Chapter 298: Selling Paintings — A Beauty in White
After recklessly replying with that line, Nan Xun went to pour herself a glass of water.
But in the short moment it took to pour and drink it, the comment section below had already exploded.
Qingqing Zipei:
Damn it, where did this “Shan Shui” come from? What does she mean replying like that to our Ou Qian?!
Four-Word Head:
Holy crap—she said “thanks”? Does that mean she’s the violin beauty in the video?!
Pink Piglet:
My god, if she really is the violin girl, isn’t she way too thick-skinned? She actually said she wants to get with Ou Qian?!
Flowers Bloom on the Road, Yu Mo:
Damn, I thought she was a sweet, pure girl with depth after watching the video, and then—what the hell?! The vibe flipped way too fast!
Dirty Granny:
Holy shit, isn’t this our reborn Blonde Sis? Blonde Sis is fierce as hell—her ultimate goal is actually sleeping with Male God Ou Qian? Impressive, Miss Shan Shui!
Call-Me-Nanny:
Who’s Blonde Sis?
Xiao Mu:
I kinda remember her. Wasn’t she some totally unknown influencer? She used to be ugly as hell, makeup like a ghost. How did she suddenly get so pretty? Don’t tell me she got plastic surgery?
Left Bank, Brilliant Flowers:
Not surgery. Blonde Sis’s before-and-after makeup pics appeared on the same day. Ever seen plastic surgery heal in half a day? She’s genuinely beautiful.
Caterpillar:
So what if she’s pretty? A low-tier influencer daring to fantasize about our Ou Qian—shameless! Blocked for life.
Su Family Cocoa:
Am I the only one who thinks this Shan Shui is kinda bA-Dass? Not just anyone dares say something like that. Heh, waiting to see Miss Shan Shui actually get Ou Qian. Popcorn ready.jpg
Cute Brackets Laugh:
Heh. If this Shan Shui influencer really manages to get with Ou Qian in her lifetime, I’ll say nothing—just livestream myself eating shit. Disdainful face.jpg
……
Nan Xun skimmed through the comments. Most were trA-Shing her, basically blackening her to a lump of coal. Some were sarcastic, and only a tiny few were just watching the drama unfold.
Before long, her reply was pushed to the top.
Still, no matter how earth-shaking her comment was, Male God Ou Qian never replied again—exactly as Nan Xun had expected.
That earlier comment praising her beauty and music probably only happened because the big boss was in a good mood and happened to see the video, tossing out a casual remark. He wouldn’t watch such a video twice, much less read the comments.
If Nan Xun truly wanted him to see it, she could’ve tagged him directly—but that would likely annoy him. So even at her most impulsive, she kept a sliver of absolute rationality.
Nan Xun logged out of Manman and into her livestream account. The backend income section already showed last month’s earnings—double the month before. Judging by the timestamps, most of it came from donations during Shan Shui’s “suicide” livestream.
She submitted a withdrawal request. Two days later, a sum of money appeared in her bank account. Then, following her principle of “making full use of trash,” Nan Xun photographed all the clothes in Shan Shui’s wardrobe and listed them on a dedicated auction site, earning another decent sum.
Little Eight clicked its tongue in amazement.
“Women really don’t let any chance to make money slip by.”
Nan Xun said, “No choice. I urgently need cash right now. First, clothes and stuff. Second, I need to buy a lot of textbooks to study—talent aside, not knowing the basics would be embarrassing. Lastly, I’ve gotta buy instruments for show—violin, piano, all that.”
Nan Xun went into seclusion for a month.
During that month, she studied everything related to acting, and replayed Male God’s film and TV works over and over—watching while learning. She’d always been a top student; once she got serious, even she scared herself.
Little Eight watched it all, and before she even entered the entertainment industry, it had already become her number-one fan.
Nan Xun occasionally posted one or two updates on Manman so the account wouldn’t grow weeds. But she soon realized she’d worried for nothing. Ever since she replied to Male God Ou Qian’s comment, her Manman followers skyrocketed by two hundred thousand overnight. A month later, she had reached one million followers.
Shan Shui had spent two years in the influencer圈 and only amassed 150,000 followers. Nan Xun, with one shameless reply, shot up to a million. Sometimes, it really was true—thick skin makes you invincible.
Little Eight was a bit excited.
“Sweetie, you’re amazing! Some no-name third-tier celebs don’t even have this many followers!”
Nan Xun replied casually, “Didn’t you notice? A lot of people followed me just to come curse me out. The stuff they say is nasty enough to make a fragile person jump off a building. Good thing your sis has nerves of steel.”
After a brief pause, she suddenly laughed.
“But you know—first they hate you, then they wash you clean. Maybe one day those haters will turn into true fans.”
From her wardrobe full of new clothes, Nan Xun picked a simple white umbrella dress with tiny floral accents, paired with comfortable light-luxury white soft shoes. When she wasn’t speaking, she looked gentle and serene; when she smiled, she was poised and graceful.
Carrying her easel and drawing tools, Nan Xun headed to the leisure square in front of A City’s Clock Tower.
Little Eight was baffled.
“What are you up to now? Don’t tell me you’re going to sell paintings?”
Nan Xun nodded.
“Been a bit broke lately. Gonna earn some extra cash.”
Little Eight: …
Nan Xun burst out laughing.
“Silly Little Eight, I’m kidding. I’m going fishing.”
Little Eight: …
The Clock Tower of A City was a free attraction, so there were plenty of tourists. Nan Xun sat in a corner of the square, set up her easel, and placed a sign beside it with neat black regular script:
Sketch Portraits — 50 yuan each
At first, no one paid attention. Nan Xun wasn’t idle either—she picked up her pencil and began to draw.
With just a few strokes, the figure on the board came alive.
“Oh my god, it looks just like him!” someone suddenly exclaimed.
Gradually, more and more people gathered around her, exclamations of praise ringing out.
Nan Xun wasn’t drawing just anyone—it was Ou Qian, already engraved in Shan Shui’s mind like a brand. Every frown, smile, and movement of his was deeply familiar to her.
The drawing depicted Ou Qian playing the piano. Before it was even finished, someone marveled, “I’ve seen this! It’s from when Ou Qian was on the cover of Dreamlike Art! It’s so similar—really, really similar! This girl is amazing. She didn’t even reference a photo!”
Nan Xun placed the completed work aside for display, looked up at the crowd, and smiled.
“Want a portrait? Fifty yuan each. Fifteen minutes per drawing.”
Her smile was beautiful—eyes curved gently, making people feel like they were bathed in spring breeze.
The girl stood with one hand on the drawing board, the ancient Clock Tower behind her. Dressed in flowing white, hair drifting softly, she was so beautiful she looked like a painting herself.
