That kind of solitude was what he understood best.
However, the young man who unexpectedly appeared on the left side of the painting…
Shen Jiaru narrowed his eyes slightly, observing for a while, then scanned the overall color scheme of the painting, suddenly exhaling sharply, his brow furrowed in confusion.
…
In the following days, Hua Jie’s paintings, previously bland and clean to the point of being almost tasteless, gradually began to change.
She seemed to revert to a blank slate, and then carefully, layer by layer, she added colors back onto it.
Transformation, painting by painting, as she clothed each piece with its own unique attire.
By Saturday afternoon, Hua Jie’s paintings had regained their color.
The large areas of negative space learned from future masters had disappeared, the characteristic compulsive patterns of healing dotting and stroking were gone, and the thrilling styles unique to each painting were completely absent.
However, the bold color combinations that once amazed Shen Jiaru had returned.
On Saturday afternoon, Hua Jie began to paint a close-up of rime ice. She didn’t switch perspectives to paint the snowy plains or the villa but focused on the branches of rime ice stretching from the eaves, adorned with ice crystals.
A large quarter-sheet painting measuring 38.9 by 54.6 cm, yet the main subject of her composition is merely a branch 17 centimeters long.
As she began her composition, Shen Jiaru stood behind her, watching as she meticulously sketched each pine needle covered in a layer of snow and encased in ice with a pencil.
Unlike her previous broad landscape paintings, which were started with simple pencil markings before splashing on color, this time her draft was very detailed, even capturing the light and shadow details in the magnified ice droplets and the internal structure of the ice.
Then, within each ice crystal, she traced her own outline.
The person who struggled to paint it, the one who would gaze at it for hours on end.
Within ice crystals of varying shapes, the girl’s face appeared distorted differently—some with a large nose, some with large eyes.
Several reflections of herself in the ice crystals, each one focused on painting.
After finalizing the draft, she began to layer the colors.
Forgetting the various painting styles and brushstrokes she had memorized, she even forgot the so-called brushstrokes and styles.
She simply stared at the branch she was seeing, intent on painting it, transferring the image she had envisioned in her mind onto the paper.
The brushstrokes and styles she had once memorized, even the color schemes, gradually disintegrated, merged, and were assimilated into each stroke of her brush.
Like eating, chewing it up, swallowing it down, what can be absorbed turns into nutrients, becoming part of her. What cannot be absorbed is expelled and forgotten.
Hua Jie, as someone living a second life, saw no need to force herself to forget what she had seen and learned and could not forget.
The midground behind the branch began to blur, the background turned into smoke, merging into the paper like watery stains.
The close-up view of the rime ice branches, each one seemed the same, yet each bore different colors.
Each ice crystal contained an image of her, yet each image was different, with varying appearances, colors, and watercolor techniques used.
From the cautiousness after her chat with Shen Jiaru, she gradually became more relaxed.
Discarding some of the showy techniques she had learned, she focused all her energy on the painting, disregarding brushstrokes and styles.
Once completed, the painting developed its own style, emerging independently from her brain and hands, becoming a piece that seemed to possess a soul.
The details of the foreground were meticulously defined, while the midground and background were so abstracted that they were nearly indiscernible.
Yet, within the rime ice crystals, not only did they reflect the artist who continued to paint tirelessly, filled with fear and yet brimming with courage, but they also captured the distant snowy plains and mountain silhouettes.
This painting seemed like a close-up, a miniature of a winter day, but upon closer inspection, it also presented the entire landscape of the winter snowfields and even those hiding indoors from the cold.
On Sunday morning, Shen Jiaru once again stood in front of this painting, observing the large watercolor piece that the girl had been working on from yesterday until today.
His previously solemn expression began to relax, and after a few minutes, he revealed a relieved smile.
His conversation had awakened her, but it hadn’t scared her away.
The tender delicacy of the foreground, paired with the boldness of the distant view, seemed to reflect the girl beside him.
She was wiping away her past embellishments, unveiling herself, and opening up anew to her brushes and paper.
The most authentic version of herself.
She hadn’t been confused by his words, nor had she become angry because of them. She remembered what he said, and faced it head-on.
But she hadn’t been frightened by them either.
He seemed to see in the painting a girl flourishing, facing the sun and braving the wind, snow, and frost.
“Let’s choose this one,” Shen Jiaru said.
“What?” Hua Jie turned her head, puzzled.
“The piece you’ll take to the competition, choose this one,” Shen Jiaru met her eyes as he spoke.
“…” She blinked.
Shen Jiaru waited with a smile for her to be moved by his words, by the acknowledgment they carried, and then obediently nod, her eyes possibly reddening.
She had been enduring these past few days, finally producing such a piece; she must have been very much looking forward to his approval.
Hearing his words now, she must be full of emotion, right?
