Chapter 4
"I picked it up from an old artist when I was little," Regina replied calmly.
Actually, it was something she figured out in her previous life, while volunteering at the Palace Museum, from an anonymous album.
Another examiner flipped through her theoretical paper. "In your paper, you talked about the contemporaneity in painting, suggesting that traditional techniques can express the inner turmoil of modern people.
"Could you tell us more about your work, 'Nirvana'?"
Regina's gaze returned to the painting.
She said, "Peonies are usually painted as elegant and flawless, but I wanted to show their struggle to come back to life after withering."
She paused. "Just like people. Sometimes ruin isn't the end, it's the painful process of emerging from the cocoon that we all have to go through."
The room fell silent for a few seconds.
Derek settled back into his seat, studying Regina for a moment before jotting something down on the score sheet.
When he looked up, his gaze was noticeably warmer. "Regina, welcome back."
*****
At the beginning of September, the art academy kicked off its new semester.
Regina stepped into the classroom wearing a simple blue cotton-linen tunic, and whispers spread through the room like ripples on water.
For the first life drawing class, she picked a spot in the corner, rolled out her paper, and started grinding ink and mixing colors.
The professor, Max Lawson, paced around the classroom, finally stopping behind Regina.
There was no full outline on the paper, only a few swift, pale ink strokes tracing the main lines.
The gentle arch of the old man's back, the tendons on his hand draped over his knee, and the subtle folds of his drooping eyelids.
The lines were spare yet precise, perfectly capturing the bone structure and muscle flow, evoking a sense of exhaustion and kindness.
"Did you ever study anatomy formally?" Max asked.
"I'm self-taught," Regina said, grabbing a small wolf-hair brush and starting to shade the face. Her hand moved so quickly, the tones and textures shifted in an instant.
Honestly, in the last years of her previous life, except for looking after her family, Regina practically lived in her studio.
With no one around to admire her art, she painted just for herself. When she had no one to talk to, she'd copy old masterpieces deep into the night.
All those lonely years gave her the kind of effortless confidence she carried now.
During the break, a few classmates gathered around her.
"Regina, what kind of red are you using?" a girl with a ponytail asked, pointing at the warm, earthy red on Regina's palette.
Regina explained patiently, "Cinnabar with a touch of carmine, and a bit of aged indigo. When painting an old person's skin, if it's too bright, it looks fake. If it's too gray, it looks dirty."
Another guy blurted out, "You look way older than the rest of us. How come you're only joining this year..."
He swallowed the rest of his question.
Regina just smiled, saying nothing. The fine lines at the corners of her eyes stood out in the sunlight streaming through the window, traces left by time, and she had no intention of hiding them.
That evening, while Regina was looking up some materials in the library, her phone buzzed. The screen lit up with Walter's name.
It was the first time he'd called her since the divorce.
She picked up, and Walter's impatient voice came through. "Davy told me you're back in school for a master's? Regina, you're thirty-five. Why bother with all this at your age? If it's about money, I can help..."
"What do you want?" Regina cut him off.
Walter was momentarily speechless, then his tone turned harsher. "I'm just warning you, if you end up failing, don't come running back in tears. The art academy isn't some playground."
Regina replied calmly, "Thanks for the reminder. If you have anything else, please contact my lawyer."
She hung up and blocked him in one smooth motion.
She reopened the "Collected Notes on Art Theory Across the Ages" in front of her.
with her pencil, she gently underlined a phrase. [Learning from nature surpasses learning from old masters.]
Outside the window, the sycamore leaves rustled softly, and in the distance, the intermittent notes of a student practicing piano drifted in.
In that moment, Regina suddenly remembered how things were before she time travelled.
Her house was empty, and she sat there staring at her dusty art supplies, thinking that this would be how her life was.
But thankfully, it didn't turn out that way.
The librarian leaned over and handed her a sticky note. "Regina, Professor Manning asked me to let you know, the department picked you for the national young artists' biennial.
"You'll need to prepare three new pieces for the preliminary round next month."
In the corner of the note, Derek's bold handwriting read: [Regina, now that you've broken out of your cocoon, it's time to soar.]
Regina slipped the note between the pages, closed her eyes, and took a deep breath.
The air was thick with the lingering fragrance of ink.
This time, she was finally ready to spread her wings.
Walter didn't realize for ages that Regina had blocked him.
One day, right after a marathon board meeting, he called Regina, but the call just wouldn't go through. It took him a few seconds before it finally hit him that he'd been blocked.
Alma brought over a cup of coffee, her voice gentle as she asked, "Walter, what's wrong?"
"Nothing," he replied, locking his phone, though a wave of irritation suddenly swept over him.
That irritation hit its peak later that night when Davy threw a tantrum, demanding to have Regina to cook him ribs.
Alma's eyes turned red with hurt, her voice trembling. "I've worked so hard to learn. Does Davy not like me?"
Walter snapped, slamming his fork down, "He's just spoiled. If he won't eat, let him go hungry."
Davy ran upstairs, sobbing. Lara Hudson came out of the guest room to smooth things over. "Alma's pregnant, don't get upset. Davy's still just a kid. He'll learn in time."
The way she said it sounded like Davy was the one acting out of line.
Late at night, Walter was in his study, having a cigarette. As he scrolled through his social media feed, a new post from Alma popped up.
First, it was a close-up of her Cartier bracelet. Then, a panoramic shot of her huge walk-in closet, plus posed photos from every corner of the villa. The last two were selfies with Davy.
Alma had her arm locked around his shoulders, but Davy was clearly pouting, his eyes darting away from the camera.
Alma, on the other hand, was grinning ear to ear. The caption read: [Davy says he loves watching TV with me the most!]
Walter frowned. He remembered Regina rarely posted anything online. When she did, it was just Davy's drawings or flowers from their garden. All this flaunting made him feel a little uncomfortable.
Still, he tapped the like button. Not long after, Regina liked the post as well.
For some reason, his heart suddenly skipped a beat.
Then he spotted Regina's comment under the post. [Second-hand men belong in the recycling bin. Congrats.]
Walter jerked upright in his chair. The comments section was already exploding. Alma's bestie shot back: [Some people are just bitter, can't stand to see others happy.]