Chapter 1509
"Who goes there?"
The bodyguard behind the man immediately reached for his waist, glaring at Chicago like she was some kind of threat.
Chicago snapped back to reality.
She calmly backed off, clutching her sketchbook, and headed down the steps on the other side.
Just then, the priests outside heard the commotion and rushed over.
"Hold up! Hold up!" The head priest hurried over when he saw what was happening. "This young lady is from our church."
He turned to Chicago, "Ms. Rhoads, what are you doing here?"
"Drawing," Chicago patted her sketchbook. She knew the head priest well and whispered, "I was drawing for too long and fell asleep back there."
The head priest was speechless and motioned for Chicago to leave quickly. Chicago swaggered away.
As she crossed the threshold, she glanced at the man from earlier.
He was already standing.
Chicago noticed his well-defined hands. Those hands were truly beautiful.
Life continued leisurely, and Bay City was already getting cold.
Chicago had a video call with her parents early in the morning. Darwin nagged her to wear more layers.
But down south, apart from the cool mornings and evenings, it was still warm enough to wear short sleeves during the day.
After the call, Chicago grabbed a sandwich from the restaurant, took her sketchbook, and headed to a remote temple.
There was a painter from another city in the temple, a master artist, who was helping to restore the temple's murals.
Chicago had been pestering him for over half a month before he agreed to let her join and teach her.
She worked tirelessly all day.
As she was leaving, he said, "You don't need to come tomorrow."
Chicago was taken aback, "Why? I did really well today, you praised me 16 times!"
The painter was speechless.
"There's a big service at the church tomorrow, I need to attend."
Chicago sighed in relief.
She knew about the service. It was for a big shot who had passed away, and his grandson was bringing the family here for the ceremony.
But traveling from their hometown to here was quite a distance.
Anyone else might have asked why they were coming all this way for the service.
But Chicago didn't ask a single question.
She packed her things, said goodbye to the painter, and left humming a tune.
The painter watched her leave.
His eyes held a smile of admiration.
Chicago had a naturally open and transparent heart, as if she believed that everything happened for a reason.
She never got caught up in other people's reasons.
The painter glanced back at the few lines and contours she had casually sketched while he talked about colors in painting.
They were fluid and free.
"Wait. Chicago, my brushes!"
Chicago had long, thick hair. While working in the morning, her hair tie had snapped.
She had used a brush to pin up her hair.
In the afternoon, she found it cumbersome to hold all the brushes, so she stuck them in her hair. When she left, neither of them noticed.
She walked away with a head full of brushes.
Maybe because of the service, the church was suddenly crowded with people.
Chicago saw a group of about ten women ahead, taking selfies with the statues.
She immediately turned right and entered the woods.
The trees in the woods were all over a hundred years old.
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