Chapter 5: The Library Encounter

Suzzallo Library at the University of Washington was the closest thing to a magical world on this campus, affectionately dubbed "Hogwarts" by the students.

On a late autumn afternoon, sunlight streamed through the soaring Gothic stained-glass windows, casting kaleidoscopic shadows onto the ancient oak tables. The air was thick with the distinct aroma of old paper—the scent of centuries of accumulated wisdom—mingled with faint dust and wood wax, creating a sense of profound tranquility.

As a top student in Art History, Catherine's favorite hiding spot was the innermost corner of the Special Collections. There was a massive floor-to-ceiling window facing the famous century-old red maple on campus, which was currently ablaze with fiery red leaves.

But today, she had no mind to appreciate the scenery outside.

The pressure of finals week was crushing her like a mountain. It wasn't just about maintaining the 4.0 GPA required for her full scholarship, but also about that damn thesis which would determine whether she could get into Stanford. Her advisor, Professor Evans, though appreciative of her, was extremely strict. If her thesis on "The Evolution of Renaissance Fresco Restoration Techniques" didn't impress him, the recommendation letter would likely be a pipe dream.

Piled on the table were reference books as thick as bricks, all rare volumes on 15th and 16th-century European art restoration. Catherine had been soaking in the library for ten straight hours, her lunch consisting of only half a tuna sandwich hastily eaten.

Her stomach was protesting, and her head felt as heavy as lead, but she dared not stop. For a girl from an ordinary background like her, every opportunity had to be seized with all her might, because she couldn't afford the cost of trial and error.

When William Sterling walked into the Special Collections, it was so quiet you could hear a pin drop.

He wasn't here today as the business tycoon President of the Sterling Group, but as a university trustee, to examine a precious manuscript donated by his family years ago—a set of 15th-century architectural drawings from Florence. As the current head of the Sterling family, he knew every movement of the family assets like the back of his hand. He came personally this time to confirm if these manuscripts were suitable for the upcoming family art exhibition.

Old John, the Special Collections librarian, stood up respectfully the moment he saw him, a fawning smile plastered on his face. William nodded slightly and made a hushing gesture, signaling not to disturb others. He was used to this special treatment, but equally weary of such meaningless pleasantries.

He walked alone into the depths of the towering walnut bookshelves, his leather shoes making no sound on the thick carpet.

Behind a shelf dedicated to "History of the Medici Collections," William stopped.

In that corner, someone was sleeping.

A girl lay amidst a mess of books and notes, her face buried in the crook of her arm, revealing only a section of a pale, slender neck and a few stray strands of chestnut hair sticking up. She was wearing an oversized beige knit sweater with slightly frayed cuffs, making her look even more petite and fragile, like a homeless kitten.

William raised an eyebrow, a hint of inquiry appearing in his usually indifferent gaze.

He recognized her.

The girl who stubbornly refused his invitation to stay overnight on that rainy night, preferring to limp back to a cheap hostel. The girl who seemed like a riddle to him—fragile enough to break, yet hard as a rock.

His gaze fell to her hand.

There lay half an unfinished sandwich, the wrapper loosely undone, revealing the cheap tuna spread inside. And inside that thick, gold-lettered copy of *Lives of the Most Excellent Painters, Sculptors, and Architects* by Vasari, a black card with gold text was blatantly sandwiched—his private business card given to her a few days ago.

A corner of the card stuck out, trembling slightly with the breeze blowing in from the window.

At this moment, this card, representing the power and status of the Sterling family, a card countless people dreamed of obtaining, was being used as a temporary bookmark, pitifully clamped in an old book.

A playful glint flashed in William's eyes, and the corner of his mouth hooked into a faint smile.

How many people broke their heads trying to get this card, even spending a fortune at charity galas just for a chance to talk to him? And here she was, using it to mark a page, so naturally, so... making the best use of everything.

This was not only a disregard for his authority but also seemed like a silent provocation.

But surprisingly, he wasn't angry at all; instead, he found it... quite amusing.

He didn't wake her up. Instead, he moved gently and pulled out the copy of *Vasari*.

The book opened, and the business card slid into his palm. The page it opened to was the chapter on Giotto's restoration of the frescoes in the Basilica of Saint Francis of Assisi.

The margins were densely covered with notes in neat, elegant handwriting, key points highlighted in different colors. There were even a few detailed sketches marking the chemical composition of pigments and the evolution of restoration steps.

As William looked at the notes, his casual gaze gradually turned profound.

This wasn't a student who just rote-learned. Her annotations contained unique insights, even boldly questioning the use of a certain solvent mentioned in the book, with a big question mark next to it: "Query: Oxidation reaction?"

Born into a family of art, he had been influenced since childhood and naturally understood the weight of these notes. This girl had amazing talent and acuity.

"Ding—Dong—"

The long preparatory bell for closing suddenly echoed through the empty library, shattering the silence.

Catherine jerked awake, her body trembling, nearly knocking over the water cup on the table. She lifted her head groggily, a red crease from her sleeve imprinted on her face, her eyes misty like a kitten just waking up, completely unaware of what time it was.

