Shen Jiaru’s car drove further and further away, Fang Tonglin gathered his military coat around him:
“Shall we go back and sit for a while?”
“… Yes.” Qiao Baiwan nodded and smiled, easy to talk to.
The two returned to the sunroom one after the other, and brewed another pot of tea.
The smoke from the tea curled up, and in addition to the aroma of the tea, there seemed to be a smell of paint in the air.
Fang Tonglin glanced at the two paintings he had bought, ready to be framed and hung up.
Then he looked at Qiao Baiwan’s painting and couldn’t help frowning as he spoke:
“Teacher Shen paints oil paintings, why did you buy a watercolor? Among these students, the one who could inherit his mantle should not be the one who paints with watercolors, right?
“Moreover, you might not know, but the other three students have been learning from the teacher for about a year. This girl who paints watercolors has only been learning for a few months, not even half a year.”
“Painting is all about what pleases the heart; the rest doesn’t really matter,” Qiao Baiwan said nonchalantly, with an air of someone who has money to spare and doesn’t mind spending it.
“You said before you’d pay 100k for a painting, I thought you were just expressing a wish to buy, I didn’t expect you to actually pay that much.” Fang Tonglin sighed:
“For an ordinary family, that’s nearly five to six years of income. Even the 50k that Teacher Shen asked for I thought was a bit high. The reason I bought it was partly to pave the way for purchasing Teacher Shen’s paintings in the future. And also, betting on two out of four students, a 50% chance of hitting one that appreciates significantly in value, right? And I bet on the two who paint in oil, styles that the public generally likes.
“Why did you even buy a watercolor painting? I wanted to stop you, but I didn’t have the chance.”
“Didn’t you later want to buy Hua Jie’s gouache sketch?” Qiao Baiwan held the teacup, turning his gaze towards the “Pure Color Snowfield” he had purchased.
“I saw how much you liked it, really thought that young lady was quite talented, and those few paintings are quite modern, I think they suit the character of my villa well.
“Just now I thought about it again, maybe you also love the house for the sake of the crow?”
Qiao Baiwan laughed heartily, “The value of a painting is all in the heart. If you enjoy it while appreciating it, then it’s worth it. Otherwise, even if it costs less, it’s a waste.”
He saw Fang Tonglin was about to speak, gently shook his head, and patted his shoulder, stopping his cliched rhetoric, and directly commented:
“You know nothing about this painting.”
“… Ah.” Fang Tonglin turned to look at the bland watercolor, squinted, and looked closely, somewhat puzzled.
Could it be that this painting really had a unique value that he had failed to see, missing out on the student work with the highest potential appreciation value from Teacher Shen?
……
……
Qian Chong had been painting for 16 years and had never doubted himself.
Today was the first time.
From a young age, he had displayed a talent for painting. Coming from a wealthy family that always supported his art education, he excelled in every art class and competition.
It seemed the whole world acknowledged him as a painting prodigy, superior to everyone else.
That was until he was placed under the tutelage of Shen Jiaru and met Fang Shaojun and Lu Yunfei.
Even so, he retained his previous arrogance and pride, never feeling that he could lose.
Then, he met Hua Jie.
Today was probably the darkest moment of his life; he didn’t even have the energy to get angry.
For the first time, he doubted his style.
For him, painting was never just about earning a living or fulfilling a dream; it also served an important role in venting all the emotions buried deep inside.
At the age of seven, he was diagnosed with bipolar disorder, prone to self-harm. During episodes, he would collapse to the ground, bang his head against the wall, throw things, and curse at people, unable to control himself.
Painting helped calm him down and was a way to vent, which greatly benefited his mental stability.
As he grew older and became more immersed in painting, his episodes had become less frequent.
Even at his most uncontrollable, the symptoms were much better than they were in his childhood.
Thus, painting became his bridge to peacefully coexisting with the world and a means of self-rescue.
It was more like his diary, like his confidant.
That’s why he loved to sketch shadows and all things somber; whenever he painted these elements hidden in the shadows, it was as if he was hiding his true self, giving him a strong sense of security.
Gradually, painting also became his dream, his stubborn goal to be the best.
