Life Model

Life Drawing. Every art student knows exactly what I’m talking about. But have you ever wondered why nude models are typically older? I know what you’re thinking. But beyond that, there’s another critical factor. Younger bodies are just more alluring. Professor Yang was a renowned artist brought in from the city to teach at our local academy. By day, I was just one of his many students. But by night, I was his private model. To be blunt, his nude model. At first, I felt incredibly shy, but under Professor Yang’s professional guidance, I gradually grew more confident. When it came to his art, Professor Yang was always extremely serious. During our sessions, I’d constantly adjust my poses to meet his standards until he was satisfied. And inevitably, there was physical contact. I initially thought, “It’s for art— a small sacrifice is nothing.” But as Professor Yang’s actions became bolder, I began to realize. Things were spiraling out of control. My name is Zhang Xuan, and I’m an art student. My grades were so poor that getting into college felt impossible. This was my only shortcut. As my teachers put it, this was my only way to change my life. At the time, I felt resentful, thinking they were belittling me. But later, I had to admit. This path truly altered the course of my life for decades to come. To boost our acceptance rates into top art programs, the school hired the city’s most famous artist to teach us. His name was Yang Bowen. He looked exactly as his title suggested – refined and thoughtful. Because he’d previously taught at well-known academies, we respectfully called him Professor Yang. Unlike other famous artists. Professor Yang was famous for his nude paintings. The young women he painted always had stunning curves, but what always stood out was that the models’ faces were never shown in his art. Yet, this very characteristic sparked countless men’s imaginations. Once, during a city interview, Professor Yang was asked if he’d personally studied the female form to portray it with such exquisite detail. He’d always brush it off with a smile. He always claimed that imagination was vital for an artist, and that his paintings were purely from his mind, without any external reference. But I knew he was lying. Because the nude models in his paintings were all based on real life. And that person was me.

Nude models aren’t uncommon in the art world, but young women rarely take on the role. Even if it’s for the sake of art, it’s hard for young people to put themselves in that position. So, my role as Professor Yang’s private nude model was kept entirely secret. He didn’t want his methods questioned. And I certainly didn’t want my nude body exposed to the public. The fact that the models’ faces never appeared in his paintings was the only decency Professor Yang afforded me. Besides teaching, Professor Yang did most of his creative work late at night. First, because midnight brought more inspiration. Second, it made it easier for me to sneak into the school’s art studio when no one else was around. Under the guise of private lessons, I provided him with material for his art. When I completed the last stroke of a drawing, Professor Yang praised it as he looked at the canvas, “You’ve improved again. At this rate, your spot at a top art academy is secured.” Professor Yang never held back praise, but he never praised a piece of art lightly either. So when he said that, I knew my admission was a sure thing. “Alright, that’s enough for this session. Now it’s time for your payment,” Professor Yang said, turning his gaze to me, his eyes full of impatience. There’s no such thing as a free lunch, and no free lessons either. My payment for Professor Yang’s tutoring was an entire night as his model. Despite my shyness and hesitation, I had to do it to achieve my dream of getting into a top art school. So, under Professor Yang’s watchful eyes, I removed my clothes one by one. Until I was down to just my lingerie, Professor Yang suddenly called out, “Stop.” I looked up, confused, meeting his gaze. His eyes lit up as if he’d discovered a priceless treasure. “Don’t take off any more,” he interrupted. “Just like that. It leaves more to the imagination.” I was positioned on a chair. Before the actual creation began, I’d be adjusted for almost an hour. Professor Yang’s dedication to art bordered on obsession. From my posture to the expression I should hold, he meticulously controlled every detail. Until he achieved his ideal state, he would never begin to draw. Professor Yang stood before me, carefully examining my body. Any imperfections, no matter how small, would be adjusted. The accidental brush of his fingers against my skin always made my limbs stiffen even more. Whenever this happened, Professor Yang would snap, “If you don’t relax, we’ll be stuck like this all night.” I could only tell myself to relax, reminding myself that it was all just for art. Outside this studio, no one would know whose body was in the painting. So, I met Professor Yang’s gaze, and my movements gradually grew bolder. “Yes, exactly!” Professor Yang clapped his hands. “Exaggerate the expression a bit more. You need to show that delicate shyness, that coy femininity.” “Your eyes— make them more alluring.” “Widen your movements, yes, hold it right there.” Although the model’s face would never appear in the painting, Professor Yang always said that only when the model’s expression was right would the painting truly come alive. Professor Yang directed me while his hands moved constantly. Holding the same pose for so long made my body tremble uncontrollably. It wasn’t until Professor Yang stopped drawing, staring intently at the canvas, that I realized the creation was complete. Only this time, his expression wasn’t good. “What’s wrong?” I got up from the chair and walked to his side to look at the artwork with him. “Don’t you feel like something’s missing?” Professor Yang suddenly asked. I looked at him, confused. In my eyes, this painting was already an unattainable masterpiece among our peers. I truly didn’t understand Professor Yang’s demanding standards. My shoulder suddenly felt heavy as Professor Yang placed both hands on them. “That delicate shyness,” His gaze circled my body, then settled on my face. “Yes, you lack that maidenly demureness.” Then, he took another step closer to me. “I think you need help finding that feeling.”

