Almighty painter

Chapter 578 Heroes and Awards Prelude

"I am a good person. Good people should have good luck. Bullets should avoid me. If God doesn't protect good people, will he protect bad people?"

Gu Weijing was once moved by the firmness and fearlessness of this sentence, and he had pondered for a long time what could have supported Uncle Alai to make such an iron-clad declaration.

Is this the gatekeeper’s summary of his life?
I'm afraid that's not entirely true.

If the person who said this to him was Chen Shenglin, then the conclusion that good people will be rewarded is convincing enough.

Any billionaire with a net worth of billions.

No matter whether it is the level of reincarnation, personal ability, or life circumstances.

Someone who can get to this point.

They certainly have no lack of good luck in their lives.

But what is the basis for the mottled, lame, finger-missing janitor to say such a thing? Does Uncle Alai's life look like a lucky one? Can a man like him who has seen the drug war really believe that bullets only hit bad guys and fly around good people, which sounds like a nonsense that goes against common sense in physics?

On the way back, Gu Weijing looked at Uncle Alai in the driver's seat for a long time.

The other person is in a good mood.

With a resume like his, it is impossible for him to chat with you like an ordinary taxi driver, or hum a song while twisting his body in his seat.

The fact that he could tap the leather covering the steering wheel with his fingertips imperceptibly to the music showed that he was probably in a really good mood.

But Gu Weijing still didn't understand why.

When he thought about Uncle Alai's experience, he became so depressed that he wanted to jump into the river, or even overturn the sky.

He would feel it was unfair, dark, dirty, decadent, and that killing people and setting fires would earn him a gold belt, while repairing bridges and roads would leave no corpses.

He would be like Xianglin Sao, repeatedly complaining about his regrets and resentments.

Only only.

What he won't tell others is that he has good luck.

It was not until Gu Weijing returned to the studio, opened the virtual panel and watered the Baiyi tree that he had a rough idea of ​​Uncle Alai's thoughts.

He was hoping for some good luck.

However, when I failed to successfully unlock the legendary skills, I didn’t feel as conflicted as I had imagined.

Not even depressed.

smile.

It just passed like that.

Not being depressed is not because there is no expectation in the heart, but because the heart is calm enough.

Gu Weijing is certainly not as strong as Uncle Alai, but the disappointment of not winning the prize is certainly far less than the disappointment Uncle Alai has experienced.

One leaf knows autumn.

He probably got a glimpse into the gatekeeper's mind.

The "good luck" he mentioned is by no means the mercy of God, the Virgin Mary, Christ, or Jehovah, nor is it the blessing of Buddha, Bodhisattva, or Savior.

It's not that I helped an old lady cross the street today, I didn't run a red light, and I gave two coins to a beggar when I crossed the street, so I should be luckier. So I should win five more dollars when I buy lottery tickets, get another bottle of soda when I buy it, and have one more chicken nugget in my lunch box than others.

This is a good deal.

If you don't have any of these, you'll feel like you're losing out.

He cursed the God and secretly picked up the two copper coins from the beggar's hat when he went home in the afternoon.

Too petty.

Uncle Alai's good luck has nothing to do with the law of cause and effect or reincarnation.

What’s the use of a gold belt for killing people and setting fires, or what’s the use of repairing bridges and roads without leaving any corpses?
I have been a good person all my life, so my bones are harder than the golden belt on your body, my back is straighter than yours, and my soul is nobler than yours.

I am braver now, and I live more fearlessly and uprightly.

Come on, shoot.

Dare you?

Maybe the bullets won't avoid me.

But even if you shoot me in the head, I will still rush forward a few steps and smear my brains on your face, so that you can see if my blood is hot and taste if it is thicker than others.

His is the ultimate heroism of life, which is based on a calm and strong heart.

“Heroism in life.”

Gu Weijing said to himself in his heart.

Artworks are a detailed summary of colors and a highly condensed representation of life.

Mr. Cao painted "Pray to Buddha and Protect the Dharma". He painted a Bodhisattva, but it was not just a Bodhisattva. It was a collection of what he had experienced and seen in his life, a collection of things about "hope".

