It was almost 8:00am the next morning when Jiang Meilin finally put down her brush.
The sunrise was finished.
Although, she could still find places to fuss over if she stood close enough. But the colour over the rooftops looked like morning now—thin and uncertain, yet determined to arrive.
"About time," she told it.
Her stomach answered with a noise that made her glance towards the kitchenette.
"Don't start. We have a very important appointment with breakfast."
Except the dumplings Auntie Yu had brought were still on the table, untouched and cold.
Meilin stared at them. Then at the paint on her hands. Then, with the solemnity of someone making a difficult business decision, she ate one directly from the bowl.
It was delicious despite the cold: soft dough, fragrant beef, ginger and spring onion. She closed her eyes for the second bite.
"Auntie Yu, you beautiful woman. Your husband is a lucky man."
A yawn nearly dislocated her jaw.
She covered the painting, washed the brushes and set three alarms. Just before falling asleep, she checked the canvas one last time from the bedroom doorway.
The tiny figures below the painted skyline were going about their lives, oblivious to the light gathering above them.
She hoped someone would understand why that mattered.
At half past two, Lin Ling entered the apartment like a small, elegantly dressed hurricane.
"Jiang Meilin! Your phone has been ringing!"
Meilin appeared from the bathroom wearing a towel around her hair and one sock.
"I was preparing to meet my destiny."
"You were asleep."
"Destiny requires adequate rest."
Ling took one look at the room, the bare feet, and the half-eaten dumplings.
"Have you even packed?"
"I have a painting."
"You need a portfolio."
"I have one of those too."
"Where?"
Meilin pointed beneath a chair.
Ling pressed two fingers to the bridge of her nose.
Despite her complaints, she was already moving—sliding the sketches into their case, checking the protective covering on the canvas, finding a clean cloth for the frame. She wore a cream silk blouse and gold earrings so understated that only someone who knew their maker would appreciate how outrageous the price was.
Meilin noticed a faint scratch across her friend's knuckle.
"What happened?"
"Car door."
"You fought a car door and lost?"
"It cheated."
Meilin laughed and took the portfolio from her.
"Ling."
"What?"
"Thank you."
Her friend's hands paused on the canvas wrapping. Then Ling waved the words away.
"Thank me when someone buys the thing. Preferably someone with terrible negotiating skills."
Meilin smiled. This was why it was possible to love Ling without ever feeling indebted to her. She offered help as naturally as she breathed, and somehow knew when to stop.
They carried the painting downstairs together.
Auntie Yu spotted them from the entrance.
"That's the one?"
Meilin nodded.
The older woman examined the wrapped canvas as if she could see straight through the paper.
"Then don't come back until someone has admired it properly."
"I'll send them your address for additional admiration."
"And eat something!"
Ling pointed triumphantly. "You see? I'm not the only one."
Two women, Meilin thought, and neither would let her starve in peace.
For the first time that day, the tightness beneath her ribs eased.
The Grand Imperial Hotel seemed determined to remind every visitor how much money existed in the world.
A fountain glittered beneath a glass canopy. Fresh orchids perfumed the entrance, competing with polished marble and the warm buttery smell escaping from the pastry kitchen. Along the driveway, men in dark suits ushered guests from cars whose names Meilin recognised but had never bothered learning to pronounce.
She stepped out of Ling's car and adjusted the sleeve of her simple black dress.
"Are you nervous?" Ling asked.
"No."
"Liar."
"Fine. A little."
"How little?"
"Enough that if this goes badly, I might have to move to a mountain and sell potatoes."
Ling squeezed her hand once. "Then we'd better make sure it doesn't."
Inside, the exhibition room was still being prepared. White gloves flashed against dark frames. Someone argued about lighting angles. A man on a ladder called for another extension cable.
The coordinator, Madam Wen, was a slender woman with silver-rimmed glasses and an expression that suggested she had rejected many paintings before breakfast.
"Jiang Meilin?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"Let's see it."
Meilin's pulse thudded against her throat as she and Ling carefully removed the wrapping.
There it was: Xia City before the crowds took possession of it. A street cleaner bending to her work. A vendor arranging fruit. A man behind the window of a parked car, eyes closed as the first light touched his face.
Madam Wen leaned closer.
For a whole minute, she said nothing.
Meilin could hear someone wheeling a trolley in the corridor. A loose corner of the wrapping paper brushed her ankle. She wanted to straighten it, if only to give her hands something to do.
"The figures," Madam Wen said at last. "None of them are looking at the sunrise."
"No."
"Why?"
"Because they have things to do."
The coordinator glanced at her.
Meilin resisted the urge to fill the silence.
"That's not an answer," Madam Wen said.
"It is. The cleaner still has a street to sweep. The vendor needs to sell her fruit. The man in the car…" Meilin looked at his painted face. "He may not want another morning at all. But morning comes anyway."
Madam Wen looked back at the canvas.
"Your technique needs discipline," she said.
Meilin felt the criticism land, sharp and familiar.
"Yes, ma'am."
"And the light could be handled with more restraint."
"Yes, ma'am."
"But you have something to say."
Meilin's fingers curled around the handle of her portfolio.
Madam Wen straightened. "Hang it in the east alcove. It will need a title card."
For an embarrassing second, Meilin didn't move.
Ling made a tiny choking noise beside her.
"Miss Jiang?"
"Yes!" Meilin answered too quickly. She cleared her throat. "Yes, of course. Thank you."
As the attendants lifted the painting, she had to stop herself from following them with both hands outstretched. She had carried it through three weeks of sleepless nights. Letting strangers take it away felt surprisingly difficult.
Madam Wen glanced at the registration form.
"Price?"
Meilin hesitated.
For once, she couldn't find a joke.
Before she could answer, a voice came from the doorway.
"Why is the man in the car alone?"
Low. Calm. Almost conversational.
Madam Wen turned so quickly her glasses slipped down her nose.
Meilin looked over her shoulder.
The man standing in the doorway was tall, impeccably dressed, and quite unfairly handsome.
He wasn't looking at her.
He was looking at her painting.