Almighty painter

Chapter 707 Cowboys are busy
"Also, I've thought about it, Ziming, and what you said does make sense. Based on Gu Weijing's situation, it might be difficult for an eighteen-year-old to support a venue as large as the Esplanade."

"It's a little immature."

Cao Xuan nodded slightly.

"How about this, you don't have to say anything on purpose in front of Miss Elena. I can hear what you mean, and so can others. It's better to be simple and straightforward. Please help me ask Anna if she can come over."

"Would you like to go and listen to the talk?" Liu Ziming asked with a frown.

"No, I mean... to host the talk show in the past."

Cao Xuan said slowly.

"Just tell them that you want Gu Weijing to talk about the paper during the art exhibition. Ask Oil Painting magazine if they are willing to host the talk show and record an interview program at the same time."

"This? Is it okay? Are they willing?"

Ms. Wei next to her was also stunned.

"Whether it is possible depends on the meaning of 'Oil Painting', but it shouldn't be a big problem."

"Why would they be unwilling? Didn't the magazine team come to Singapore to report and track the latest art events? They are the real professionals in this kind of thing, so why go to such a faraway place?"

The old man let out a breath.

"If you agree, that would be great. It would also be easier for the organizing committee, and Oil Painting magazine and young artists could talk about the latest findings in art research. Even if time is tight during the exhibition, this reason should be enough to hold a special seminar temporarily."

Old Yang couldn't help but nodded in his heart.

Yes.

If Oil Painting magazine is willing to accept this invitation, it will indeed be an irresistible temptation for the Singapore Organizing Committee.

The effect may be even better and more convincing than Cao Xuan personally coming on stage to support Gu Weijing.

In just a few words, Cao Laosan gave a proper explanation.

The old man raised his head and glanced across the faces of the people under the shade of the trees one by one.

Everyone was silent.

Cao Xuan stood under the tree, his figure seemed like an extension of the trunk, appearing ancient and mottled.

The childlike innocence in his eyes was replaced by a sense of old age.

A bit bleak.

But not aging.

The centenarian who looked like an old child suddenly disappeared. His eyes were so deep that one could not see through them, and as sharp as an eagle.

Liu Ziming and Wei Yunxian looked at the old man for a moment.

They all lowered their heads involuntarily.

……

In the end, Cao Xuan said nothing.

He tapped his cane.

He turned around and left.

Wei Yunxian turned her head to glance at her junior fellow apprentice. She glanced at him with a look that said, "Who can you fool with your little tricks?" and sneered again.

He also ignored Liu Ziming who came to pick him up at the customs channel.

Turn around and go to help the old man.

"teacher."

Liu Ziming also ignored his senior sister, shrugged his shoulders, and followed Mr. Cao to his side.

Lao Yang licked his belly and watched the scene happily.

Being able to calm down the silent waves so smoothly is certainly due to the stabilizing force of Mr. Cao, but in the final analysis - our brother Yang also contributed to it!

If it weren't for Yang Dekang who just used a little effort to successfully drive away the two disciples in front of him who were disliking him.

Where is the majestic and imposing appearance of Mr. Cao just now?
This is called supporting role.

No matter how powerfully the old general on the stage sings and how melodiously his voice is tuned, without the little vain people in the audience helping to play the jingxian, beat the ban drum and cheer, it would be a bit monotonous and boring, wouldn't it?

Lao Yang put down the joke he was telling, whistled with satisfaction, put his hands behind his back, licked his belly, and said good things to himself in his heart.

"666, so cool, I'm so awesome!"

He walked over, picked up the papers he had taken from the plane, glanced at Anna who was reading the papers, and prepared to catch up with Mr. Cao.

He would not be so tactless as to disturb Miss Elena just to get back a journal.

Mr. Cao asked him to bring so many copies of "Asian Art" over here, originally for others to read.

Besides, they have been staying in Singapore for such a long time.

If Miss Elena remembers to pay it back, there will always be a chance.

As soon as someone returns it, I run to get it.

After a few rounds, he succeeded in getting his face back! Old Yang is very cunning.

and many more.

The middle-aged man in a spotted jacket, who looked extremely fashionable, suddenly stopped in his tracks.

The second hand of the large wall clock in the VIP room, which is named after Rolex, stops at this moment.

The water drops falling from the artificial waterfall outside the curtain wall in the distance are suspended in the air.

Time freezes.

A loud gunshot rang out.

"Oh!"

Don't get me wrong - of course no madman was actually shooting people in the airport.

The one who fired the shot was the greasy old cowboy who lived in Lao Yang's heart...it was his keen "killer instinct" that fired.