Gu Weijing painted "Good Luck Orphanage in the Sun", which depicts Uncle Alai, but he was not painting Uncle Alai.

Many people he has met around him have a heroic temperament.

Miss Elena standing on the podium, Mrs. Sakai standing on the rooftop, the brave little girl Jasmine, and of course, Miss Koko who still lives a cool life even though she works part-time in a strip bar.

Even the bald old man at home.

He started from scratch and never complained about the unfairness of fate. He supported his family bit by bit. Even though he knew that the result of the Art Association's selection had nothing to do with him, he still fearlessly packed his most handsome outfit, held a copy of Hemingway between his legs, and smoked a cigar as he rushed out to show off.

Of course, Old Man Gu doesn't look like a tough guy at all.

But on his body.

It is not always the case, and there is indeed a hint of heroism sometimes.

"That's great." He smiled slightly.

Gu Weijing kept painting.

The images of those people flashed through my mind one by one, and I forgot the passage of time.

The moon in the sky set and the sun rose.

The moment when Gu Weijing put down his paintbrush and ran his fingers over the last texture on little Jasmine's dress.

A line of prompts flashed across the system panel.

[Title of the work: "Good Luck Orphanage in the Sunshine"]

[Sketch Technique: Lv.5 Professional Painter, Level 9999 (10000/)]

[Oil Painting Technique: Lv.6 Professional Painter, Level 7321 (50000/)]

[Chinese Painting Techniques: Level 5 Professional Painter, Level 9999 (10000/)]

[Emotion: Working hard]

Gu Weijing turned his head and looked out the window.

When the midday sun shines through the curtains and onto the drawing board.

Shining like gold.

...After June, New York has the most pleasant climate and the most tourists of the year.

Vice President Osborne came out of the airport terminal.

He stood in front of the JFK sign with his eyes squinted, using a newspaper to block out the bright afternoon light.

Since completing my MBA program at Stanford many years ago.

Over the years, his work focus has been mainly in Europe. He has made many business trips to the group headquarters in the United States, but each time he was in a hurry.

and so.

The president, who came here with the intention of taking a vacation this time, did not ask his assistant to connect him with the luxury business car at the headquarters.

Like countless ordinary tourists dragging luggage of all sizes, he walked towards the passenger diversion channel with a taxi sign.

Judging from the damp marks on the ground.

It must have rained in Queens last night, and the raindrops moistened and dissolved the inhalable particulate matter that this huge city produces tirelessly every day.

The sun is a little bright, but the air is unusually fresh.

Cars come and go.

The traffic light changed and Osborne crossed the road carrying the suitcase.

A Tesla model Y next to me took a little longer to pick up a passenger, and the driver behind me leaned over the driver's seat and muttered to him to hurry up.

Osborne watched all this with emotion.

The last time he took a taxi at a New York airport was around the 2010s.

Back then, the taxi ranks were dominated by Big Apple companies.

Not the one that sells phones in California.

The Big Apple was once the largest official taxi agency in New York. Its cars were all yellow Ford Crown Victoria sedans painted in golden yellow. For a long time, it was a classic symbol of New York culture in American movies.

Locals usually call them "Yellow Cab".

Hundreds of orange-yellow cars lined up on the road in a long queue that seemed to have no end. It was a spectacular scene with a kind of old-fashioned majesty.

But this time.

Osborne looked around casually.

However, this place has become the world of electric vehicles owned by online ride-hailing companies such as UBER, LVFT, and VIA.

He had read about it in a copy of The New Yorker that was on the reading rack in the business class lounge at the airport.

Taxi culture was once considered a symbol of the New York spirit. Since businessman Allen began trying to use the Ford Model T to replace horse-drawn carriages as a part of public transportation around 1910, taxis have become an inseparable part of New York life in the following century.

It experienced the impact of World War I, World War II, and the entire post-war wave.

The Empire State Building was built, Wall Street prospered, crashed, and prospered again, and the World Trade Center collapsed.

