Chapter 114 Day 5 of Transmigrating into a Vintage CEO Novel

Chapter 114: Day 5 of Being Dropped Into an Old-School CEO Novel

Gu Mingzhi looked up at him, a flicker of surprise in his eyes before returning to his usual calm.

"An Yi." He nodded, his gaze casually sweeping over the paint stains on An Yi's sleeve: "Shouldn't you be resting?"

"Uncle Mingzhi." An Yi stopped, greeted him politely, his tone gentle.

"I spent a while in the studio and came out for a walk." An Yi smiled: "Busy with something, Uncle Mingzhi?"

"Just handling some stuff." Gu Mingzhi said succinctly.

As if something just occurred to him, Gu Mingzhi turned his attention back to An Yi, asking casually: "I heard... you know a lot about painting?"

An Yi was slightly taken aback, then smiled: "I wouldn't say I know a lot, I just have an interest in painting."

Gu Mingzhi studied him with his deep eyes, paused for a few seconds, then, almost out of nowhere, spoke in a lower, gentler voice than usual: "Oh? Would you mind if I take a look at your paintings?"

The request caught An Yi off guard. He looked up at Gu Mingzhi; the other's expression was calm, as if it were merely a whim.

An Yi thought it over briefly, then nodded: "Of course not. But my painting's not great, so don't laugh, Uncle Mingzhi. The studio is in the annex building ahead."

Back in the studio, pushing open the door, the smell of oil paint hit them.

On the easel, the unfinished painting caught their eyes—a hazy blue, as if wrapped in mist, with rough yet bold strokes, layers of color carrying an indescribable emotion, and an unstructured, almost primal urge to express.

Gu Mingzhi's gaze was instantly drawn to it.

He walked to the easel, stood there quietly for a moment, then said: "It's beautiful, but... I happened to see another painting yesterday that left a stronger impression."

An Yi was wiping his hands with a handkerchief; hearing this, he paused, looked up at Gu Mingzhi's tall figure, and a subtle smile played on his lips: "Oh?"

Gu Mingzhi smiled, approaching An Yi: "Yesterday, when you were sitting by the window, you yourself looked like a painting come to life. That was the real masterpiece."

An Yi: ...

This was by far the boldest, most direct move he'd seen since crossing over.

"Is that so?" An Yi's voice remained warm and clear, but his tone grew cold. "That's pretty forward. Or should I take that as flirting?"

Instead of backing off, Gu Mingzhi shook his head, completely at ease, even with a hint of self-righteousness: "No, I'm just being honest about what I felt and thought at the time."

He took another half-step closer, closing the distance, looking down at An Yi, and added clearly: "Also, I'm not gay."

An Yi: ...

Who'd believe that?

He was almost amused into laughter, but kept his gentle facade, though his eyes held no trace of humor, only a faint, fleeting sarcasm: "You'd better not be."

The comments section had somehow shifted focus to them:

"Huh????"

"For real? I don't buy it, bookmarking this!"

"I bet five bucks something's definitely off with him!"

"Clearly it's love at first sight for An Yi!"

"Isn't this a romance novel?"

"Isn't An Yi the gentle second male lead? Why is a male love interest popping up!!!!"

"And isn't Gu Mingzhi the villain?"

"Ugh! Romance mixed with gay stuff, I'm done! Bad review!"

"Same!"

"Disgusting! Both the author and the male lead!"

"Slap alert: Author, looks like your face needs a little blush!"

"..."

An Yi listened expressionlessly to the chaos in his head.

So speechless.

The air in the studio seemed to freeze; the smell of turpentine became particularly pungent.

In An Yi's head, the comments section was still buzzing—full of anger, confusion, and screams.

His face stayed calm, but his gaze at Gu Mingzhi carried a hint of unreadable scrutiny.

Gu Mingzhi seemed totally unfazed: "Of course I'm not."

He even looked around the somewhat messy studio with interest, his gaze finally settling on An Yi's fingers holding the handkerchief.

"The oil painting is beautiful." He remarked as if nothing was wrong.

Just as An Yi was about to speak, the comments section in his head suddenly exploded with a new wave of noise, drowning out the earlier arguments:

"Holy crap! Gu Xinghui chased after her! He shoved Weiwei into the car!"

"Forced kiss! God, is that all the male lead knows how to do?!"

"AAH let my Wei Bao go! I'll punch your mouth off!"

"Help! He actually said 'You'll never leave me'?! Are you kidding! What the hell are you doing!"

"Damn! The car's gone! Heading back to the apartment!"

"And here we go. Next step: another round of forced affection!"

"Classic formula: Fight, forced kiss, drag home, toss on bed, do the deed, then make up (temporarily)."

"..."

An Yi: "..."

Great. Over there, the plot is barreling toward the inevitable forced intimacy stage at a hundred miles per hour.

And he, the second male lead who was supposed to be a comforting harbor on the heroine's sad journey, is now stuck in a bizarre, ambiguous standoff with the villainous uncle—originally just background scenery—in a paint-filled studio.

This plot has completely gone off the rails.

So done.

He took an almost imperceptible deep breath, trying to pull his focus back to reality from the chaos in his mind.

But Gu Mingzhi was looking at him, those deep eyes carrying a hint of scrutiny, as if sensing his momentary distraction.

"What's wrong?" Gu Mingzhi asked, his voice low.

"Nothing," An Yi lowered his eyes, hiding his expression, his tone returning to its usual gentleness, though tinged with a barely noticeable detachment: "Just felt it was a bit noisy all of a sudden."

He meant the voices in his head, but Gu Mingzhi clearly misunderstood.

He glanced at the quiet garden outside the window, then back at him, a slight raise of his eyebrow: "It's quiet here."

Was he disgusted that he was here, finding it noisy? Wanting him to leave?

"Maybe I misheard," An Yi didn’t intend to explain further. He walked to the window, pushed it open, and the cold winter air rushed in, slightly dispersing some of the thick paint smell in the studio.

He turned around, his back to the pale winter light outside the window, his features somewhat indistinct, only his voice clear and polite, with an unmistakable air of aloofness: "If you have no other advice on painting, then please leave."

The dismissal was tactful but firm.

Gu Mingzhi: ...

Sure enough, he was being kicked out.

Had he really been that offensive just now? He'd just been honest, saying what he thought.

Gu Mingzhi didn’t answer immediately, nor did he turn to leave.

He walked over to the easel where An Yi had been painting, his fingers lightly tracing over the still-wet, thick cobalt blue paint.