonlight.

She turned to look at Shen Yanhui, who was still standing at the doorway.

He stepped over to the young woman's side and asked, "What do you need me to do?"

Gu Yan pointed to the sofa, "Sit there."

Shen Yanhui walked over as instructed and sat down, his long legs crossed casually. The moonlight happened to spill in from behind him to his side, illuminating half of his face, while the other half remained hidden in shadow.

It was incredibly sexy.

Gu Yan was very satisfied.

She kicked away a crumpled ball of paper at her feet and selected drawing paper and pencils at the workbench, picking and choosing for quite a while.

Shen Yanhui did not rush her, just waited quietly like that.

When the young girl finally made her selection and walked to the easel, he asked in a lazy voice, "Can we begin now, Painter Gu?"

Gu Yan raised an eyebrow.

"Painter Gu"—it wasn't as if no one had called her that before, but coming from him, it sounded especially pleasant.

"We can," she nodded.

Only, her pen tip hovered above the snow-white paper, yet it was slow to descend.

She pursed her lips and looked up at him; under the moonlight, her cheeks seemed slightly flushed.

"Um..." she cleared her throat, trying to make her voice sound professional and calm, "Could you take off your clothes?"

Shen Yanhui's brows twitched imperceptibly.

"Take them off?"

"Mm," Gu Yan nodded, though her gaze drifted slightly away, "Is that okay?"

"All of them?"

Gu Yan's voice trembled slightly, "All of them."

The studio fell silent in an instant.

Only the moonlight flowed silently, and the dust settled slowly.

Shen Yanhui looked at her, and she looked at him. The heat in her cheeks was rising, but her eyes did not dodge.

After a long moment, Shen Yanhui laughed very lightly, a low, short sound with an ambiguous meaning.

"Are you sure?" he asked.

"Sure." Gu Yan gripped the charcoal pencil tightly, her fingertips exerting a slight force, "This is art."

Shen Yanhui said nothing more.

He stood up.

The moonlight immediately enveloped him completely. His tall figure cast a long shadow on the floor. He raised his hand, his fingers resting on the buttons.

A pause.

Gu Yan subconsciously held her breath.

The button was undone.

One.

And another.

The silk fabric slid smoothly down his skin with a faint rustling sound, finally piling up on the floor at his feet.

The moonlight met no further obstruction, kissing his body naked and generously; his broad shoulders tapered smoothly down to a tight, narrow waist and abdomen.

Gu Yan's gaze shifted downward subconsciously—chest muscles, abdominal muscles, he had them all.

Further down, it was blocked by his trousers.

Shen Yanhui's hand was already at his waist; his long, slender fingers grabbed the waistband and gave a tug, removing all the covering on his body.

The charcoal pencil in Gu Yan's hand fell to the floor with a *clatter*.

She didn't go to pick it up.

She just stared blankly.

His legs were long, his muscles well-proportioned; everything was perfect. And... quite impressive.

Shen Yanhui's expression remained calm, as if standing naked in the moonlight were no different from standing in a conference room in a suit. Only those eyes were darker and deeper than usual, locking onto her firmly.

"Is this okay?" he asked, his voice lower and hoarser than before, breaking the silence of the room.

Gu Yan snapped back to reality, as if scalded by his voice. She hurriedly bent down to pick up the charcoal pencil, her fingertips trembling slightly.

"O-okay." She cleared her throat and pointed to the sofa, "Sit back down and keep the same posture as before."

Gu Yan had originally thought she was a professional painter who should have long been accustomed to this, with a heart as still as stagnant water. But something was wrong; at this moment, she was actually dodging his gaze.

Shen Yanhui sat back on the sofa as instructed, his posture even more relaxed than before.

Gu Yan took a deep breath, forcing herself to drive the messy thoughts out of her head and focus on the blank drawing paper.

The tip of the pen touched down.

The rustling sound of friction arose in the silence, rhythmic and focused.

The sense of stagnation that had been troubling her seemed to vanish; the lines had thoughts, overflowing from the tip of her pen.

Pure, professional, and single-minded.

Shen Yanhui leaned into the velvet sofa, moonlight flowing quietly over his body. He did not move, yet his gaze remained fixed on her.

Watching her tightly pressed lips that looked exceptionally serious.

Watching her long eyelashes that trembled slightly from her focus.

Watching her slender wrist that moved steadily while holding the charcoal pencil.

"How long do I need to sit like this?" he asked suddenly, then added considerately, "Or rather, how long do you need to stare at me like this?"

Gu Yan's hand paused, and she said with feigned indifference, "Depends."

"If I have a feeling, I'll draw faster; if I don't, then..."

"Then do you have a feeling now?"

Gu Yan: "I do."

Shen Yanhui smiled, "So, I am your muse?"

Gu Yan's ears burned, she gave a soft "Mm," then said with annoyance, "Stop talking..."

Shen Yanhui complied and shut his mouth, but before long, he spoke again: "Gu Yan..."

"What is it now?"

Gu Yan annoyedly put down her pen and looked straight over. The next second, her body stiffened, and her voice cut off: "You, you, you..."

Shen Yanhui raised an eyebrow: "I am a normal man."

Especially when being stared at so intently by her, it was difficult for him to control a natural physiological reaction.

Gu Yan abruptly looked away, feeling incredibly guilty. If the professors at school knew she couldn't even look directly at a model while drawing, they would likely be so angry they'd be blowing their beards and glaring.

She took a deep breath and looked up.

The man was more composed than she was; his sitting posture hadn't changed at all, which instead made her seem all the more unprofessional.

"Then what are you going to do?" she asked, biting her lip.

She didn't understand anything, and she had never encountered such a situation at school.

A man... how is one supposed to soothe this?

Shen Yanhui looked at her steadily, then suddenly sighed and said, "Don't look at me for now."

Gu Yan said "Oh," and silently turned around to sit down.

The studio was quiet, yet it felt as if an invisible hand was constantly scratching at her heart.

She didn't know how much time had passed when his voice came from behind: "Continue."

Gu Yan pursed her lips and turned back, a flush on her cheeks that had yet to fade. She composed herself and picked up her drawing pen to continue.

Time slipped away quietly in the friction between the pen tip and the paper.

Shen Yanhui was right; he really was her muse, the model she felt most inspired by. If only he could be her long-term model.

Gu Yan felt an urge stirring.

The moonlight slowly shifted its angle.

The final stroke finished.

She stopped, stepped back half a step, squinted to examine the drawing paper, then looked up at the model in the moonlight, and looked down again to compare.

She repeated this several times.

"It's done," she finally said, her voice slightly hoarse from the long period of focus.

Shen Yanhui stood up and walked over.

His footsteps were silent.

He stopped at her side and looked at the easel.

A charcoal sketch.

The lines were precise and concise, the light and shadow handled with extreme brilliance, perfectly reproducing the subtle texture of the human body under the moonlight. The direction of the muscles, the support of the bones, and even the vitality flowing beneath the skin were all presented with calmness and restraint.

It was an excellent study.

Pure, clean, and unstained by dust.

"Well drawn," Shen Yanhui evaluated.

Gu Yan put down the charcoal pencil, her face still flushed, and said with a touch of pride, "It's alright."

After she finished speaking, she turned to go get him some clothes.

But her wrist was suddenly gripped.

With force, he pulled her into his embrace.

Gu Yan's heart skipped a beat; she didn't dare look down, but tilted her head to look at him, panic in her eyes, "Shen... Shen Yanhui, you aren't wearing any clothes."