Beg Me to Remarry
Chapter 253: Drinking Red Wine Early in the Morning

Fu Han looked up annoyed, glaring furiously at the laughing, trembling face of Wang Yixuan, who was very close by, "What are you doing? Have you lost your mind?"

"If you keep zoning out here, we can forget about seeing the sunrise," Wang Yixuan said, hitting someone yet showing no remorse, his words particularly irritating.

Fu Han really wanted to argue, but looking at the long trail up the mountain, she ultimately decided to save her energy rather than engage in a war of words with Wang Yixuan.

Of course, she didn’t hold back from badmouthing him in her mind, thinking if Wang Yixuan hadn’t been blessed with his decent-looking face, there’s no way he could have lived so comfortably with that irritating mouth of his.

Although Fu Han was utterly dissatisfied with Wang Yixuan in her heart, she had to admit that he did save them a lot of time. After climbing over a mountain and crossing a river, Moon Bay was already in their sight.

The Moon Bay at this moment was shrouded in mist, resembling a sapphire veiled by a semi-transparent black cloth—hazy, mysterious, indescribably mystical.

Fu Han regretted not having brought her DSLR camera; otherwise, she could have captured the beautiful scenery before her eyes. While her phone could also take pictures, the resolution was limited after all.

Meanwhile, Wang Yixuan had swiftly set up their two easels. Seeing that there was still time, he took out a bottle of red wine and two goblets from his backpack and poured a glass of red wine into one.

With a teasing lift of his eyelid, he looked at Fu Han with a half-smile, "Care for a drink?"

Fu Han was staring dumbfounded at Wang Yixuan’s series of actions. With more interactions, she truly felt this guy was a weirdo—climbing a mountain with red wine in tow, drinking it in the early hours, and how did the goblets even survive such rough handling without breaking?

Seeing her not moving, Wang Yixuan suddenly added, "Don’t be shy, the wine came from your family’s wine cabinet, after all."

Fu Han was indeed a bit thirsty, so hearing this, she picked up the glass without hesitation and downed it in one gulp, then poured herself another glass, looking very much like a petulant child.

Wang Yixuan chuckled, but this time he didn’t speak. He casually found a lounge chair to sit down, the red wine in his hand swaying, shimmering like a ruby.

At dawn in Moon Bay, apart from them, there was no one else; a breeze blew over the sea, lacking the salty tang of the daytime sea air, wet and refreshing.

As the first tint of orange rose in the horizon, Wang Yixuan set down his glass of red wine, stood up, and walked over to the easel.

Fu Han hurriedly followed suit, getting up as well. Despite her numerous complaints about Wang Yixuan, her uncle had paid for this, and the man’s painting skills were indeed impressive.

With his charcoal pencil, Wang Yixuan sketched rapidly on the paper while giving pointers to Fu Han.

And Fu Han listened attentively, while blatantly letting her mind wander—to admire the sunrise.

The sun rose slowly, like a salted egg yolk, gradually emerging from the horizon. The sea surface was dyed red by the sun, a mix of orange, yellow, and light blue, appearing as if flames were burning on the sea.

It was as if in a slow motion scene from a movie, as if an invisible hand was lifting the sun, slowly raising it. The flames on the sea became more intense until the whole sea seemed ablaze. When the sun completely separated from the ocean, it slowly ascended into the sky.

As this happened, the flames on the sea gradually disappeared.

When the sky was fully bright, the ocean turned a jewel-blue, like a lost gem nestled there.

By then, Wang Yixuan’s work was also complete. Although it was a simple black and white sketch, it had a strong visual impact; one glance and you could feel the urgency of the sun to break free and soar into the sky.

Just as with the portrait of Fu Han he modified yesterday, his every stroke was essential, each carrying its own meaning. His painting skills were indeed... impressive.

He casually tossed aside his charcoal pencil, crossed his arms, and watched Fu Han, "You’ve just memorized the sunrise scene, now it’s your turn to draw."

Fu Han felt a headache coming on but had no choice but to brave it. She cleared her throat, weakly puffing up her courage, "Who’s afraid," and then she started to draw.

It turned out, painting was very different from photography. With photography, if you could precisely control color combinations, and use environmental lighting to enhance the mood, you could capture the desired scene.

But painting requires you to recreate what you see or imagine stroke by stroke with your brush, and it must look as beautiful as the image in your mind.

Fu Han fussed and corrected her work for about two hours before she finally finished her drawing, which she wasn’t very satisfied with, especially since a masterpiece lay right beside her, completed in less than ten minutes by someone else.

But her sketch paper was nearly torn from all the changes and couldn’t take any more revisions.

While she was drawing, Wang Yixuan was wearing headphones, drinking red wine, listening to music, leisurely swinging his legs, and comfortably watching the sea at Moon Bay, the epitome of contentment.

When he saw that Fu Han had finally put down her pencil, he also set down his wine and lazily walked over.

And then... Fu Han found out just how poisonous his tongue could be.

"Is this supposed to be a sunrise? You might as well have drawn an egg instead."

"Think before you make a stroke. Do these lines flow smoothly? Even a primary school student could do better than you."

"Sketching is about capturing the essence in one go. Look at what you’ve drawn—a round sun, smeared over and over. Are you regretting not bringing a compass with you?"

Fu Han felt the veins on her forehead throbbing, wishing she could seal Wang Yixuan’s mouth with a needle, yet his biting criticism left her unable to retort.

In the end, she could only reply feebly, "If I could paint so well, would I still need you to teach me?"

Wang Yixuan gave her a look that said, "You’re quite articulate," before taking the pencil from her hand and making swift modifications to her unbearable drawing.

This time, Wang Yixuan slowed down his painting, giving Fu Han reminders on how to hold the pencil, how to compose the picture, and so on.

Half an hour later, Fu Han watched as her own despised drawing was transformed into an attractive sunrise. She felt a mix of envy and defiance—why could others do it and not her?

She took her charcoal pencil back, "I’ll draw another one."