As the summer drew to a close, Yin Cheng's solo exhibition at the renowned Crown Art Gallery became the highlight of the art world.

The exhibition garnered attention and praise from critics across the board; the realization that the creator of such masterful works, Yin Cheng, had passed away only amplified the pervasive sense of regret.

As art critics lavished praise on Yin Cheng's solo show in the media, the number of visitors swelled day by day. Many expressed a strong desire to acquire some of the pieces, but Yin Xiaomo politely declined every offer.

Then one day, Mr. Xia visited the gallery. He stood in silent contemplation before a self-portrait of Yin Cheng for nearly half a day, finally turning to Yin Xiaomo and stating his intention to purchase that specific painting.

Gazing at the pure, innocent smile captured in the self-portrait of little Cheng, she finally presented the painting to Mr. Xia.

The relentless heat of midsummer poured into the gallery hall.

Against walls the color of deep azure seaweed, Yin Cheng's paintings from his lifetime were displayed. Visitors admired each work in quiet reverence, marveling at the beauty of the art and the poignant emotion that flowed from every canvas, lingering for extended moments.

Most of the paintings depicted the same young woman.

She possessed skin as white as ivory, eyes the hue of amber, and long hair like flowing seaweed. In one, she was among blossoms; in another, by the sea; and yet another, reading by a window. On her lips, there was always a beautiful, brilliant smile, captivating enough to entrance anyone who looked upon it.

People admired the girl in the paintings, then turned their gaze towards the woman standing near the gallery entrance—surely, she was the subject of those portraits.

Her abdomen was highly rounded, suggesting she was heavily pregnant and nearing her due date.

Seated in a blue armchair, she held exhibition brochures in her hands, smiling as she offered them to every visitor who arrived.

The smile upon her lips was as radiant and beautiful as those in the paintings, and her face radiated a gentle, maternal glow.

“Could we possibly have a few more brochures?” several young men, who looked like university students, asked Yin Xiaomo hesitantly. They were art school students, tasked by their classmates to collect extra copies because everyone adored the artwork in the exhibition.

“Of course, just a moment.”

Yin Xiaomo smiled as she went to retrieve the brochures, only to find her supply depleted. She slowly rose and walked toward the table where the literature was kept.

Ou Chen, who was accompanying an art critic through the exhibition, noticed her movement and rushed over. He quickly gathered a stack of brochures for her and then carefully helped her walk back.

“Thank you, older sister!” The young men accepted the pamphlets with evident delight. They exchanged glances, then shyly added, “We… could we possibly meet the artist who painted these? His work is incredible; we all really want to meet him.”

Yin Xiaomo paused slightly.

Ou Chen gently held her shoulder. She glanced back at him with a smile, as if to assure him there was no need for worry. She then turned to the young men and said with a gentle smile, “The artist was my younger brother; he has already passed away.”

“Oh! We are so sorry! Truly sorry!” the young men apologized repeatedly.

“It’s alright. If he knew how much you all loved his work, he would surely be very happy,”

Yin Xiaomo said softly, her gaze resting upon the paintings of little Cheng.

As afternoon arrived, the exhibition officially closed.

Without allowing anyone else to assist, Ou Chen carefully loaded Yin Cheng’s artworks into the car, one by one.

Yin Xiaomo had intended to handle this herself, but he steadfastly refused to let her exert herself, insisting she rest quietly and focus on caring for the baby soon to be born.

“Let’s go home.”

Ou Chen secured the final painting.

“Mhm.”

Yin Xiaomo nodded, then said, “Ou Chen, I’d like to go see a place.”

The summer sun filtered down through the dense canopy of leaves like scattered crystal shards.

Yin Xiaomo sat on a bench alongside a tree-lined avenue—a path she and Xiao Cheng often walked home from school during childhood. The roadside remained lined with tall, straight, dense plane trees, soaring toward the heavens. The sky above was an unblemished blue, and the air was thick with the humid, earthy fragrance of the trees.

Children, just dismissed from school, were still playing along the roadside.

They laughed and chased each other, blowing soap bubbles. Countless iridescent spheres floated into the air, drifting lightly skyward. Sunlight fractured across the bubbles, casting colors that were crystalline, dazzling, and brilliant. Perhaps the most beautiful things are the most fragile; some bubbles burst with a soft pop mid-flight, but the remaining ones continued their ascent toward the vast blue sky. Though these bubbles too would eventually shatter, new ones continuously drifted forth, only to fly gently toward that beautiful expanse. Yin Xiaomo stared transfixed at the soap bubbles dancing in the air. Suddenly, the baby inside her kicked gently. She smiled, lowered her head, and softly caressed her swollen belly. In another month, the baby would arrive. Ou Chen stood by the car, holding his breath as he watched her every movement and expression. His gaze was soft, and his lips curved with a smile of profound happiness. —End of Story