In terms of understanding the ways of the world.

Lao Yang has an intuition and instinct as sharp as a dog's nose.

Freud's psychoanalysis divides a person's mind into three different parts: the id, the ego, and the superego.

Excluding the "superego" that represents some kind of perfect moral concept.

The rest of human consciousness can be understood very roughly as consisting of the unconscious and innate subconscious "id" and the subjective conscious "ego".

In the conscious world level.

Old Yang had just finished shouting 666 for himself, and he was about to stroll along to catch up with Old Man Cao.

Everything seems to be the same as usual.

And in the subconscious world.

The sharp old cowboy living in Lao Yang's heart suddenly pulled out a pistol and shot him at the moment when Lao Yang just raised his foot to leave.

It's not quite accurate to say that one shot was fired.

Mr. Liu's gentleness concealed a dagger, Ms. Wei's sneer, and Mr. Cao's words, "Even if this is fake, I will tolerate it."

The conversation under the mimosa tree lasted only a short time.

It only took a few minutes.

Everyone's mood was like riding a roller coaster, up and down.

In just two or three sentences of conversation, everyone's mood may change several times.

These people all require Teacher Yang to be extremely alert and serve them with great care.

therefore.

Lao Yang's killer instinct was also very busy.

Puff puff……

Just like the old-fashioned Hong Kong gangster movies where bullets are free, in Yang Dekang's mind, the "old cowboy" is always working hard with a submachine gun, firing back and forth.

And yet—at this moment, the voice was different.

It was a silent bang.

If the warning sound he just heard intuitively was the sound of a submachine gun firing at the police, it would be the sound of a submachine gun firing at the police.

just now.

At this moment, what sounded in Lao Yang's ears was a huge roar like the firing of a 16-pound field cannon produced by Krupp.

Just one sound.

But it shattered all the noise together.

The shaking mountains echoed.

The shell froze him in place for a moment—right next to him, right now, something important was happening that he saw but didn't pay attention to.

It could even be a major event that changes the industry landscape.

It is more important than Liu Ziming's attitude, more important than Wei Yunxian's attitude, and more important than the upcoming symposium.

It was even more important than all their conversations just now, and everyone's ridicule, joy, surprise or disdain combined.

What is it?

Lao Yang felt that something was wrong, but he didn't understand it.

He froze in place, licking his lips constantly, his expression strange as if he had Parkinson's disease.

Mr. Cao’s attitude... No, no, no, it shouldn’t be this.

Mr. Cao’s attitude has always been very clear - if he won an award at the Singapore Biennale, he is my student; if he did not win an award, he is still my student.

Cao Xuan didn't allow this to be spread outside.

Liu Ziming, Tang Ning and other disciples don’t know, but doesn’t Old Yang know?
That was said right to his face.

When Lao Yang came out of the customs channel and saw Liu Ziming, in response to the other party's indirect questions, he opened his mouth by saying that he felt that it was almost certain that Master Cao would accept a disciple.

He didn't fool Mr. Liu, it was just what Old Yang really thought.

Now, Mr. Cao has changed his attitude to “This paper is true, and I am sincerely happy. If by any chance this paper is false, I will be very disappointed...but I will tolerate it.”

The master's bearing and broad mind are admirable.

But it was not enough to make Lao Yang's subconscious intuition send out such a "loud" reminder.

This feeling was no longer that of a little person whispering silently, but rather like there was a little person in his chest shouting in his ear with a loud speaker.

"Oh shit! Oh shit! Look, look, look, this girl is so awesome, she's really amazing..."

Old Yang twisted his stiff neck.

He turned sideways.

He turned his head again and again, looking at the woman sitting alone in a wheelchair in the corner of the lounge.

His temple throbbed slightly.

"call!"

The old cowboy in my heart put down the trumpet in his hand, blew with satisfaction the bronze field gun beside him that was emitting clear smoke, put his hands behind his back, licked his belly, and strolled back to the top of my heart in a carefree manner.

"666, so cool, I'm so awesome!"

The old cowboy, who was leaving after finishing his business, adjusted the dog-skin hat on his head, patted the gold-thread cloak on his chest, swung the gilded whip hanging on his belt, and said to himself.

Killer instinct hits the bull's eye again.
-
Miss Elena was sitting in front of the floor-to-ceiling window at the airport, holding a journal of "Asian Art" in her hand, with her hair hanging down behind her head.

Her skin is extremely white.

It is not as white as snow, but a clear white, like jade-spun yarn floating in a clear spring.

