The Divorcee Amazed the World

Jay asked, “Are you heading back to the hotel? Did you pre-book the hotel?”

Helena was about to respond when the servant picked up a fan and interrupted, “Madam, are you feeling hot? Let me fan you.”

Without waiting for consent, she snapped open her folding fan and started fanning Helena vigorously, making her long hair flutter in the breeze.

Helena raised her hand to secure her hair, smiling helplessly, “I’m not hot, maid.”

The servant insisted, “No, you are hot.”Content rights belong to NôvelDrama.Org.

Helena couldn’t argue with her, so she allowed her to continue fanning.

With the interruption, Helena and Jay fell silent.

After a while, a vacant taxi approached from a distance.

The bodyguards quickly raised their hands to stop it.

Helena and Jay exchanged polite gestures, then bent down and got into the car.

Back at the hotel, after having lunch with the servant and the others, and taking a short rest, Helena began her attempt to replicate “Journey through Mountains and Rivers.”

No, it couldn’t be called replication anymore.

Replication involved looking at the painting and then creating a new one. Helena was engaging in a silent painting.

Since ancient Xuan paper was expensive, she practiced first on ordinary Xuan paper.

The painting was extremely rare, especially “Journey through Mountains and Rivers,” which had been preserved in the Treasure Island Museum. Helena was attempting it for the first time.

To capture the spirit and essence of the mountain, she had to immerse herself completely in the landscape, comprehend the divine, and harmonize nature with herself, achieving unity between heaven and man.

Only then could the true spirit of the mountain naturally manifest in her strokes.

After grinding the ink, the servant left.

Helena sat in front of the easel, closed her eyes, and mentally replayed the composition and contours of the entire painting.

After a long time, she picked up the brush and began to splash ink on the Xuan paper.

First, with vigorous and stern brushstrokes, she outlined the sharp edges of the towering rocks.

Then, repeatedly using robust and heavy sesame texture strokes, she shaped the wrinkles and textures of the rock formations.

When applying strokes to the outlines and inner parts, she left a bit of blank space along the edges to convey the sense of the mountain’s ups and downs.

To depict Northern-style mountains that were as unyielding as iron, she needed to draw them with bones deep into the paper.

Late into the night, Helena, feeling exhausted, put down her brush.

On the Xuan paper, the main mountain range appeared majestic, grand, and imposing.

It was hard to imagine that such a mountain range was created by a delicate and graceful young woman.

Despite reaching this level in mountain painting, which would amaze anyone, Helena was dissatisfied.

When looking at the mountain under her brush, she didn’t feel the overwhelming urge to cry, which meant she had only captured the bones of the mountain but not its soul.

As the saying goes, “Paint the bones of the mountain, and more importantly, paint its soul.”

It seemed that she would have to continue her studies at the museum tomorrow to gain further insights.

Helena went to the bathroom to wash her hands and ordered a late-night snack.

After dinner, she took a shower and lay down on the bed.

Because painting consumed a lot of physical and mental energy, she quickly fell into a deep sleep.

In her deep sleep, she had a dream.

She dreamed of an infant wearing a red bellyband, adorable with rosy cheeks, big watery eyes, long eyelashes, and a round face that made one want to cry.

The baby crawled on the ink-black mountains.

Suddenly, the baby reached out to her, grinned, and in a childish voice, called, “Mommy.”

Helena’s heart melted.

She smiled and reached out to pick him up.

But just as her hand was about to touch the baby’s arm, the elf-like adorable baby vanished into thin air.

Helena’s heart shattered.

The desolation was heartbreaking.

She abruptly opened her eyes, staring at the empty ceiling, tears chilling the corners of her eyes.

It turned out to be a nightmare.

Since the miscarriage after the car accident, she often had this nightmare.

Once awake, it became difficult to fall asleep again.

Helena lifted the quilt and got out of bed, walking to the window. She opened the curtains and looked outside.

Outside, the lights were still on, lively and bustling. However, her heart felt empty, floating in mid-air.

She thought she was strong enough, but the midnight dreams betrayed her true emotions.

Unexpectedly, the loss of that little over two-month-old fetus left such a deep scar on her.

Helena hugged herself tightly, closing her eyes slowly.

At this moment, she felt exceptionally fragile and lonely, like a small boat in the wind and rain, seeking a warm harbor to lean against.

After an unknown period, the door suddenly rang urgently.

In the quiet midnight, the doorbell sounded a bit eerie.

Helena walked cautiously to the door, holding her breath, and asked, “Who is it?”

“It’s me.”

A magnetic and charming baritone voice came from outside.

Very familiar, it was Willis.

After a brief surprise, a surge of joy rushed to her heart. Helena quickly opened the door.

The tall and handsome man pressed her into his arms.

His clothes carried the dusty aura of a journey.

Pressing her slender back, he whispered, “I knew you needed me, so I came.”