The Versatile Master Artist

Chapter 35: Chapter 23: Old Yang’s Roar

At Gu Weijing’s feet were a dozen palettes, each filled with paints of varying hues.

It wasn’t just the palettes.

His clothes, arms, and the backs of his hands were all smeared with paint, and his head and face were entirely covered as well. Some were accidentally smeared, while others he applied by hand on his skin to compare different formulas of paint.

This made Gu Weijing look somewhat intimidating, especially as he muttered incomprehensible paint names under his breath.

He seemed almost a bit possessed.

Even though he had resolved to only tackle the large areas he was confident about, it remained a vast undertaking.

At this moment, Gu Weijing was completely immersed in the painting, absorbed in the grand and solemn world of the Dharma Protection Buddha Worshiping Painting.

The work of mixing, comparing, and applying colors gave him a thrill similar to strategizing in a chess game with the ancients.

The paint beside him was like numbers, the notes in his mind were formulas, and the colors on the mural in front of him were the answers provided by ancient artisans.

This step-by-step interaction between questions and answers genuinely satisfied him, with dopamine levels in his brain so high he forgot the time and where he was.

The world fell silent, leaving only paints, brushes, and the mural before him.

”Damn it, who the hell are you?”

His happiness was interrupted by a crude shout, and he felt someone pull on his back.

This almost caused him to smear paint onto a blank monk’s face nearby.

Gu Weijing turned around, feeling very dissatisfied, and saw a balding middle-aged man wearing an English tag for project management.

”Old Yang?”

He finally extracted himself from his own world and recognized the person before him.

Old Yang is Elder Cao’s current assistant, originally from an art background before transitioning to the assistant role; he is also one of the senior managers of this project.

Don’t underestimate the private assistants of artists; many of them are professionally trained in art. Some are hired by the artists themselves, while others are employed by contracted galleries.

Unlike agents, oil painting agents usually have multiple artists under their wings, ranging from renowned masters to emerging artists.

However, private assistants often serve just one artist for a long term.

If an artist is famous enough, their private assistant can also earn a substantial income.

Depending on the contract, the combined commission of oil painting agents and private assistants of the artist could range from seven to twenty percent of the artist’s total income.

Old Yang—being able to assist a great painter at Elder Cao’s level, he is like the emperor of the industry.

Traveling worldwide, whether it’s in Hong Kong, Tokyo, Paris, or Vienna, he is addressed as Owner Yang, Teacher Yang, Mr. Yang, or Monsieur.Yang by gallery bosses and art tycoons.

It’s not about how much he can extract from Elder Cao’s contracts.

Even if, hypothetically, he worked for free, after Elder Cao’s time, with the accumulated insight, connections, and relationships, there would surely be top galleries in the world willing to offer seven-figure salaries to hire him as an agent.

After Elder Cao finished his Buddhist rituals in the afternoon, he was supposed to come complete the coloring of the seventeenth mural.

Old Yang habitually came back first to inspect the painting tools, brew tea to the right temperature, and if any tin tube paints were used, he would check their properties in advance.

High-end paints used by Elder Cao rarely have cases where powder and gum arabic separate.

But Old Yang is a professional art assistant who handles everything from exhibition arrangements to living arrangements himself. To use an inappropriate analogy, in the old days, famous performers on stage had servants taking care of various aspects—some dedicated to overseeing teacups, some specifically responsible for warm towels...

Old Yang doesn’t see his job as inferior.

His high salary is meant to ensure artists whose self-care skills are at a handicapped level feel comfortable outside of their painting tasks.

Having said that, if Gu Weijing had an assistant like Old Yang, the sabotage incident involving Tanaka Masakazu surely wouldn’t have happened.

After lunch, Old Yang took a walk, returned to the seventeenth mural,

Cool as a whistle.

Old Yang was faced with a scene that drove him crazy.

”Gu Weijing?”

With Old Yang’s professional level, although he only met him briefly, he hadn’t forgotten this young man who previously caught the attention of artists.

”What the hell are you doing here? Are you out of your mind...”

His mouth twitched, his anger boiling, ready to curse.

In the art field, cursing is common, and artists often being reclusive and introverted don’t always know how to curse back at criticism from magazines or peers, and resorting to cursing lacks grace.

At such times, assistants like Old Yang step in.

Assistants curse, agents curse, online and offline cursing, if unsatisfied with the outcome, pay peers in art criticism, hire magazine contributors to continue the verbal assault.

Sometimes, your marketplace value gets raised amid the curses.

Old Yang honed a skill for cursing in this industry in his early years, becoming Elder Cao’s assistant and often finding himself without anyone to curse, leading to a master-like loneliness.