When Cao Xuan stood under the tree, outsiders would feel as if he was an old branch hanging down from the intertwined ancient trees.

now.

Anna was sitting by the window reading her paper. Looking at her from behind, Lao Yang had the illusion that the woman had completely melted into the rising sun in the early morning.

Even if it's just a back view.

It is also a bright and illusory back.

Old Yang froze in place, staring at the figure in the wheelchair in a trance. The other person was as quiet and beautiful as usual, but for some reason, he felt that there was something wrong.

"Huh?" Assistant Lao Yang sniffed, gritted his teeth, and muttered something.

On the other side, at the entrance of the lounge. "Woof?" The big dog August sniffed, bared his teeth, and grumbled.

It froze in place, staring at the figure in the wheelchair in a daze. The hostess was as quiet and beautiful as ever, but for some reason, the big dog felt that there was something wrong here.

Liu Ziming will be waiting in the VIP lounge to pick up Mr. Cao.

Anna and her group stopped in the VIP lounge for a while to wait for August.

The customs had added an identification chip to its red collar. It had just been brought back by the housekeeper, and from a distance it could already sense the strange atmosphere in the air.

The Springer Spaniel is a typical working dog.

Very high IQ and extremely keen sense of smell.

It can accurately use its nose to search for explosives and banned drugs cleverly hidden in suitcases in an area of ​​more than 100,000 square meters, among the hundreds of thousands of tourists coming and going every day.

The only drawback is.

The Springer Spaniel is a relatively energetic breed of dog that likes to play around and needs a relatively large space to roam around.

If the room at home is small, the dog will feel depressed.

Walking the dog every day is quite a hassle.

Therefore, this kind of dog is mostly raised in police forces and military departments that have "dormitories".

But for Elena Manor, the land area is calculated in square kilometers and the number of rooms inside the building is calculated in hundreds.

What does this count for?

Even something as illusory as human emotion can, for the hundreds of millions of olfactory cells in the nasal cavity of a Springer Spaniel, be restored as a vague feeling in the mind of the dog owner.

The particularly complex love, hate and vengeance may still be too abstract for them.

however.

August was raised by Anna from a small local puppy in a pet store into a graceful big dog.

No matter whether the hostess is happy, angry, sad, or in pain...even if there is a cat hair of those slutty little stupid cats on her body.

Nothing can escape its dog nose.

just now.

It immediately noticed Anna's abnormality.

That feeling - it's like happy but not completely happy, it's like joy but not completely joy.

There was surprise, loss, regret, relief, and some hesitation.

Such a complex feeling was placed before August, transformed into an oil painting that was painted layer by layer, with complex light and shadow overlapping each other, and after one layer was applied, there was another layer.

No matter how sensitive its nose is or how smart it is as a dog, its brain seems to boil in an instant.

August groaned and shook his head, stretching out his hind legs and scratching his chin in confusion.

Coincidence.

It saw a middle-aged man in a spotted coat, who was also scratching his chin in confusion and turning his head to look over.

At the same time, he was scratching his chin, staring at Anna's back, thinking hard as if his head was about to boil, the man and the dog looked at each other.

The air was quiet for a moment.

Maybe everyone felt a little chilly.

They raised their chins at the same time and proudly turned their heads to the other side.

"Wow, such a big dog, it looks quite scary when it's fierce."

Old Yang hummed in his heart.

My heart is really itchy.

He hesitated.

He still put his hands behind his back, tiptoed, and walked to Miss Elena's side in small steps.

"Ha, look at that, ha..."

Lao Yang greeted her casually, pretending to be looking at the scenery outside the window, and secretly glanced at the journal in Anna's hand.

Take a peek.

Another look.

Take another look.

They both looked at each other again.

……

Old Yang's eyelids were sore from secretly glancing at it, but he couldn't make out anything.

There is no doubt that the book in the other party's hand is "Asian Art".

What kind of flower can be seen from this?

This journal was brought to him by his elder brother Yang. He had also read the paper, which was quite remarkable, but it was remarkable only when measured by the standard of Gu Weijing's 18-year-old age.

What does it mean in front of the manager of the visual arts department of Oil Painting magazine or the woman in a wheelchair?

It's just an ordinary AHCI paper.

The full name of AHCI is Arts and Humanities Citation Index. It is a large directory that contains nearly 2000 different journals.

These are super, super awesome, and there are only a few of them.

Even if we just take out the art-related categories separately, the journal "Asian Art" is not the best one among them, it can only be considered good.

It can be said that every moment, right now.

Right now.

There are one, two, or even ten papers of the same level being written by scholars.

