11. Judas Kiss

That kiss was intense it left Lu Zhengming completely blank, like his mind had short-circuited.

When he finally broke away from Yin Yan’s face, panting heavily, he realized that Yin Yan was still calm, as if he’d never been invested in the kiss and had merely been observing his reactions the entire time. Only then did Lu Zhengming notice that their positions had reversed once again. Yin Yan was sitting on top, while he knelt on one knee between his legs, shifting from being kissed to seeking the kiss himself.

“Surprised?” Yin Yan smiled. “Once we step out of that context, our personalities are equal. I thought that was common sense.”

He interpreted Lu Zhengming’s silence as shock at the sudden change in status. What he didn’t know was that an entirely different storm was raging within Lu Zhengming’s heart.

Yin Yan had taken the initiative and kissed him.

“I know.”

Lu Zhengming stood up, giving Yin Yan a final once-over. Aside from a few wrinkles, there were no visible traces of their debauchery. He helped Yin Yan to his feet, lightly brushing against his slightly swollen lips. The redness was saturated with lust, and Lu Zhengming’s guilt started to morph again.

Once more, he shifted the blame, pinning it on the lingering heat of passion. Then, closing his eyes, he leaned in and kissed him again.

Yin Yan didn’t resist. When the other wanted gentleness, he responded with gentleness. When he wanted fervor, Yin Yan matched it with fervor. He was like the perfect dance partner, hitting every step flawlessly.

And so, Lu Zhengming plunged into the dizzying whirlpool of lust again, as if falling into a trap. He had always seen through the snares of love, deftly avoiding entanglements with physical lovers. Yet, this time, he couldn’t see past this kiss.

This was a Judas’ kiss.

One kiss, and everything would spiral in a direction he dared not imagine. But he couldn’t resist. Gasping for air, Lu Zhengming fought against the temptation to kiss him again, using all his remaining reason. “I feel like this is some kind of conspiracy.”

“Hm?”

“You’re trying to tame me.”

Yin Yan’s smile was like a frank admission, but he said nothing, leaving Lu Zhengming with no evidence.

“There’s a department meeting in a bit,” Yin Yan said, smoothing Lu Zhengming’s collar. “We’re going to be late.”

“This.. everyone knows about it already, right?”

Lu Zhengming couldn’t stand Liu Leshan’s way of speaking. Ever since Liu became the department head, he’d started talking in that bureaucratic tone, indistinguishable from those who made a career out of administration. His name didn’t carry much weight in the oil painting world, and both his creative work and theoretical contributions were below the department’s average. Mediocre in art, but remarkably skilled at climbing the ladder.

Aside from a few highly respected veterans, the department’s prized elders who didn’t attend, everyone else was present in the conference room.

Yin Yan sat next to Liu Leshan. Whenever the audience’s enthusiasm waned, Liu would glance back at Yin Yan, who responded with a perfectly measured smile of support.

Yin Yan smiled at everyone like that. Lu Zhengming inwardly sneered.

As if he’d heard his silent mockery, Yin Yan suddenly turned and met his gaze, flashing him the same insincere smile. Lu Zhengming recalled their recent debauchery, and the suppressed frustration in his chest flared hotter.

He coughed dryly and forced himself to focus on the meeting. This meeting was important to him.

Liu Leshan glanced at him briefly, then continued, “I’ll now announce the selection list for the oil painting department.”

Since last year, the academy had been following the lead of the Beijing Academy, planning to establish a new Experimental Art Department.

Initially, Lu Zhengming had been skeptical. This academy, known for its conservative reputation, didn’t have many artists capable of keeping up with contemporary international trends. Those creating works with installation art, video, or mixed media could be counted on one hand. When the academy announced the plan to establish the new department, they even resurrected the antiquated phrase “Chinese learning as the foundation, Western learning as the application,” which only deepened his suspicion that this was just a ploy to expand enrollment.

Skepticism aside, Lu Zhengming still harbored high hopes. His work focused on mixed media painting, and his artistic language and concepts were considered some of the most experimental in the entire academy.

He also had a personal motive. After enduring cold shoulders in the oil painting department, he wanted to move to a new space and reset his state of mind.

He’d already spoken with the head of the Experimental Art Department, who had assured him that a spot in the Mixed Media Studio was available, pending approval from the oil painting department. Lowering his pride, Lu Zhengming had approached Liu Leshan, even gifting him a few paintings. Liu had expressed full understanding and told him to wait for the department’s final decision.

However, Lu Zhengming’s name wasn’t on the list.

“What?” The word slipped out before he could stop himself.

Liu Leshan’s expression remained unchanged as he read the list again. There were only a few names on it, and no matter how many times he read through it, the name “Lu Zhengming” never appeared.

“Zhengming, don’t worry.” Liu Leshan took a sip from his insulated mug. “The department has made another decision.”

Under the table, Lu Zhengming’s fingers pressed against each other, from his thumb to his little finger, his knuckles cracking one after another.