The world is ever-changing.

Only the yellow Ford taxi has been present in New York City for a hundred years, like a reef in the ocean.

From De Niro's classic movie "Taxi" to "The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel", any film or TV work that introduces New York life is inseparable from the figure of orange taxis.

"Yellow taxis are not only a part of transportation, but also a permanent part of New York. Whether or not to take a taxi was once considered a golden standard for testing whether immigrants have integrated into American life—"

"The ideas of literary critics are always unreliable."

Osborne muttered in his heart: "The world changes so fast."

The New Yorker magazine is still on the reading rack in the terminal.

The army of taxis, which have existed for more than a century and were thought to be set in stone and last forever, have encountered serious financial problems in recent years and have become increasingly difficult to operate.

Transformation is always difficult.

Osborne had seen the news. Last week, a taxi driver in his 60s shot himself in front of the city hall.

He wrote on Twitter that "competition from car-sharing services represented by Uber has pushed him to the edge. In the late 40s, when he first joined the industry, he could live well by working 100 hours a week, but now, that number has become close to hours."

So, he couldn't survive.

Osborne didn't know why he suddenly thought of this story. People's sorrows and joys are not the same, and he is not a sentimental person.

Publishing Group and Car Operating Company, Senior Vice President and Taxi Driver.

From any angle, it seems like two circles will never intersect, but for some reason, at this moment, Osborne, standing in the sea of ​​online ride-hailing cars in New York, feels a faint sadness.

It's a kind of sadness similar to the one felt by others when a rabbit dies and a fox mourns over it.

Scholastic Group was founded in 1923 and just turned this year. But will people still read in the next years?

This seems like a stupid question.

But if someone had told him many years ago, when he was studying in the United States, that one day, yellow Ford taxis would gradually disappear from the lives of New Yorkers.

Osborne would also think this is a stupid question.

That is New York’s tradition, New York’s spirit, New York’s culture. Hey, look, it’s written in a magazine called “New York” called “The New Yorker”!
Why don't you ask why the Inuit don't get rid of their Inuit sleds.

But this kind of thing was really happening slowly around him.

This is an era of great change.

They all have centuries of history and traditions. Some will bloom with new brilliance in the new era, become more timeless and live better.

All people or things that cannot adapt to the times will gradually be eliminated by this fast-paced era.

Which type of publishing house will it be, and which type of literary and artistic industry will it be.

Osborne didn't know.

Some people on Twitter believe that automated driving will gradually replace human drivers in the next decade, and that the profession of taxi driver will disappear on that day.

So why won't AI replace painters, authors, musicians, publishers, and him, the senior vice president?
Whose labor is cheaper than whose, and who is more indispensable to this society than whose?

Osborne didn't know the answer either.

If one day, you shout "HI SIRI", you can call out Shakespeare, Leo Tolstoy, Hugo and Baudelaire, you can call out Leonardo da Vinci, Monet and Van Gogh, and even Miss SIRI can tell you the phone number of God himself.

So, is there any meaning for the publishing industry to exist?

Is this necessarily a good thing for society? Is this necessarily a bad thing for society?
Osborne didn't know the answer.

This may be the meaning of why there are always so many awards in this world and in the arts industry.

People will no longer remember John Ford and his westerns that were once hailed as the American spirit. No one will have the leisure to spend an afternoon watching the passionate shootouts between cowboys on the silent black and white screen. But people will still remember his heroic spirit of sweeping the Oscars four times.

People will no longer remember John Anthony No's "Hostiles" or Farrell's "Civilized Man", and bookstores will no longer sell Leon Flapier's "Kindergarten". But because of the Goncourt Prize, they have become part of the entire literary and artistic world.

Someday.

Children may no longer read Harry Potter, and their parents will no longer buy them a copy of The Little Prince for Christmas.

But perhaps, they will also become a part of history under another name.

He no longer appears in the life scenes of a certain family as a symbol of literary and artistic works, but can become the background color of people's memories when they recall the appearance of past eras.

(End of this chapter)