He’s selective about who he curses, typically targeting middle-aged artists, the lesser-known whose works haven’t been displayed in an international biennale, with little psychological burden.

As for those talented young artists, Old Yang holds back slightly.

Although very few can become genuine artists within the art sector, the majority end up joining IT firms for video game CG work, but what if one truly becomes a big shot?

Leave oneself some room for maneuver.

So meeting again isn’t awkward.

This—is called understanding the ways of the world.

Normally, when someone like Gu Weijing, who has the willingness to bring students like Lin Tao, a disciple of Elder Cao, Old Yang wouldn’t lash out but would greet them with a smile.

Being able to become a student in Lin Tao’s studio is already impressive, but what if they really became a third-generation disciple of Mr. Cao?

It’s very utilitarian,

and very real.

Old Yang is only forty-six this year. In the art circle, that’s not too old; he’s planning to switch careers to become an oil painting agent after Mr. Cao fully retires. He’d still have about twenty years of a high-income career; in the future, he might need their help.

The probability of an ordinary art dog becoming a well-known painter is one in ten thousand. Getting into a major art academy brings it to one in a thousand, entering a studio of a painter like Lin Tao makes it one in a hundred, and becoming Lin Tao’s last disciple or even inheriting his mantle could bring it to one in ten or even less.

More or less.

If not, the industry probably wouldn’t miss them a bowl of rice to eat.

But now, seeing Gu Weijing painting graffiti on the wall, he couldn’t care about all that anymore.

He felt Gu Weijing was finished.

Not only him, but possibly himself too.

He knew the effort Elder Cao put into this painting.

Mr. Cao is someone very serious about painting; he might be kind in other aspects, but not this one. When he says no, he means no.

Even if Mr. Cao doesn’t pursue it, it’s still a huge blot for him.

”Screw you [beep] ——”

Old Yang roared in his heart. He always considered himself a high-class cultural person, but now he couldn’t help but want to curse.

It’s not that he’s disrespectful.

It’s because the other party is too crazy.

”Who gave you the right to paint here?”

The middle-aged man was anxious.

”It’s like this—the task was assigned to me by the staff.”

Gu Weijing replied, his eyes still on the mural, drawing as he explained.

”Bullshit... This is Mr. Cao’s painting.”

Old Yang was no fool; he knew that either this Gu Weijing had gone mad himself, or he’d been tricked. People aren’t usually this crazy.

But there’s no point saying that now.

”Okay.”

Gu Weijing nodded.

”What the hell are you doing now?”

Old Yang saw Gu Weijing still holding the paintbrush against the wall and felt that maybe his prior assessment was off.

This guy probably truly didn’t even know his own name in a fit of madness.

”Painting.”

”Stop, what the hell are you still painting for, stop.” Old Yang finally couldn’t help but start hurling curses.

”Not possible for now.”

”Impossible!”

Old Yang’s temples throbbed, feeling his blood pressure uncontrollably rising.

He raised his arm, wanting to pull Gu Weijing away. Seeing Gu Weijing holding the paintbrush, and knowing how close this was to the side where a carefully restored ancient relic stood, he feared the other might accidentally put a stroke on the ancient relic.

”Stop, stop, I command you to stop!”

Old Yang roared, his face shining with oil, whether from anxiety or heat.

”No.”

Gu Weijing refused once more.

But this time, he added more: ”The wind is strong now, and the humidity changes are significant. Pausing could affect the drying and sedimentation of the paint, possibly ruining the overall effect. If I have to re-mix the paint later, it might not achieve this effect anymore.”

”If there’s a problem, we can discuss it after finishing this color block, okay?” he asked.

Oil painting doesn’t have this concept because oil painting naturally involves layering different paints with varying adherence and expression. For example, Gu Weijing’s end-of-term project at the Yangon International School art class involved layering paint, letting each layer dry for a week before applying the next.

Even if there are slight color discrepancies, they get covered up in the next layer, so it wouldn’t matter.

If it really feels inadequate, using a painting knife to scrape it off and repaint isn’t out of the question.

But some murals aren’t the same.

Especially ancient ones. Gu Weijing realized only after starting that this site differed from those new murals he’d colored before. It looked like a new piece, but the underlying wall was almost entirely weathered, whether intentionally made to look eroded or actually parts of an ancient wall patched together.

The inside of the wall was like a wafer, needing careful maintenance usually.

Using a painting knife on sticky paint would definitely cause crumbling, bringing with it remnants of the old mural.

So often, however the first painting turned out, it would stay.

This was why Old Yang was so frantic.