“Well, since Haitao has been transferred to the Experimental Art Department, the position in the Contemporary Art Studio has opened up. The department has decided that…”

Lu Zhengming was appointed deputy director of the Contemporary Art Studio.

To outsiders, this came as no surprise. Given his age and qualifications, no one was more suitable. The oil painting department’s decision also conveyed something else: Lu Zhengming had finally been released from his long period of obscurity. Soon, he could file the necessary forms at the graduate office, and before long, he might no longer need to teach undergraduate classes.

It was clearly a promotion. Yet Lu Zhengming felt no joy.

He couldn’t understand why the department had made this decision. There wasn’t anyone more suitable than him, and yet his name had been conspicuously absent from the transfer list.

Unintentionally, he glanced up at Yin Yan and found the man staring at him, his gaze carrying a hint of something indescribable. Lu Zhengming shot him a confused look, but Yin Yan simply kept looking at him, then gave a slight nod.

A sudden sense of foreboding swept through Lu Zhengming.

After the meeting, his unease was confirmed.

“It was me,” Yin Yan admitted frankly.

Lu Zhengming stayed silent for a long time. He could tolerate Yin Yan’s quirks, endure his aloofness, and even let himself be toyed with by his little schemes, but this time, Yin Yan had clearly crossed the line.

It took him a while to suppress his rage.

By the artificial lake on campus, a few students passed by. Those who recognized them offered polite greetings but didn’t linger. With the storm brewing on Lu Zhengming’s face and Yin Yan unusually unsmiling, small talk seemed entirely out of place.

“Give me an explanation.”

Lu Zhengming lit his second cigarette, letting the smoke surround him. It was better than the restless anger simmering inside.

Yin Yan neither dodged nor moved, allowing the smoke to cling to him. “Half the people in the Experimental Art Department are from the Art Education Department. The director of the Comprehensive Painting Studio has already been decided. It’s that guy from the Chinese painting class who’s been dabbling in neo-ink art. Neither you nor Wang Haitao has a shot at that position.”

“How do you know that?”

“I heard it from the administration office. I also knew the oil painting department would be transferring someone over, but I didn’t know you were planning to go.” Yin Yan hesitated briefly. “I didn’t think you had that kind of ambition. It wasn’t until earlier, during the exhibition setup, that I overheard Old Liu mention it—”

Lu Zhengming laughed in fury. “And what does that have to do with you?”

Yin Yan took a deep breath, exhaled slowly, and continued, “It has everything to do with me. I can’t just stand by and watch you make a mistake.”

Lu Zhengming sneered. “So, you’re allowed to climb up the ladder, but I’m not allowed to have a little ambition of my own?”

“You can pursue it, but the timing isn’t right. With the Art Education Department breathing down your neck, it’ll be tough to make any progress. It’s better to establish yourself as the studio director in the oil painting department first, and then—” Yin Yan paused for a moment. “Then you can aim straight for the position of department head in the Experimental Art Department.”

Lu Zhengming held his cigarette between his fingers and stared at Yin Yan, as though listening to some far-fetched fairy tale.

“You’re still short on significant achievements to fully qualify as the director of the Contemporary Art Studio,” Yin Yan continued, his tone surprisingly earnest, his expression uncharacteristically sincere. “That’s why I invited you to participate in next year’s national art exhibition with me.”

Lu Zhengming kept his eyes on him, unblinking, until the cigarette burned down to the filter. The embers scorched his fingertips before he finally extinguished it.

He stepped forward, closing the distance between them. They were of similar height, yet something in Lu Zhengming’s posture exuded an invisible pressure that made Yin Yan swallow hard. His breathing quickened involuntarily, and beneath the bright daylight, that unspeakable, forbidden desire seized him once again.

Lu Zhengming’s gaze held no warmth. His face was devoid of expression, his tone icy and indifferent:

“Yin Yan, you and I are not the same. What you’re chasing after means nothing to me. I just want to leave the oil painting department, find a quiet place to teach in peace, and focus on painting something real. You’re so full of yourself it’s honestly pathetic.”

“I’m sorry. I thought I could do something for you.”

“For me? And who are you to do anything for me? In what capacity, and from what position?”

Lu Zhengming’s voice wasn’t loud, but the impact of his words struck Yin Yan like a blow. His lips began to tremble. Desire, mingled with an unfamiliar, chaotic emotion, surged through him, colliding violently inside his chest. He struggled to breathe steadily, trying to make sense of what he was feeling while searching desperately for the right words.

But Lu Zhengming didn’t give him the chance. Without waiting for a response, he turned on his heel and walked away, leaving behind only the faint, lingering scent of cigarettes drifting through the still air.

It wasn’t until that moment, as Yin Yan stood frozen in place, that he finally understood what that emotion was.

Fear.

It had begun the moment Lu Zhengming turned and walked away, the silence he left behind clinging to him like a shadow. That fear gnawed at him, growing sharper by the day, until it reached a terrifying peak when Liu Leshan summoned him to the department office and showed him something that made his whole body go cold.

Lu Zhengming’s resignation letter.