“……”
Perhaps he wouldn’t be the best, but he shouldn’t be the last either.
He sat in the back seat of the car, watching the daylight fade outside the window. The sun set, and only then could he faintly see the hazy city lights.
Perhaps, his style might never sell a single painting.
With a stern face, he gazed out the window, locking eyes with his own reflection on the glass for a long time.
“Why is it so quiet today?” his father, who was driving, turned to ask him.
“Tired,” Qian Chong replied.
“I have to go back to Beijing tomorrow, probably will be on a business trip for a month,” his father added.
“Uh-huh,” Qian Chong responded wearily.
“I’ll drop you off at home first, then I have to meet someone.”
“Okay.”
When night fully fell, Qian Chong returned home and had dinner with his mother.
Later, around ten o’clock, his father came home, drunk.
It wasn’t long before Qian Chong, who was journaling with colored pencils in his sketchbook, heard arguing:
“Not even food? I work my fingers to the bone to earn money, and this is the life we lead? Starving, while I look at your sour face?”
“Let go! Let go—”
“Hand it over! Hand it over!”
Then there was a loud ‘smack’.
“Ah—” his mother’s voice.
“This is punishment! That’s how society works, if you can’t do your job properly, you need to be punished!” his father’s voice, slurred from the alcohol yet still booming.
No sooner had he spoken than another ‘smack’ sounded, followed by his mother’s crying.
Qian Chong looked up, staring at the wall in front of him. A minute later, noises of banging and tearing came from outside the room, mixed with his father’s scolding.
His mother’s cries gradually turned into pleas and sobs.
Suddenly, Qian Chong stood up, his chair clattering violently.
When he stormed out of the room, both his parents were startled into silence by his actions.
As Qian Chong burst into the kitchen like a bull, pulled out a kitchen knife, and turned back into the living room, he shouted, “Like beating your wife? Dare to die together?”
His father stood frozen, the alcohol slowing his brain, just staring at his son and the knife in his hand.
Qian’s mother, trembling with fear, pulled her arm away from her husband’s grasp, ignoring her disheveled curly hair and disarrayed appearance. She cautiously walked toward her son, sobbing gently:
“What are you doing? Put the knife down quickly…”
The city’s moonlight outside the window was bright, shining through the window into the pitch-black kitchen, completely swallowed by the brighter indoor lighting.
In the spacious and luxuriously decorated Qian family house, only a few rooms were lit.
The light illuminated the blade of the knife, reflecting a trembling beam of light on the wall.
……
……
On Sunday afternoon, following his daughter’s advice and thinking of the long term, Hua’s father slowed down the pace of his furniture making.
He worked a maximum of six hours per day, taking a break every hour to avoid continuous labor.
During breaks, he sat in front of the TV, watching melodramas with his daughter-in-law who was also resting on the weekend, occasionally chatting.
“How much money have we made from the furniture so far?” Hua’s father suddenly remembered to ask, curious.
“Fourteen thousand and nine hundred,” Hua’s mother replied firmly, without even thinking.
“…Wow…” Hua’s father sighed happily as if he had just had a spa, his legs trembling with pleasure.
It was hard to believe how much money they had made.
Hua Zhaoyuan really could do it. “Hey, for this New Year’s, I’ll buy you a mink coat. Wear it home and show your siblings.”
“You start showing off the moment you have a little money. A dog can’t keep two buns in its belly,” Hua’s mother, holding the remote control, felt a bit wild with power, her comments sharp.
Hua’s father laughed good-naturedly and sighed deeply: “Our daughter has grown up, you know, she designed all this furniture. Studying painting wasn’t in vain, knowledge is power, and skill is money.”
“They teach that in art school?” Hua’s mother asked.
“Painting and designing are all part of the same thing,” Hua’s father explained, when suddenly the gate rang.
Hua’s father went to open the door, and it was Yao Nan’s mother, accompanied by Yao Nan.
Little dog Huanhuan peeked out from behind Hua’s father, eager to bark, but seeing Yao Nan and his mother, who had visited more than once, he calmed down and began wagging his tail.