Perhaps even feeling a tightness in her chest, wanting to shed tears to release the pain and difficulty of these days of intensive training, tearing herself down and regrowing anew?
Come on, looking into the teacher’s eyes, it’s okay to cry.
He would praise her and pat her head like the most appropriate elder.
However, Hua Jie did not respond as expected.
She pursed her lips and, after a moment of serious thought, earnestly requested:
“Teacher, I have several other paintings at home, although they were painted earlier and still bear some traces of craftsmanship, I quite like them too. Could I bring them along next week for you to choose from?”
“…” Shen Jiaru was taken aback.
After a pause, he finally responded, “Okay.”
Hua Jie smiled and looked up, “Thank you, teacher.”
Her voice was sweet.
She did not show a painful and stoic expression, nor did she cry.
Shen Jiaru sighed, ah, the straightforwardness of children often stings the complexity of us middle-aged people.
…
…
Fang Tonglin entertained his coal mining business friend, Qiao Baiwan, in another separate courtyard of his family’s vacation villa.
This era was a booming time for industry, and the coal business was incredibly solid. Owning a mine was like having a treasure trove, continuously attracting wealth.
Qiao Baiwan’s net worth had grown year by year. Although he still looked simple and unrefined, like an old farmer, he actually had more money in his pocket than those dressed in suits and driving fancy cars.
Fang Tonglin was extremely eager to get into this business segment, but being born on the western side of the Greater Khingan Range, at the very top of the national map, he couldn’t even get close to a coal mine.
It was only by partnering with Qiao Baiwan that he saw some hope.
He spent his days thinking about putting some money into a mine, letting Qiao Baiwan oversee it, arrange for the mining, and then, when it came time to sell, he would develop the market in the Northeast, sharing the profits with Qiao Baiwan.
This business deal had been in discussion for a long time. He had traveled to Shanxi to meet with Qiao Baiwan more than once or twice.
Finally, just before the New Year, the other party agreed to come to the Northeast to take a look. Last week, Qiao Baiwan had gone to several major cities to survey the market, and yesterday, they finally arranged to meet in the mountains for a vacation while discussing business.
Qiao Baiwan always wore a simple smile on his face, appearing extremely down-to-earth, but he never gave Fang Tonglin a straight answer from start to finish.
He was like an unshakeable stone Buddha, with that naive smile serving as his protective coloring.
On Sunday morning, Fang Tonglin still made his way to the small villa where Boss Qiao was staying, shamelessly joining him for breakfast.
He tried to steer the conversation towards starting a business together, pulling this way and that, but Boss Qiao always managed to skillfully deflect with a smile.
Somehow, the conversation turned to visiting another secluded villa to buy paintings from a teacher’s students.
Qiao Baiwan, who had been mostly silent, suddenly raised his eyebrows, his usually unflappable smile showing a crack for a moment:
“Teacher Shen? Could it be Shen Jiaru, the one who retired to a small town in the north?”
“Eh? You know Teacher Shen too?” Fang Tonglin was somewhat surprised. Running a high-end holiday villa catering to newly wealthy people with a newfound desire for travel and relaxation, it was normal for him to appreciate fine arts like painting.
The fact that a coal tycoon also knew Shen Jiaru was somewhat surprising to Fang Tonglin.
Boss Qiao cracked a smile again. He had been in this business for many years, and although he had made a lot of money, he was still often seen as a nouveau riche farmer by others. Those who approached him because of his wealth often showed a subtle disdain for the newly wealthy.
He was a practical businessman who always brushed off the occasional superiority shown by others with a naive smile, as if he never noticed it.
“Six years ago, I tried to bid on a painting by Teacher Shen, but unfortunately, I missed out,” Qiao Baiwan put down his chopsticks, unconsciously sitting up straight, and asked with a smile:
“Does he live in your villa now? Could you introduce me to Teacher Shen?”
“Ah, Teacher Shen is leaving this afternoon. I just happened to have arranged to visit him soon…” Fang Tonglin poured a cup of prairie milk tea for Boss Qiao, chatting attentively while his mind raced.
“However, Teacher Shen is quite averse to dealing with strangers. It took a lot of effort just to build a small connection with him. Many years ago, I bought a small painting of his, the original hangs in the main courtyard, and a reproduction is in the small villa where Teacher Shen is currently staying.”
“I begged him to let me buy a painting from one of his disciples, and this morning I’m going to choose one from the paintings of his four disciples.”
“If Boss Qiao wants to meet him, I’d have to notify Teacher Shen in advance to see if it’s convenient for him.”
Upon hearing Fang Tonglin’s words, Qiao Baiwan knew the other was inflating the price, so he settled back into his chair, returning to his naive smile.
Sometimes, in business, you can’t show any real feelings; otherwise, someone will take advantage of that bit of ‘realness’ to profit from you.
He didn’t immediately respond, just smiled and watched Fang Tonglin while sipping tea and waiting.