The Versatile Master Artist

”I just don’t agree with this statement. What glory can the colonies have from the brilliance of the colonizers? It’s just like how the steak and beer reserved for the British second-class clerks have no relation to the laborers who die by the railway tracks.”

Mr. Chen’s tone was as profound as a philosopher’s.

Things will never truly only have a glamorous side, and colonizers could never be angels.

Behind the radiant images of Queen Victoria and the illustrious Edward VII lies the grand chess game between the UK, France, and Japan in East Asia, resulting in millions being displaced, hundreds of thousands of local soldiers dying in war, and many more laborers perishing from the oppressive heat, mud, and disease while transforming the primal jungles.

Countless families were shattered, and countless orphans wandered the streets.

”Sociologists like to call this situation a 5% developed society.” Mr. Chen held up five fingers.

”I’ve never understood the mentality of these Europeans, just as I don’t understand what those who think Mandela messed up South Africa are thinking.”

”South Africa was indeed once a developed country, but only 5% of the elite white population enjoyed the benefits of a developed society, leaving the rest of the ordinary people in the apartheid zones untouched by such development. Similarly, the prosperity of Yangon is but a fleeting dream of the colonizers, unrelated to the land itself.”

Chen Shenglin looked towards Gu Weijing this time.

”Young man, have you seen the boats on the Yangon River?”

”Those tourist cruise ships?” Gu Weijing nodded.

Their home was right by the Yangon River, so they were naturally familiar with the luxurious cruise ships, coming and going like shuttles, carrying various foreign tourist groups daily.

”I once read an interesting analogy that every large tourist cruise ship is like a microcosm of the past hundred years of Yangon.” Chen Shenglin lightly patted his palm: ”Several European tourists stand atop the pyramid of power and privilege while 150 locals labor beneath their feet. All the labor serves solely to provide the best services for the rulers on the upper deck.”

”Very vivid.”

Gu Weijing recalled the large tourist cruise ships he had seen before.

These luxurious cruise ships charged exorbitant fees, and most of the tourists were wealthy Europeans. They occupied the sunny decks, sipping champagne under the lounge chairs while appreciating the views of the city.

Over a hundred crew members bustled around like ants, providing everything from shoe shining to carrying sedan chairs after disembarking.

The wealthy only remember the city’s sights, with no one sparing a thought for the feelings of these crew members.

They are just unnoticed worker ants.

”Xiaogu, if you really want to paint a moving piece, please design it like this.”

The entrepreneur gently touched the drawing paper in front of Gu Weijing, ”The almighty Holy Mother Mary may truly be omnipotent, but she neither helped these children nor ever illuminated this city.”

”Thank you, Mr. Chen.”

Gu Weijing nodded in agreement and gratitude.

He tried, following the collector’s suggestion, to move the towering Statue of the Virgin to the corner of the painting, redesigning the composition.

As soon as he made the first stroke.

Gu Weijing felt the difference.

The design of the painting was bold, with a tilted triangular composition breaking the rigid constraints of traditional composition while still ensuring basic stability.

More importantly.

Even though it was just a sketch, Gu Weijing could distinctly feel the painting becoming more vibrant.

From a stiff, pseudo-religious moralistic style to one full of vitality.

This composition approach, rich with local flavor and fluent with inspiration, might even be something that Elder Cao couldn’t express.

No matter how skilled an artist is, without living on this land, it is difficult to have such profound insight into the city’s character.

Hegel once commented that the temperament of painting art is—”a city’s spiritual portrayal, reflecting the soul’s life freed from shackles.”

Gu Weijing once felt the old Paris from Ray Noa’s ”The Dance at the Moulin de la Galette,” and heard the ethereal hymn in the Old Church on a Thunderstorm Day through the works of female painter Carol.

This is the temperament of painting.

Great painters always incorporate their understanding when composing.

Adapting to local conditions allows for better emotional elevation.

Gu Weijing is still far from the level of a great painter, but Mr. Chen’s understanding of Yangon is commendable, filling in the gaps in his composition.

The benefits of fieldwork are precisely this.

If he had stayed cooped up in the school’s studio, he wouldn’t have grasped the importance of empathy, nor would he have encountered such interesting people as Mr. Chen.

While Gu Weijing was redesigning his sketches, the collector didn’t leave.

A secretary slightly reminded of the schedule, and Mr. Chen waved it off, so no one said anything further.

Everyone remained very quiet.

Though reporter Du Wen, on the side, seemed as excited as a mouse spotting a pot of rice and wanted to chat with Chen Shenglin, he was quickly ”invited” away by Old Dad Koko’s men.

”Hey, is the uncle washing the little girl’s hair Major Ale?”

Old Dad Koko suddenly exclaimed.

”Ale... Major?”

Gu Weijing was puzzled, and even the nearby female dean was somewhat astonished.

The doorman was indeed named Ale and had a strong military bearing.

But a major is already a high-ranking officer in the military, not far from a general.

Uncle Ah Lai was once a major?

”He was once a legendary figure, now, one of the founders and instructors of the VIP personnel guard unit. If it wasn’t for getting caught up in factional strife, he should already be a general by now or at least at a higher rank in the police force. I heard he was expelled from the military, didn’t expect to find him here guarding the door.”

Miss Koko’s ”gossipy” nature was evidently inherited.

The usually stern police inspector seemed much more spirited when discussing high-level gossip. Unfortunately, hindered by discipline, he couldn’t spread it carelessly, leaving him wanting to say more but holding back.

After a while, he sighed, ”Factional strife, such a pity.”

Not hearing any explosive news, Gu Weijing shook his head and continued painting.

Myanmar’s political situation is quite chaotic, with various factional struggles happening frequently.

The adult world is much more complicated and cruel than that of children.

Former major, now a gatekeeper, similar occurrences are not uncommon.

The reason Gu Weijing planned to visit the orphanage today was to interview and create a profile on Gatekeeper Uncle Ah Lai’s inner world.

That Quasimodo-like silent doorman, one look and you could tell he was a model with many stories.

Unfortunately, his timing wasn’t great.

Upon arriving at the orphanage, Gu Weijing learned from the dean that Uncle had taken Little Girl Jasmine to Yangon General Hospital for treatment.

Jasmine has AIDS, and to prevent the virus from attacking her immune system, she needs regular testing following therapeutic schedules to check the viral load in her blood.

Missed it, but there will be more opportunities.

Gu Weijing quietly noted this news and continued painting.

Before long, the new sketch was complete.

”Even though it’s just a sketch, I can already see this painting coming to life.”

Mr. Chen looked at Gu Weijing’s sketch, nodding approvingly, ”When this painting is truly finished, it will surely be a beautiful work.”

He gently patted Gu Weijing’s shoulder.

”Such a young and spirited artist is the hope for us to move beyond the colonial era’s shadow. If you’re willing, please give me this painting once it’s finished.”

The collector stopped the secretary from requesting Gu Weijing’s contact information from the female dean and took out a business card from his chest, handing it to Gu Weijing personally.

”You can call me directly.”

Gu Weijing accepted the business card with both hands.

The business card was plain.

It didn’t have the gaudy gold leaf and platinum inlays that he imagined the wealthy, as depicted in dime novels, might prefer for lavish business cards.

It was just a simple piece of paper.

There were no titles on the paper, just the name ”Chen Shenglin” and a string of phone numbers.

It seemed that the weight of this name alone was sufficient to speak for itself.

From the varying looks of shock or confusion on the faces of others observing, it was clear that this business card carried more weight than its appearance suggested.

Even Old Dad Koko was surprised.