The next day, the art exhibition opened to the public.
It was held right next door to the hotel, at the Century Gallery in the city center.
Chi Chi’s speech wasn’t scheduled until two days later.
On the first day, she just planned to visit the exhibition and attend the cocktail party arranged by the Artists’ Association in the evening.
Accompanying Chi Chi were Lao San and two other Z-nation nationals who lived in Country Y—both arranged by Charles Chase.
The two locals were very familiar with the area and were in charge of all the travel logistics.
“Miss, we’ve arrived,” one of them announced respectfully. Charles Chase had made it clear that Chi Chi was like a little sister to him, so they treated her with extra deference.
“Alright, you two can go explore for a bit. Just come pick me up tonight.”
It was already afternoon, which meant that after viewing the exhibition, Chi Chi could head directly upstairs to the cocktail party on the second floor.
The sky in Country Y was a brilliant shade of blue.
Underneath the vintage European buildings, vibrant flowers and green vines bloomed everywhere.
Climbing the old architecture, the colors invited passersby to slow down and take their time admiring the scenery.
The plaza around the central fountain was packed. People lounged contentedly in the sun, children darted about, their laughter ringing like silver bells.
Chi Chi wore an olive-green velvet dress layered over a cream-colored turtleneck. She carried a small, retro-patterned bag in her hand. Her long hair was tied back low, falling softly down her back.
She fit effortlessly into Country Y’s laid-back, carefree vibe.
She strolled forward, with Lao San following two steps behind.
After presenting her invitation card, Chi Chi entered the exhibition hall smoothly.
The interior of the Century Gallery was vast, with priceless works of art hanging throughout. The exhibition was only open to the public for a short window each year.
If it hadn’t been for the invitation from the Artists’ Association, she knew she would never have had the chance to see it herself.
Each piece displayed a unique painting style from a different era, basking in the soft, warm lights that highlighted the vibrancy of life from every age.
Chi Chi paused in front of each painting, taking her time, completely absorbed in the art.
From across the hall, a man in a sweater and simple trench coat approached, coffee in hand. He paused, watching Chi Chi admiring the flowers, a faint smile on his lips.
He was a bit on the thin side, his pale skin making him look even more slender, but his posture was straight and composed, his calm walk exuding a quiet, ascetic charm.
As he drew closer, Lao San eyed him openly and warily.
Of course, the boss had said: don’t let any strange men get near Madam.
The man respectfully stopped a short distance away and called out, “Miss Ye?”
Chi Chi turned her head, slowly taking her eyes off the painting, and looked at the man standing before her, breaking into a smile.
“Mr. Quentin Zane?”
“That’s me.”
Realizing Chi Chi knew the man, Lao San stepped back a little.
In fact, this was the first time Chi Chi had actually met Quentin Zane in person. They’d been in touch before, but had never truly met face-to-face.
Seeing him was like meeting her idol—Chi Chi felt a little giddy inside.
She remembered that after giving birth to Xiao Niangao, Zhou Ya had gifted her one of Quentin Zane’s paintings, and in the early days of her series “The Passing of Winter,” he’d been the first fellow artist to offer his support.
Grateful, Chi Chi offered her hand politely. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Zhou.”
“Likewise. I heard from Ya Ya a couple of days ago that you were invited too, and are giving a speech soon?”
“That’s right. Just a small sharing,” Chi Chi responded modestly.
“Still, very impressive. I think you’re the first Z-nation artist ever to speak at the association,” Quentin Zane said without holding back his praise. He had seen her works—so pure, healing, and displaying a true artistic sense.
“Thank you. Please, just call me Chi Chi if you don’t mind.” She was a little uncomfortable being addressed so formally as ‘Miss Ye.’
“Then you should just call me Qinghe. At home, Ya Ya always calls me by my name, too.”
Mentioning Zhou Ya brought a touch of fondness to his face—the same kind of doting expression Charles Chase wore when speaking of his sister.
Quentin Zane was a true gentleman. The two chatted easily, and when the time was right, made their way together to the cocktail party.
The event had booked an entire floor of the hotel. Its minimalist European décor was nonetheless elegant down to the last detail.
By the time they arrived, the party was already lively.
The women’s dresses dazzled, the men’s suits were crisp and sharp.
After greeting the host, Mr. Saintoff, from the Artists' Association, Chi Chi and Quentin Zane each grabbed a drink and retreated to a quieter corner.
But being two East Asians among a crowd of Country Y locals, they definitely stood out.
People from Country Y were known for their boldness and romantic spirit—living in the moment, championing love above all.
Chi Chi, now twenty-three, had grown noticeably softer and more serene compared to two years ago. She was the classic Eastern beauty: oval face, delicate brows, almond-shaped eyes, and a petite, refined nose—a tiny beauty mark on its tip adding a spark of vitality to her features.
The olive-green velvet hugged her slender waist, and her gentle grace drew glances—again and again.
Knowing she couldn’t handle alcohol, Chi Chi chose a glass of orange juice. Quentin Zane took some champagne.
Neither of them liked mingling, and since they didn’t know anyone else, they planned to quietly slip out after a short while.
But it hadn’t been long before someone couldn’t resist coming over to flirt.
“Beautiful lady, my name is Jian. May I buy you a drink?”
The man from Country Y had striking, sharp features and icy blue eyes. He looked quite handsome, with his suit jacket off, clad in a crisp white shirt.
His gaze carried a strangely predatory edge, making Chi Chi uncomfortable.
She shook her head apologetically, saying she wasn’t much of a drinker.
But the man didn’t back down. “Then may I have the pleasure of a dance?” he asked, extending his hand towards her.
Chi Chi frowned and took a step back. While people from Country Y were known for their enthusiasm, there were still boundaries.
Clearly, this man had crossed the line.
“I'm sorry, sir, but I must decline.”
She responded in fluent English, maintaining her politeness.
The man still didn’t budge, prompting Quentin Zane to move to Chi Chi’s side, his arm curving protectively behind her waist.
“Sorry, sir, but she’s my date tonight.”
He didn’t actually touch her, but from the man’s angle, it looked like his arm was placed possessively around Chi Chi’s waist.
Shooting them both a reluctant look, the man finally backed off.
Chi Chi let out a sigh of relief. “Thank you, Qinghe. I really wasn’t sure how to handle that.”
“No problem.”
Quentin Zane shrugged, downing his drink. “Come on, let’s get out of here. This party isn’t much fun anyway.”
If he had his way, he’d spend all day sleeping in at the hotel.
“Alright.” She set down her glass, and the two slipped out of the cocktail party together.
Lao San was waiting outside the lobby. Seeing her come out, he stepped forward. “Madam, shall we head back?”
“Yes, let’s go.”
Since everyone was staying at the same hotel, they headed back together.
But this brief little incident had been captured by a camera from across the room.
In the photo, Quentin Zane’s arm was around Chi Chi’s waist, and she was smiling at him, their eyes meeting.
The Country Y man who’d been at the center of the interaction, however, was nowhere in the shot.