The Art of Teasing - Chapter 1
Chapter 1
The north produces emperors, while Jiangnan produces scholars.
Wen Zhengyu was born in Jiangnan, a region known for its scholars. Her grandfather, Wen Ru, who went by the artistic name Solitary Swan Elder, was a painter who spent his entire life painting flowers and birds. Her grandmother had been a music teacher at an art academy, skilled in musical temperament and well-versed in the zither, Go, calligraphy, and painting.
The name Zhengyu was chosen by her grandmother, taken from "Gong, Shang, Jiao, Zhi, Yu," the five notes of the "tone-deaf" saying.
Her mother passed away the day she was born. Because of this, her mother's family severed all ties with her father's family. She had only seen her mother in photographs—faded yellow images of a gentle and graceful Jiangnan woman, her features as picturesque as a painting, her eyes carrying a smile. Beside her, qiong flowers were in full bloom, clustered in profusion, filling the branches and trees to overflowing.
Her face and features all resembled her mother's, though she lacked her mother's gentle softness, adding instead a touch of delicate elegance and cool detachment.
Her father was a businessman. It was said that in his youth he was a gifted scholar and, after venturing into commerce, styled himself a scholar-merchant.
From as far back as she could remember, her father had always been busy socializing. With his refined, cultured air, he never lacked for a close female companion. When she was young and school held parent-teacher conferences, her father was too busy, so his female companion of the moment would go in his place. Over six years, not one of those companions came twice.
Her grandmother said those women were all fox spirits.
As recorded in the Classic of Mountains and Seas: The Classic of the Southern Mountains, "On the Mountain of Green Hills, there is a beast. Its form is like a fox but with nine tails, and its cry is like a baby's. It can devour humans, but those who consume it will not be bewitched." "Consume" here means to eat. According to ancient legend, a fox that cultivates for a thousand years gains nine tails. Clans such as the Tushan, Chunhu, and Yousu all took the fox as their totem.
In her heart, the fox was sacred.
Those women, it seemed, had nothing to do with foxes.
She loved ancient myths and legends. She loved letting her thoughts wander boundlessly, and she loved sketching out a mythological world in her mind's eye, a world unlike the mortal realm, which she then loved to paint onto paper.
When she was in junior high, during Chinese class, she hid behind a thick book drawing a soaring serpent. The Chinese teacher caught her red-handed. The teacher snatched up her sketchbook and raged, "If you can get into high school, I'll fry a fish in my bare palm and serve it to you."
She quietly retrieved her sketchbook, quietly scored dead last in the class on the next exam, then took the route of applying as a student with artistic talent, with her father adding a bit of money to make up the few points she was short, and so she entered the city's key high school.
From the age of three, when her grandfather taught her to hold a paintbrush, she had never put it down. In elementary school, her daily after-school life was painting, and later she became increasingly obsessed. She painted through three years of junior high. She painted through three years of high school. She painted through four years of university. And since graduating from university at twenty-one, she had painted for another five years.
She was lost, unable to pull herself free, in the world of ancient myths, using her brush to meticulously portray the mountains, clouds, wind, mist, trees, flowers, and grass she saw in her mind—all those mountain spirits, ghosts, monsters, gods, immortals, demons, and devils.
Her grandfather said her paintings had spirit, that she was naturally suited for this path. In truth, she simply wanted to use the brush in her hand to construct the world in her mind. Her spirit and soul resided in that world; everything in the human world seemed like an interplay of light and shadow.
Her grandfather had painted flowers and birds his whole life. Now, aside from occasionally dabbling in antiques, he painted works to exchange and appreciate with old friends, kept birds and plants at home, and tended to the garden scenery within the Old Family Mansion, built during the Ming and Qing dynasties, enjoying a comfortable and leisurely old age.
She had thought she could live forever in her grandfather's mansion, devoting herself to painting her mountain spirits, ghosts, and monsters, without ever having to worry about making a living.
But life played a colossal joke on them, grandfather and granddaughter.
Mr. Wen Shiyi, who just last month claimed he had brought in investment that would multiply his company's stock value several times over, was reportedly now an absconder who had fled with the funds. Neither she, nor her grandfather, nor her second aunt could contact him. Only her eldest aunt had any news, saying her father might have gone abroad—though as to where exactly, it was unclear.
