The Versatile Master Artist

Koizumi Katsuko lifted her head, tilting it as she stared into Gu Weijing’s eyes, as if she saw courage slowly seeping out from the depths of his eyes once again.

That broken heart was pieced back together little by little by her kiss.

His gaze turned from hollow to bright once more, and the noonday sunlight filtered through Shengzi’s shoulder-length hair, casting sparkling reflections on Gu Weijing’s face.

”Very good.”

The girl nodded with satisfaction, gently pressing his forehead with her finger, ”Now calm down, I know what you’re thinking, but you can’t.”

”I feel great, better than ever. Two feelings are flooding my mind. My heart tells me that if I pick up the brush now, I can immediately paint what I want.”

Gu Weijing exhaled slowly, then smiled.

Hard to comprehend.

He recalled the changes in his heart within the last half-hour, as if a lifetime had passed.

The relocated wisteria tree, the failure of his imitation, the frustration before the bottleneck, the disdain from Tang Ning, the impact of his family background, the inferiority in front of geniuses, the pressure of inheriting the family business...

Even Gu Weijing hadn’t realized.

Little did he know that so much negative pressure had accumulated inside him since he was a child.

In the past few months.

When the bet with Elder Cao turned the dream of ”becoming a great painter” from a mere slogan into something that Gu Weijing could almost see, vaguely.

This pressure didn’t release, but instead started to increase exponentially.

People don’t get excited over clouds beyond reach, but they worry over apples they can almost grasp by standing on tiptoes.

It’s like when Zhu Yuanzhang was still a beggar, perhaps he dreamed of becoming an emperor, but that was just a weightless dream.

Twenty years later.

Old Zhu had achieved fame and fortune, transformed from a little beggar in Fengyang to a renowned hero, preparing with his brothers at Poyang Lake to fight Chen Youliang on a profound black night, but he was restless and unable to sleep.

Because Zhu suddenly realized, damn it, it’s really possible for me to become an emperor.

The journey to achieve a dream is a journey toward pressure.

After years of battles, Zhu’s mind was strong enough, but Gu Weijing’s technique improved too quickly, too effortlessly.

All along.

His technique had reached the level of a mature professional painter, but his mind wasn’t prepared.

So when the negative pressure exploded, Gu Weijing had almost no resistance and was destroyed.

Fortunately.

Just as Gu Weijing was drowning in negative emotions, Miss Yakai pulled him back.

Who knows if a misfortune might bring good luck?

If not for Lady Tang Ning’s interview, which laid bare the psychological knots, Gu Weijing might have taken much longer to realize his mental problems.

These negative emotions weren’t given by Tang Ning, they existed in his heart all along. Elder Cao’s female disciple merely lit the fuse.

They would have accumulated, accumulated, accumulated...

Until one pressure-filled key moment, they would explode violently.

Once the emotional bomb exploded and tears flowed, there was release.

The deeper they were buried, the more violently they surged when destroying mental defenses.

This explosion almost destroyed Gu Weijing’s courage to paint.

If buried deeper for more years, it might’ve become a real, bloody bullet, a gunshot echoing ten years later.

Just like the artist friend who influenced Picasso’s life, like Van Gogh, Benjamin, Hemingway, Foster... like the crimson flower that Louis troy bloomed.

Like all the tragedies in the art world.

Upon calming down and reflecting, one might find nothing major happened.

Yet the momentary self-denial is enough to destroy the bravest of people.

Even a tough guy like Hemingway, when feeling the loss of inspiration and believing he could never write something as great as ”The Old Man and the Sea” again, might despair and raise a shotgun to himself. (Note)

(Note: The tragedy of Hemingway has various explanations, inability to accept the loss of inspiration is just one.)

”No painting allowed.”

Koizumi Katsuko gently tapped Gu Weijing’s head again, laughing softly, ”Two feelings? Tell me the other one.”

”The other one, huh.”

Gu Weijing tugged at the corner of his mouth, ”The other thought in my mind is to do nothing, just lie here. Being held by you feels warm and peaceful. I want to lie down until the end of time. Closing my eyes for a nap feels comfortable too.”

Emotions truly are wondrous things.

Not long ago.

He stood under the 35-degree Celsius sun, sweating while painting, yet felt cold to the bone, as if a chill from his heart would swallow him whole.

At this moment.

Gu Weijing had been soaked in the icy lake water, yet he felt warm, the soft sunlight draping over him like a tangible veil.

He lay in Koizumi Katsuko’s embrace, as though lying within a soft, downy sponge, the warmth seeping into his very bones.

With such a sunny girl beside him.

It seemed nice to just lie there doing nothing until the end of time.

Koizumi Katsuko didn’t speak.

She smiled, propped herself up, and held Gu Weijing a little tighter.