“Damn, what a mess!” Jack Morgan didn’t take it seriously at all. He took off his headset, turned around, and saw Samuel Reed and Eric Clark, greeting them, “You’re here?”

“Yeah, you go ahead and play, no rush,” said Samuel Reed.

“Then you two sit over there and wait a bit, I’ll be done soon. The girl who works here isn’t in today, so I’ll make you some coffee later.” After saying that, Jack Morgan turned back to his game. Eric Clark looked around but didn’t see Adam Wright.

He walked over and asked Jack Morgan, “Adam Wright isn’t here?”

Jack Morgan took a moment to glance up at him, pointed upstairs, and said, “There are several rooms upstairs. Just go up and call out, see which one he’s in.”

He still spoke as fast as ever, but Eric Clark understood him. He patted Jack Morgan on the shoulder and said, “Thanks, keep playing.”

So Eric Clark went up the concrete stairs to the second floor. The whole place had a concrete and stone vibe, very raw and natural. With the decorations on the walls and the tattoo equipment on the shelves, it looked cold, but also really cool.

Upstairs was a large tattoo studio, with several chairs set up and way more tattoo equipment than downstairs, plus a whole shelf of ink.

There were also a few small rooms. Eric Clark didn’t even bother calling out, because the doors were open and he could already see Adam Wright.

It was an art studio, with a few easels on the floor and lots of paintings hanging on the walls. Art supplies were neatly arranged on the table.

Adam Wright was sitting cross-legged on the floor with his back to the door, a drawing board on his lap. The way he was hunched over gave his back a bit of a curve, showing off the lines of his muscles. There was always a sense of strength about him, which Eric Clark really liked.

He heard footsteps and turned around. When he saw Eric Clark, there was a brief flash of surprise.

Eric Clark raised his eyebrows. “Good morning, Boss Zhou.”

“Morning.” Adam Wright greeted him, still holding a pencil in his mouth. He took it out, put down the drawing in his hand, pushed himself up from the floor, and stood up.

“Go ahead and keep drawing, don’t mind me.” Eric Clark stood at the door without going in, his gaze lingering on the paintings in the room. He was a total layman and didn’t really understand art, but he still found it impressive—the power in the paintings was palpable. Most of them were traditional Chinese paintings, a few with a touch of color that softened the solemnity of the ink. There were also some oil paintings and watercolors, a few sketches and pencil drawings, but not many.

“Did you paint all of these?” Eric Clark asked.

Adam Wright said, “Most of them, some are by others.”

“And the calligraphy? Did you write those?” Eric Clark pointed at two pieces of calligraphy hanging on the wall. He could already guess they were by Adam Wright. He didn’t know why, but they just felt like his work. That raw sense of power really fit him.

Adam Wright nodded. “Yeah, just messing around.”

Looking at all the paintings in the room, Eric Clark suddenly felt like his impression of Adam Wright had changed a little. He couldn’t say exactly how, but there was a subtle shift. His gaze landed on the drawing Adam Wright had just been working on—a pencil sketch of a spirited monkey, sharp-eyed and with pointed teeth, crouched as if ready to leap off the page. It looked like a fierce, wild monkey about to jump right out.

“Looks great.” Eric Clark’s eyes were still on the drawing until Adam Wright walked over and picked up the drawing board.

Adam Wright took a photo of it with his phone, then took the drawing off, rolled it up, and handed it to Eric Clark. “Here, take it.”

Eric Clark was a bit stunned. “Just like that?”

“Yeah, it was a commission for someone else, I was just trying it out.”

“So the finished tattoo will look like this?” Eric Clark unrolled the drawing and looked at it closely. Even through the paper, he thought Adam Wright was really cool.

“Definitely not, it’ll be different,” Adam Wright said casually. “This one isn’t colored, it’s just a rough sketch. Plus, skin and paper are really different—totally different textures.”

“Will it look better than this?” Eric Clark asked.

Adam Wright nodded. “It will.”

“Cool,” Eric Clark glanced at Adam Wright, gave him a thumbs up, and repeated, “Cool.”

Adam Wright smiled a little and asked, “Want to get one?”

“Nope,” Eric Clark shook his head. “I’m afraid of pain.”

Adam Wright nodded. “Me too.”

The middle area was the tattoo studio, and on this side were two simple bedrooms and the art studio. Adam Wright was tidying up his art supplies, and Eric Clark didn’t leave—he just leaned against the doorway, and the two of them chatted idly. Neither of them was much of a talker, but the atmosphere was fine, never awkward.

After chatting, Eric Clark learned that there weren’t just two tattoo artists at the shop—there were five, but not all of them were there every day. The regulars were just him and Jack Morgan. Jack Morgan was Adam Wright’s apprentice, his only one, and had been with him for a long time.

Adam Wright handed Eric Clark a box of milk, stuck a straw in it, and passed it over. Eric Clark took it, but couldn’t think of anything to say. It was Adam Wright who took the initiative to ask, “How’d you get here?”

“My friend came to get his tattoo touched up, so I came along,” Eric Clark looked at Adam Wright, thought for a moment, and added, “After all, I said I was going to pursue you. If I never do anything, it wouldn’t make sense.”

Adam Wright couldn’t help but laugh. “Stop messing around, Mr. Teacher.”

“I’m not messing around,” Eric Clark looked quite serious and asked Adam Wright, “Why don’t you reply to my texts?”