She had never inquired about her father's business affairs and was not entirely clear on what had happened. The only thing she knew was that after her father fled, both the front and back doors of her home were blocked by creditors. They wailed at her doorstep, claiming her father had swindled their retirement money. The police also came, stating he was suspected of illegal fundraising and had fled to escape punishment.
The old gentleman was so furious he nearly smashed his beloved flower-and-bird teacup.
With Mr. Wen Shiyi having fled, Old Master Wen, as Mr. Wen Shiyi's father, and Miss Wen Zhengyu, as Wen Shiyi's daughter, had no choice but to face the colossal debts he left behind.
Wen Zhengyu had been painting for twenty-three years and was now somewhat reputed, but her paintings had only ever been exhibited or entered in competitions; she could never bear to sell a single one. With no source of income, she had always been supported by Old Master Wen and Mr. Wen Shiyi.
Mr. Wen Ru, at the advanced age of seventy-five, had reached an age where even his own daughters dared not lend him money.
Faced with Mr. Wen Shiyi's colossal debts, the only path left to the grandfather and granddaughter was to sell off their family assets.
Real estate agents and antique dealers, sensing an opportunity, flocked to the door, arriving even more frequently than the creditors.
The enormous debt meant the mansion and everything within it were now up for sale at any price. Even former close friends of Mr. Wen Shiyi made her offers.
The vicissitudes of human life could not be more starkly illustrated than this.
An endless stream of people came and went from her home. Her grandfather's collection of half a lifetime, the household's classical Ming and Qing dynasty furniture, her Babu Canopy Bed, the Arhat chair placed by the window, her zither and its stand—item by item, they were appraised, prices were negotiated, and they were packed up and carried away. Not even the dozen or so birds her grandfather had raised for many years, hanging under the covered corridor, nor the dowry left to her by her grandmother, could be saved.
In just under a month, one by one, the vast Old Family Mansion was stripped of everything, not even a single potted plant left. Her family was left with only the empty shell of the mansion and the paintings in her room—works that others had once sought to buy at high prices but now could not be sold for anything at all.
The world chases after masters; when buying a painting, one first looks at the artist. A young, bankrupt painter like her, with only a National Level Three Fine Artist certificate and a few minor awards, was dismissed with contempt.
The people coming to her house now, apart from creditors, were only those looking to view the property.
Everyone knew her family's situation, and those looking to buy the mansion drove the price very low. They had not been able to agree on a price.
During these days of selling off assets, her grandfather always brought her along, making her watch what was happening by his side.
Originally, their family had a solid foundation, and she had a specialized skill. Beyond painting, she had no other hobbies, let alone any ruinous vices. She had thought this more than sufficient to ensure a lifetime of comfort and stability.
Now, with the family fallen into ruin overnight, in her grandfather's words, from now on she would have to earn her own keep, which meant unavoidably dealing with all sorts of people. Thus, from this point forward, she would have to learn and observe a great deal more. Fortunately, she was still young. If she grew and improved in the future, she might yet be able to carve out a future for herself.
It was just past ten in the morning, and another group had arrived to view the house.
April, a season as picturesque as a poem.
A fine spring rain, like smoke, like mist, like gauze. Pattering raindrops fell along the roof tiles, splashing into the row of small puddles beneath the eaves, worn into little pits by years of dripping water, sending up tiny blossoms of spray.
The courtyard's pine and cypress bonsais, flowers, carved round table, and stone stools had all been cleared out. Now, only two worthless bamboo bonsais remained.
Wen Zhengyu stood under the eaves, gazing at the ceaseless spring rain, at the Bambusa ventricosa rendered an especially vivid green by the rain's lashing, lost in a daze. The mansion she had lived in since she was small was about to be sold. No matter how much she tried to convince herself not to care, she could not help but feel a pang of sorrow.
Yet no matter how reluctant she was, the mansion had to be sold.
Aunt Sun, who had worked for her family since before Wen Zhengyu could remember, ushered the prospective buyers inside.
She turned to look and saw a woman, somewhere between twenty and thirty, entering with an entourage of one other woman and two men.
As she turned, her gaze met the woman's eyes directly.
The woman had lightly permed, shoulder-length hair and wore a sharply tailored professional suit that fit her impeccably, giving off a very precise and capable impression.
