"Tell him I'm coming," Guiying said, then stopped with his hand on the banister. "Uncle Wang. Come and look at something first."
Uncle Wang followed him back into the art room.
He stood in front of the canvas, hands folded behind his back.
His eyes moved across it once, then again, slower the second time.
They stopped at the place where the two hands reached toward each other and did not quite meet, and stayed there.
His thumb pressed against the knuckle of his other hand.
The corridor clock ticked twice. He still had not spoken.
"Master Xue," he said at last, his eyes not leaving the canvas. "May I ask who taught you to paint?"
"A woman on the internet," Guiying said. "Forty minutes."
Uncle Wang nodded slowly, the way a man nods when he has received an answer that has only deepened the question.
"And how long did this take you?"
"An afternoon."