“What feeling?” “The feeling of shyness.” In the interrogation room, Detective Chen, who was questioning me, frowned deeply. After a long pause, he spoke again, “Is it what I think it is?” My throat felt dry, and I couldn’t speak for a moment, only managing a slight nod. “From what I understand, you had just turned eighteen,” he looked at me, enunciating each word. “So if something really happened that night, he was committing a crime.” Yes, how could Professor Yang do something that would ruin his reputation? “So, nothing happened that night.” A flicker of surprise crossed Detective Chen’s face, but he quickly regained his composure. He raised his chin slightly, motioning for me to continue. That night, Professor Yang’s gaze roamed over my body, naked and raw. Like a hunter, cornering its prey. After a tense standoff, he asked, “Do you want our relationship to go a step further?” Even as an inexperienced young woman, I understood what Professor Yang implied. I froze, caught off guard, standing there unsure what to do. “I know you come from a difficult family background, and everyone has low expectations for your studies. I imagine…” he looked at me, each word deliberate, “you’re working so hard to prove them wrong, aren’t you?” It was phrased as a question, yet I heard it as a statement of fact from Professor Yang’s mouth. Professor Yang was right. The reason I swallowed my pride to be his nude model was indeed to gain more respect. I had a dysfunctional family background; my parents divorced, and I lived with my father. Because my academic performance was poor, no one supported me continuing school – not even my teachers. So, I had to make those who looked down on me feel ashamed. Professor Yang understood me too well. But… I never intended to sell my body. Professor Yang didn’t say anything, just watched me, seemingly waiting for my answer. Perhaps too impatient for my response, his fingers slid down my arm, then seized both my hands. “I can give you better inspiration for your art. If you agree, I’ll guarantee you get into your dream college.” He looked at me, his eyes filled with an unsettling blend of artistic fervor and raw desire. Before I graduated, I still needed Professor Yang’s guidance. Instead of outright refusing, I said, “I… I’m not eighteen yet.” But artists are notoriously stubborn. “It doesn’t matter,” Professor Yang tightened his grip, and I felt my arm might shatter. “I’ll wait until you turn eighteen.” He knew my eighteenth birthday was next month. He said, on the day I turned eighteen, I should give myself to him as a gift. That day, I suddenly realized that Professor Yang was not someone I could afford to provoke. “So, you agreed to it?” DetectiveChen’s eyes widened in disbelief, as if he’d heard something incredible. I looked at him, a bitter smile on my face. “DetectiveChen, I never had a choice.” I knew Professor Yang was a married man with a daughter. If I agreed to his terms, I would become the other woman. Even with my intense desire for a top art education, I didn’t want to do something immoral. Without much hesitation, I began to refuse again. “Professor Yang, I can’t…” Before I finished speaking, the grip on my wrist suddenly loosened. Professor Yang released my wrist, and his expression instantly changed. “I advise you to think carefully before you answer me,” he said, looking at me impassively, his voice devoid of warmth. He walked over to the canvas and carefully examined the nude woman’s body in the painting. “I suddenly feel that such a beautiful painting is somewhat incomplete without a face,” he abruptly turned, his eyes fixed on me like a viper’s. “How about I complete it for you?” My heart clenched instantly, and my eyes widened in terror. If the full image of that painting were ever to be made public, forget college, I’d struggle to even continue living in this city. I never imagined Professor Yang would resort to threatening me like this. I frantically shook my head, my voice choked with tears, begging him not to do it. But Professor Yang merely stood there, his gaze a mocking smile, as he scrutinized my body from head to toe. In that moment, I knew I truly had no choice. After a moment’s thought, I slowly approached Professor Yang. Under his slightly surprised gaze, I stood on tiptoe and wrapped my arms around his neck. In a voice only he and I could hear, I whispered, “Okay.” I promised Professor Yang that on my eighteenth birthday, I would give myself to him.