At first glance, Wen Zhengyu felt this was someone here to negotiate a business deal. And, on second thought, indeed it was—buying her family mansion was certainly a significant transaction.
The woman's gaze fell upon her, seemingly sizing her up as well.
The woman's face was completely expressionless, her eyes carrying an unfathomable depth that seemed to see right through a person, making Wen Zhengyu slightly uncomfortable.
Her grandfather's voice came from the guest hall, telling her to welcome the guest inside. She offered the woman a slight nod and made a gesture of invitation.
The woman smiled faintly at her, nodded, and followed her into the guest hall.
The guest hall was already empty, with only the tea table for receiving visitors remaining.
The woman's surname was Ye. The name on her business card was Ye Ling.
Whether it was her imagination or not, Wen Zhengyu felt that Ye Ling seemed to hesitate slightly when handing over her card, then presented a personal card bearing only her name and phone number.
Ye Ling's demeanor was much better than that of the people who had previously come to kick her family when they were down. Regardless of her purpose in coming or her inner thoughts, at least what she displayed was not the base behavior of someone who adds insult to injury.
This month, Wen Zhengyu had seen too much of the fickleness of human warmth and the coldness of the world. Now, suddenly encountering someone with a good attitude, someone who seemed sincere about buying the mansion, she felt a bit more goodwill. Therefore, when she led Ye Ling around the property, she also showed a bit more sincerity, hoping the deal could be concluded.
She knew this mansion best, having lived in it for over twenty years—which parts had been repaired and when, what materials were used, which craftsmen were hired, and which parts were untouched historical features centuries old.
Every brick, every tile, every room, every ridge of the roof carried the experiences and memories of her more than two decades of life here.
Unknowingly, they arrived at the door of her painting studio.
Her studio was arranged by knocking down three walls of rooms facing the lake, with a plaque inscribed "Painting Hall" hanging in the very center.
Ye Ling asked if she could go in and look around.
Wen Zhengyu pulled back her wandering thoughts, nodded, and slowly stepped forward, pushing open the slightly ajar studio door.
All her paintings were in this studio.
Jiangnan's climate is humid, so her paintings were all stored in custom-made moisture-proof cabinets, except for one—the Kunlun Myriad Demons Scroll—which hung in the most prominent place.
The Kunlun Myriad Demons Scroll measured four meters and ninety centimeters in full length, depicting nine thousand nine hundred and ninety-nine demons. It was the product of three years of painstaking work and was her magnum opus.
When the painting was finished, she had wanted to give herself the name "Elder of Kunlun," but her grandfather forbade it, saying, "How old are you, to dare call yourself an elder?" So she changed it to "Kunlun Little Sprite."
She looked at her paintings, and Ye Ling beside her looked at them too.
Ye Ling stared at the Kunlun Myriad Demons Scroll for a long time before asking, "Are your paintings for sale?"
This was the first person in nearly a month to ask if she would sell her paintings.
Wen Zhengyu fixed her gaze on her own work, nodded, and said, "Yes." The most valuable thing she owned was this Kunlun Myriad Demons Scroll.
Ye Ling said, "Name your price."
Wen Zhengyu replied, "How about you decide?" She could see from the look in Ye Ling's eyes as she gazed at the painting that she genuinely liked it from the bottom of her heart.
Still staring intently at the Kunlun Myriad Demons Scroll, Ye Ling said, "Two million."
Wen Zhengyu turned to look at Ye Ling in stunned disbelief, thinking she had misheard, and also feeling a slight surge of joy that someone appreciated her work enough to pay a high price for it. She spoke honestly: "Although this painting is my signature work, my reputation isn't enough to command that kind of price."
Ye Ling turned to look at Wen Zhengyu and said, "I mean two million for all the paintings in this room."
Wen Zhengyu was speechless.
Ye Ling continued, "With so many painting cabinets and artworks in this room, it would undoubtedly be very inconvenient to move them. I am sincere about buying this mansion, and I am quite satisfied with the price you've quoted. My suggestion is, if you are willing to let everything go at this price, and I buy the mansion and these paintings, they can remain here, preserved exactly as they are."
Wen Zhengyu understood now. This was treating her paintings as a throw-in to sweeten the deal for the mansion!
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