"Oh no... what time is it?"

She wiped the corner of her mouth in a panic, instinctively reaching for the book, but grasping only air.

A long, slender hand suddenly pressed down on the notebook she was about to close.

Catherine followed the hand upwards, her gaze crashing into a pair of eyes as deep as the ocean.

William Sterling was leaning against the bookshelf, backlit by the setting sun which coated him in a golden rim, making him look both real and distant. He was holding the business card she had used as a bookmark, looking at her with a half-smile, a look like watching a small prey falling into a trap.

"Mr... Sterling?"

Catherine was so scared she almost bit her tongue, instantly sobering up, sleepiness thrown to the winds.

How could he be here?

This was the university library, not his private estate, nor those star-studded cocktail parties. For a big shot like him to appear here was more incredible than Mars crashing into Earth.

"It seems my business card is only good for this?"

William waved the card in his hand, a teasing tone in his deep, magnetic voice. "If you didn't put it in the book, would it have gone straight into the trash can?"

Catherine's face turned beet red instantly, flushing all the way to her ears, like a cooked shrimp.

She indeed hadn't taken the card too seriously, but she absolutely hadn't thought of throwing it away. It was just that she couldn't find a bookmark earlier, and grabbing around...

"No... no, it's not like that." She stammered an explanation, her fingers nervously twisting the hem of her shirt. "It's because... because this book is too thick, and I couldn't find a bookmark, and it just happened... happened that this card is quite stiff..."

The more she explained, the messier it got, practically digging herself a deeper hole.

William chuckled softly, a low, pleased sound resonating in his chest.

He didn't continue to tease her. Instead, he slipped the card back into the book, but the position had changed—it was now marking the most brilliant page of her notes.

"*Vasari*?" He glanced at the title, his gaze becoming professional and sharp. "Researching wet fresco restoration?"

Catherine paused, surprised he would read that, and even more surprised he understood it.

She nodded, a seriousness appearing in her eyes, the unique glow when talking about her profession. "Yes. The method mentioned in the book of mixing fig juice with egg yolk to temper pigments was very popular at the time and considered a secret of the masters. But modern chemical analysis shows that after five hundred years, this mixture causes mold due to oxidation, and even accelerates pigment peeling. I was wondering, if we use modern nanogel technology, could we better restore that texture while preventing mold?"

Speaking of her field, the timidity in Catherine's eyes vanished, replaced by a confident radiance. At this moment, she was no longer the poor student struggling for a living, but a scholar full of awe and desire for exploration in art.

William looked at her, his gaze becoming focused and appreciative.

He had seen too many carefully dressed socialites with empty words, but rarely a girl with such a shining soul.

"Good idea." He evaluated fairly, with a hint of approval in his tone. "But nanogel has too strong a penetrability. If not controlled well, it will destroy the fragile original wall structure, causing irreversible damage. A villa belonging to the Sterling family in Tuscany once had an entire wall of 16th-century frescoes peel off because of the misuse of this seemingly advanced restoration material."

Catherine opened her mouth wide in surprise, her eyes round. "Really? How was it handled later?"

This was practical experience not found in books, invaluable to her.

"Later?" William hooked his lips, seeming to recall the past. "Later, we hired an old Italian craftsman who used the most traditional lime water and volcanic ash, spending a year, bit by bit, to salvage it. Sometimes, the newest technology isn't necessarily the best; suitability is key. Ancient wisdom is often more reliable than laboratory data."

Catherine nodded thoughtfully, then, as if seizing a treasure, quickly took out a notebook and jotted down "lime water and volcanic ash."

"Thank you, Mr. Sterling. This case is too important; the books didn't mention it at all." She looked up, her eyes sparkling at him, full of gratitude.

Watching her earnestly taking notes, a soft spot in William's heart was gently touched.

In this impetuous age, there were still people willing to be so serious and devout about a technical detail.

"You're welcome."

He straightened up, adjusting his cuffs, returning to the elegant and noble Mr. Sterling.

"In return, please keep this card safe. If you use it as a bookmark again next time—"

He paused, suddenly leaning in close to her.

The distance between them instantly shrank, close enough for Catherine to smell the faint scent of cedarwood on him, close enough to feel his warm breath brushing past her ear.

William lowered his head slightly, his voice as deep as the low strings of a cello, carrying a hint of imperceptible indulgence and threat:

"I will really get angry."

Catherine froze in place, her heart pounding like a drum, forgetting even to breathe.

It wasn't until William turned and left, his upright figure disappearing at the end of the bookshelf, that she came back to her senses.

The library's closing bell rang again, urging the last readers to leave.

Catherine took a deep breath, picked up the card, her fingertips gently tracing the gold-stamped name on it—William Sterling.

This time, she didn't put it back into the book, but carefully placed it into the pocket close to her body, the place nearest to her heart.

Outside the window, the red maples were like fire, just like her burning cheeks at this moment, and that heart which had begun to throb unbeknownst to her.