Even if the idea of ​​"the forgotten first female Impressionist painter" was novel, it only occupied a few lines of text the size of a tofu block in the news and information section of "Oil Painting".

Why would Miss Elena take it so seriously and attentively as soon as she started to use it?

"No way, could it be that once people open the paper, they will see the problem with it?"

Old Yang felt a sudden tightness in his heart, wondering if his brother Gu's luck would be so bad.

Cheating is cheating.

And he ran right into the muzzle of the gun.

When he thought of what happened to Sir Brown who ran into Anna's gun at the European Art Conference, Lao Yang felt conflicted.

at this time.

Anna raised her head from her paper and looked quietly at the sky above the airport outside the window.

"Miss Elena, there is a joke that goes like this: when a painter is painting..."

With the successful experience just now.

Lao Yang took a deep breath, and bravely went up with his trick again.

Even if Anna told jokes, it would always bring invisible psychological pressure to Brother Yang, but how did the saying go?

In the face of adversity, one's true heroic qualities are revealed.

Lao Yang's soul of humor was burning, and his whole body was also burning at the same time.

What's the point of telling jokes at the dinner table?

Being able to make Miss Elena happy is a real skill.

At the critical moment, it is people like Old Yang who are needed to shoulder the heavy responsibility, to make the young lady smile back, and by the way, to make some indirect suggestions on behalf of Old Master Cao.

Regrettably.

Lao Yang did not get the result he expected... He did not understand Miss Elena's reaction.

Make sense.

When a joke is told, there are only two possible results: it's funny or it's not.

If you laugh, you laugh.

No smile means no smile.

There shouldn't be a situation where he can't understand the feedback.

The problem is... not only did Miss Elena not laugh, Lao Yang wasn't even sure if she heard what he was saying.

The woman was sitting next to him, just a few feet away.

It feels like sitting in another dimension of the universe.

It seemed that all the sound waves from his performance went straight through that illusory figure and were not noticed by her at all.

No.

Old Yang opened his eyes wide.

That is--

A tear.

He was not mistaken, a wet tear was falling down the woman's cheek.

Just one drop.

But it was undoubtedly a tear.

The moisture moistened the woman's chestnut pupils.

It slowly overflowed from Anna's eye sockets, slowly spread over her eyelashes, and slowly flowed down her skin.

That was a paper written by Gu Weijing, and it was also a paper that was published one hundred and fifty years late.

These are Anna's tears now, tears that came one hundred and fifty years late.

Sadness is aged by time and gives birth to a holy taste.

A woman of extraordinary beauty shed a tear of extreme sorrow.

The tears finally dripped slowly onto her skirt in front of her chest.

Miss Elena cried.

In an instant.

Lao Yang's humorous soul also collapsed.
-
Singapore is a very small city, the second smallest in Asia. The entire country is almost entirely made up of one city, only smaller than the Maldives which is made up entirely of various small islands.

If Japan is synonymous with "island country".

Then Singapore, which is also located on an island and has a land area of ​​only a few hundredths of Japan and one twentieth of the Tokyo metropolitan area, is the most typical symbol of the term "city-state" in geography textbooks.

Marina Bay is the most prosperous golden area in the country.

It is to Singapore as the heart of a watermelon and the belly of a salmon, embracing most of the essence and aroma of the Lion City.

Any large-scale event will revolve around it.

East of the Esplanade – Art Centre, the main venue of the 7th Singapore Art Biennale.

The historic Raffles Hotel is located at the geographical intersection of Bugis Junction, the famous Merlion Park, and the even more famous Singapore Flyer, which is equivalent to a 42-story building.

It is one of the few remaining 19th century hotels in the world and one of the largest.

Many cultural celebrities have left their handwriting on the sticky notes beside the bed in the hotel's top-floor suite.

Conrad, Kipling, Maugham, Chaplin, Ava Gardner, the two Elizabeths, the legendary film star Elizabeth Taylor and the even more famous one - "Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II, by the Grace of God, Queen of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland and her Other Realms and Territories, Head of the Commonwealth, Defender of the Christian Religion."

If the current owner of this penthouse suite did not take the note with him when he left.

Then.

The hotel's housekeeping department can now add a new name to their extensive collection list.

Anna Elena

"If I want to go to Yangon now, can the plane take off immediately?" Anna wrote something on the note next to the phone.

While asking the butler beside him.

"Rangoon?"

"Yes, now, immediately." Anna said simply and straightforwardly.

"I'm afraid I have to ask you very sincerely to withdraw such an order, Miss." The butler hesitated for a moment, but still shook his head.

(End of this chapter)