“But actually, you had already decided to kill him that day.” In the interrogation room, Detective Chen looked at me with a somber gaze. I stared at a blank spot on the floor, my hands unconsciously clenching. When I looked up, I met Detective Chen’s eyes. I slowly shook my head. “I never planned that.” Influenced by my dysfunctional family, I was, like Professor Yang, an extreme egoist. Professor Yang wasn’t worth risking my entire future for. “So what exactly happened that night?” Detective Chen clearly didn’t believe my story. “The night Professor Yang was found, only you and he were in the studio.” I lowered my head again, my fingernails digging deeply into my flesh. What happened that night was like a nightmare to me. My eighteenth birthday was no different from any other day. By day, I was one of Professor Yang’s many ordinary students: he taught, and I listened. Until the final evening class bell rang, and students gradually left the studio, leaving just Professor Yang and me, our eyes meeting. He stood at the podium, his lips silently opening and closing. I quickly read his lips: “Are you ready?” Under his raw, scrutinizing gaze, I began to remove my outer clothes, one by one. I couldn’t tell if it was shame or something else, but my face felt flushed. With only one piece of clothing left, Professor Yang stopped me, “No rush.” Under my puzzled gaze, Professor Yang walked to the canvas. He smiled, “You look exceptionally captivating right now.” I don’t think I truly knew what Professor Yang was like in his private life. But his talent and passion for painting were undeniable. He always seemed able to create art anytime, anywhere. I held my pose, and Professor Yang sat before his canvas, both of us in a rare, unspoken understanding. Occasionally, he would look up at me, his face betraying no emotion. I knew that usually, in such cases, he was deep in thought, immersed in his creation. “And then? How did you end up drinking?” Detective Chen’s eyes were full of suspicion. I lowered my head, biting my lip. After every completed painting, he was always exceptionally excited. So that day, Professor Yang suggested we have a drink, a small celebration for our “first time.” Before I could react, he turned off the lights and led me to a corner of the studio. He looked at me, filling my glass with wine. “Have some. Girls are most enchanting when they’re a little tipsy.” I looked at the liquid in the glass, hesitating. I knew I probably couldn’t escape that night. Professor Yang downed his drink in one gulp. For some reason, I felt a surge of fear. If what happened between Professor Yang and me that night were discovered by a third party, I would undoubtedly be the one most affected. Thinking this, I suddenly stood up. “Professor Yang, can you wait for me for a moment?” Professor Yang’s eyes showed confusion, and I quickly explained, “I’ve been holding the same pose for a long time, and I’ve started to sweat. I want to go back to my dorm to wash up first.” I paused, then added, “And change my clothes.” Professor Yang clearly looked impatient, finishing the last sip of his wine. Just when I thought Professor Yang would scold me, he simply waved his hand. “Girls are so much trouble. Go quickly and come right back.” I hadn’t expected Professor Yang to agree so readily, and a wave of secret relief washed over me. Without bothering to straighten my clothes, I stumbled out of the studio in a panic. Although it was just an excuse, I probably couldn’t avoid what was coming that night. Still, having some time to breathe was a good thing. While washing up in my dorm, I secretly prayed that Professor Yang was already drunk and passed out. Maybe… I could still escape. On my way back to the studio, my heart pounded with anxiety. I was terrified of what awaited me that night. But to my shock, the moment I stepped into the studio, I froze. I never imagined I’d encounter an even more terrifying situation. On the table, wine glasses lay scattered. And Professor Yang lay on the floor, his arms limp at his sides. I initially thought Professor Yang was just drunk, so I tried to pull him up. But no matter how I called him, he didn’t react at all.

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