Yao Nan’s mother was here to deliver money, and Yao Nan was merely a tool to foster closer relations. Unfortunately, Hua Jie had not yet returned from the training camp at the Snowy Mountain Villa, rendering Yao Nan ineffective.
She had made several batches of low-end replicas based on the furniture made by Hua’s father. These replicas lacked fine carving and engraving, and the quality of the wood was significantly inferior. In just over a month, she had sold more than 30,000 yuan worth, and the commission owed to Hua’s father was 3,500 yuan.
Although the net profit after costs was less than 20,000 yuan, it was already the most profitable batch of goods for the Yao family this year. The revenue from just over a month was higher than the total profit from the first half of the year.
Moreover, with this month’s operation, Fuyun Furniture had outperformed several neighboring furniture stores in terms of customer base, reputation, and sales volume, marking a significant turnaround.
All this was thanks to the furniture from Hua’s father, each set hitting the market’s demands perfectly, truly a lifesaver.
Therefore, not only did Yao Nan’s mother bring an envelope full of money, she also brought gifts.
Two wild pheasants, the most popular gift of the era, a pack of Sanwu cigarettes, a bottle of Maotai liquor, and a gold-tipped Hero fountain pen for Hua Jie.
Yao Nan handed each item to Hua’s parents, assisting his mother with carrying the gifts, performing his role competently.
After sitting in the living room for a while, Yao Nan’s mother learned that Hua’s father was working on a set of new Chinese-style furniture, extremely opulent and luxurious, incorporating elements from the furniture in the Grand View Garden described in “Dream of the Red Chamber.” Displaying such furniture at home clearly showcased a cultured background, definitely making a statement.
Yao Nan’s mother was extremely excited, smiling in anticipation of the completion of the furniture.
Half an hour later, Yao Nan and his mother left.
Looking at the two wild pheasants in the yard, Hua’s mother looked up at her husband and asked:
“Shall we keep one for the New Year to give to my parents, and stew the other one tonight?”
Hua’s father nodded in agreement.
Thus, in the evening when Zhao Xiaolei drove Hua Jie home, Hua’s father also called Shen Mo down from the car, saying he needed help with some work tonight.
But Shen Mo immediately realized that tonight he might enjoy a good meal. Indeed, as soon as he stepped into the yard, he smelled the aroma.
The wild pheasant, running free in the mountains, had a freshness that domestic chickens lacked. Having eaten a grand feast at noon, Shen Mo’s mouth started watering again.
The food was always best when made by Hua’s mother; the aroma was richer, and the taste was undoubtedly delicious.
Before dinner, Hua Jie secretly stashed 10,000 yuan in a drawer as her personal savings.
She put the rest of the money in her backpack, feeling too embarrassed to boast about it in front of Shen Mo and her parents.
The dinner table was lively with everyone eagerly enjoying the stewed wild chicken with glass noodles, along with several side dishes. Hua Jie and Shen Mo each had a chicken leg. After they finished the meat, the bones were joyfully claimed by the dog Huanhuan, who chewed on them intently, his eyes squinting in delight as he crunched away.
After a satisfying meal, the dinner table was cleared, and fruits, sunflower seeds, and hazelnuts were served while everyone leisurely sipped boiled water and chatted.
“Today, your classmate Yao Nan and his mother came over,” Hua’s father mentioned, having already inquired about the training camp and reassured by the news that everything went smoothly.
Shen Mo perked up his ears, leaning back in his chair with his belly rounded, cracking seeds while stretching his legs and playfully teasing Huanhuan’s fluffy tail with his toes.
“Did they come to rush the new furniture?” Hua Jie raised an eyebrow.
“They came to deliver money. She brought over 10% of the revenue from the low-end replica furniture she sold, which amounted to 3,500 yuan. Along with the previous furniture sales, we’ve almost made 20,000 yuan in total. Selling this new set should push us over that amount,” Hua’s father casually discussed the household finances as if Shen Mo were not an outsider.
“Dad is really amazing.” Hua Jie immediately gave a thumbs up.
Hua’s father chuckled, “Without your design drawings, your dad could only make a simple table, and we wouldn’t have made so much money.”