She had once felt that living was so hopeless, so tragic. But these days, being with the professors, classmates, and friends at the art school, she felt that in this dark and cold world, there seemed to be a glimmer of warm dawn. Now, miraculously, she had encountered Victor again…
Fate had treated her so generously; what was there to lament? She smiled as she looked at his handsome face and those bright, obsidian-like eyes. “Brother, at the school where I work, there is a teacher who teaches watercolor painting. He is a…,” she paused slightly, “you know, due to the war, he had to leave, and now there is no one to teach this class. The principal is worried about it. Can you come to substitute?”
“Khanyi, does your school still need to continue? Many people from the university I attended have scattered in different directions…”
“The principal said that as long as there is one student, teaching must continue…” Khanyi lowered her gaze, suddenly feeling a bit heavy. “Now that the war has started leaving here isn’t that easy. Let’s settle down first and then make plans.”
“Alright, I’ll give it a try…” He gazed at her gently lowered face, his warm hand affectionately ruffling her cloud-like black hair. “Girl, you’ve grown up and become stronger.”
Khanyi held a broom, looking from the half-open back door of the classroom to the slightly thin, handsome man at the front podium. His black hair lifted slightly as he quickly sketched on the blackboard, his voice so rhythmic and powerful as he explained the principles of landscape sketching to the students.
“Young man, you’re doing great! No wonder you’re a top student from the Royal Academy of Arts.” Professor Brown stood up and applauded him.
“Professor Brown, Victor is still inexperienced and would love to hear your teachings.” He said from the podium.
Professor Brown was straightforward and honest, clearly not understanding this -style modesty and subtlety. “However, I don’t completely agree with your viewpoint. Those Impressionist composition and creation principles don’t entirely apply to Realism…”
Khanyi couldn’t help but chuckle softly, continuing to focus on cleaning the hallway. Although she didn’t understand painting very well, she was now somewhat of an expert. Victor and Professor Brown belonged to different schools of thought, often having academic disagreements, yet they were very compatible.
The siblings lived in the teacher’s dormitory of the school, which was quite simple, with a shared bathroom and no kitchen. The only thing in abundance was empty rooms, as many teachers had left due to the tense situation. His room was right next to hers, and apart from classes and creating, they spent almost all their time together.
He held a cup, using the steaming hot red tea to warm his slightly reddened fingers. This apartment had no heating facilities; although it was already early spring, the weather was still so cold and dreary, incomparable to the school he had boarded in England.
“Victor, use this to warm your hands.” Khanyi walked over lightly, holding a gray-green thermos wrapped in a thin layer of cotton. “It’s a bit cold here; you still aren’t used to it, right?”
“Thank you,” he set down the red tea cup and took the thermos, feeling the warmth spread through his palm immediately. “He has become considerate.” He gently tapped her nose with his finger.
“Brother—,” she protested softly, her dark eyes looking at him, her hands rubbing together. She had felt cold while boiling water in the hallway earlier, but seeing him made her feel warm.
He looked out the window at the desolate street, where pedestrians were sparse. A pair of armed soldiers marched neatly across the square. “Looking at the current situation, this superficially cooperative control won’t last for long. Their army will completely occupy this country… We need to think of a way to leave here and return home quickly…”
“Return home…” Khanyi pondered, not immediately responding to her brother’s words. She longed to go home, having dreamed countless times of her family and friends in her hometown. But she was no longer the innocent girl she once was; she had been tainted by that devil, bearing his indelible mark on her body—on her chest, back, and even her ankles. Those marks felt like lingering shadows, always entwined with her, making her restless day and night.
He continued to gaze out the window, unaware of the lonely and conflicted expression on the girl behind him, as he plotted his plans. “Khanyi, I can seek help from my instructor. He is a master artist, a very influential figure. He can get us a pass. Yes, this is a great opportunity…”
