[HBU] Chapter 1

 Jiang Yu carried her art supplies downstairs, but her art teacher, Teacher Shen, still tried to persuade her.

"…Are you really sure about this? You have an incredible talent for painting. If you continue learning, you have a high chance of achieving great success in the future. Isn't it a shame to give up now?"

Teacher Shen spoke earnestly, doing her best to change Jiang Yu’s mind. She cherished talented students and Jiang Yu was by far the most gifted artist she had ever encountered. Whether it was sketching or watercolour, Jiang Yu could master the basics effortlessly. But what set her apart wasn’t just skill—it was the striking vitality in her paintings.

A great painting isn’t just about technical perfection. True masters create works that resonate, evoking emotions and connections in those who view them.

Jiang Yu had that rare talent. Despite her reserved nature and quiet demeanor, her paintings, though still raw and unrefined, carried an undeniable spirit.

And that kind of spirit—it couldn’t be taught. It was a gift.

Talent like hers was rare and Teacher Shen couldn’t bear to see it wasted.

"I just don’t want you to regret this!"

Jiang Yu pressed her lips together, her dark eyes gazing steadily at Teacher Shen.

"I’ve thought it through," she said softly. "Life isn’t perfect. We can’t have everything. Maybe one day, I’ll regret this decision. But if I continue painting now, I’ll regret it even more."

After speaking, she bowed deeply.

"Teacher Shen, thank you for everything. I truly appreciate your guidance. I’m sorry for disappointing you."

Teacher Shen frowned. "Don’t be so hasty. Let me check with the school to see if there are any student aid programs… I really don’t want you to waste your talent. And are you sure you’re willing to give it up?"

She was certain of one thing—Jiang Yu loved painting. That passion was undeniable. Which was why seeing her walk away felt like such a loss.

Jiang Yu said nothing.

Her family’s situation couldn’t be solved with just a little financial aid.

Her gaze darkened as she thought about it.

Carrying the box of her art supplies, she silently made her way to the bus stop. A corner of a painting peeked out from the box—white paper with a splash of bright yellow. It was a watercolour painting, still unfinished, yet even that small glimpse was striking.

When she reached the plaza, she sat on the edge of a flowerbed and pulled out the painting. The paper showed a white vase filled with a large bouquet of golden chrysanthemums.

Of course, it was only a half-finished piece. The vase was complete, but only a few flowers had been painted.

—So this is what my paintings looked like at seventeen…

Jiang Yu studied the piece, raising an eyebrow.

From the perspective of her thirty-year-old self, this painting was amateurish. The technique was basic and the use of colour was still immature—clearly the work of a beginner.

That’s right. Her thirty-year-old self.

Jiang Yu still didn’t understand how it happened, but after a single night’s sleep, she had somehow returned to thirteen years ago. Back when she was just an ordinary student at Minglu High School.

But in her original timeline, thirteen years later, she had become a celebrated painter, famous both in China and abroad. Her work was highly sought after and she had won countless prestigious awards.

And now, after all of that, she had woken up to find herself back in time, staring at this half-finished watercolour in a small, modest art studio.

That was when Teacher Shen had tried to convince her to stay.

And that was when she had made her decision—to quit.

The studio’s tuition was 800 yuan per month. Right now, 800 yuan was a fortune to her. With the way things were at home, she was already stretching every cent. How could she afford to spend money on art lessons?

The realisation that she had truly traveled back thirteen years left her shaken. It was hard to stay calm.

Lowering her gaze to the unfinished painting in her hands, she reached into her box, pulled out a sketchpad and set it on her lap. Then, slowly and deliberately, she took out her paints and palette.

The paint tubes felt rough under her fingers. She could tell at a touch—cheap quality, dull colours. But they would do.

The strong, synthetic scent of the paint filled her nose, making her feel strangely nostalgic. It had been years since she last used such low-grade supplies.

In her past life, as a professional artist, she had access to the finest paints and materials. Compared to those, these paints were crude and unremarkable.

She squeezed the paint onto the palette, added just the right amount of water and mixed until the consistency felt perfect. Then, without hesitation, she picked up her brush.

Watercolour painting relies on water as its medium, creating fluid and unpredictable effects. Most people would sketch out a composition before starting, but Jiang Yu skipped that step.

She didn’t need it. In her past life, she had painted thousands of works. She had experience, vision. The composition was already in her mind. With that, her brush moved effortlessly across the page.

Painting always brought her clarity.

As she worked, she thought about her situation. She still didn’t know why she had woken up thirteen years in the past. But one thing was certain—if she had the chance to live again, she would still paint.

Because painting was her life. In her past life, she had painted every single day. She didn’t just love it—she lived for it.

So, even if life started over, she would still choose to paint—there was no doubt about that.

As she painted, her thoughts grew clearer and a deep sense of calm settled over her.

For now, she would take things one step at a time. Who knew? Maybe when she woke up tomorrow, she would be thirty again and all of this would turn out to be nothing more than a fleeting dream.

With that thought, she placed the final stroke on the paper, completing the painting of chrysanthemums.

People often said that Jiang Yu was born to hold a paintbrush. In this era, the world of art would have been much dimmer without her presence—a testament to her talent.

She had a sharp instinct for colour and a bold approach to its use. Against the white canvas, the golden chrysanthemums stood out vividly. The milky-white vase sat on a table draped with cloth, a few petals scattered across its surface, their bright hues adding to the composition.

The painting was flawless—the use of colour, the shading, the interplay of light and shadow. Though there was no depiction of sunlight in the piece, it radiated a warmth that made one feel as if they were basking in its glow.

"So beautiful…" A voice of awe came from the side. Jiang Yu lifted her head and saw a stylishly dressed girl standing before her.

A camera hung around the girl’s neck, adding to her youthful energy. When she noticed Jiang Yu looking at her, she scratched her head, looking a little embarrassed.

"…Sorry, did I interrupt you?"

Jiang Yu shook her head. "No, I just finished."

By now, a small crowd had gathered to watch her paint. Seeing that she was packing up, the onlookers gradually dispersed.

But the girl remained, stepping closer. "Um… would it be okay if I took a picture of your painting? It’s really amazing! And you painted it so fast—it only took you three minutes!"

She had been watching since Jiang Yu first picked up her brush. As a manhua artist herself, she had a solid grasp of basic art techniques.

What shocked her was how Jiang Yu skipped the usual process of sketching and went straight into painting. More surprising still was how quickly and effortlessly she worked—her strokes confident, each layer of colour blending seamlessly to form a breathtaking image.

It was truly stunning. But what was even more captivating was the raw emotion within the painting—it had the power to move people.

Jiang Yu noticed the excitement in the girl’s expression and said, "Do you like this painting? You can have it."

The girl was stunned. For a moment, she just stood there, frozen. Then, as realisation dawned, she became so overwhelmed with excitement that she didn’t know what to do with her hands.

"Y-You’re giving it to me?" she stammered.

Jiang Yu nodded casually. In her past life, she often painted in public squares and streets. Whenever she was in the mood, she would gift her finished paintings to random passersby.

Even later, when her artwork became worth millions, she never abandoned this habit.

Handing over the painting, Jiang Yu packed up her supplies and prepared to leave. To her, giving away a painting was nothing out of the ordinary—it barely registered as a significant act.

But the girl, now clutching the painting, was so thrilled that she couldn’t stop stomping her feet in excitement.

"Oh my god! I just met a gorgeous artist painting in the plaza and she gave me her artwork… It's so beautiful!"

She quickly snapped a photo and excitedly posted it on Weibo.

ToC | >>