The Art of Teasing - Chapter 5
Chapter 5
Wen Zhengyu's gaze lingered on the painting for a long time. The phoenix reborn from fire, as if about to leap off the paper, seemed to scorch her eyes, burning with a bitter ache that filled her heart.
Phoenix Battles the Heavens was not a standalone piece. She intended to paint a series.
This was a dream she had once had. In the dream, she was a little sprite in the mountains, witnessing that epochal battle where the Phoenix Bird fought the heavens.
The phoenix cried out again and again, ten thousand birds following in its wake, battling the heavens with all their might.
A darkness pressed down, covering the firmament like an endless canopy shrouding sky and earth, plunging the world into gloom.
Thunderbolts and lightning tore through the clouds, striking down with savage ferocity, as if ripping apart heaven and earth to strike the Phoenix Bird, to strike the flock of birds following behind.
The lightning fell. Countless birds dropped from the sky, flock after flock, wave after wave, plummeting toward the mountain ridges and the land below.
The phoenix's blood spilled across the endless sky. The falling blood ignited raging flames that filled the heavens, setting the mountain peaks ablaze and burning them into a vast sea of fire.
The Phoenix Bird was defeated. It plunged into the lightless Boundless Abyss deep within Kunlun…
Day after day, year after year. The phoenix that had fallen into the Boundless Abyss, its vibrant feathers lost their luster. Plume after plume detached from its dead body and drifted away. Its form gradually turned to bones. Specks of spiritual light flew out from its skeleton. Finally, the phoenix dissolved into a handful of ash and scattered within the Boundless Abyss.
She wanted to paint the Phoenix Bird, to paint this story. And so, Phoenix Battles the Heavens came to be. But that upheaval in the family had left this unfinished painting behind in the Painting Hall.
Wen Zhengyu pulled her thoughts back, only then realizing she had been lost in reverie, somewhat losing her composure. She looked at Ye Ling with an apology in her eyes, only to find Ye Ling sitting quietly beside her, waiting with great patience for her to return to the present. Although she did not like Ye Ling's way of doing things, she had to admit that Ye Ling was a very patient person. With a hint of apology, she said to Ye Ling, "My apologies. That was rude of me."
Ye Ling gave a soft laugh and said, "I can see Zhengyu cares deeply about this unfinished painting. As it happens, I care deeply as well. So I won't beat around the bush. Shall we get straight to the point?"
Wen Zhengyu felt a little uncomfortable with Ye Ling presumptuously calling her "Zhengyu"—they were not nearly familiar enough to address each other by name. Yet if she insisted Ye Ling continue calling her Miss Wen, it would seem a bit cold and impolite. Wen Zhengyu simply ignored Ye Ling's form of address. To Ye Ling's suggestion of speaking plainly, she responded with a gesture of invitation, then carefully rolled up the half-painted scroll and placed it back in the brocade box.
Ye Ling said, "I would like to commission Zhengyu to finish this painting."
Wen Zhengyu neither agreed nor disagreed. She wanted to finish the painting, but now it no longer belonged to her.
Ye Ling said, "One hundred thousand. I pay, you paint. Let's ensure neither of us is left with regrets over this work. Would that be acceptable?"
Wen Zhengyu truly did not want to leave behind a half-finished painting. She had always preferred to see things through to completion. Since this series of paintings had already begun, she had no wish to abandon it halfway. Given her current reputation and the scale of this piece, Ye Ling's offer was a high price. Besides, she genuinely needed to earn money to support her family. Wen Zhengyu could find no reason to refuse. She nodded in agreement.
After she nodded, she saw Ye Ling look at her with apparent surprise, even astonishment. She asked, "What is it?"
The corner of Ye Ling's mouth lifted slightly, carrying a trace of a smile. "Nothing. I just didn't expect Zhengyu to agree so readily."
Wen Zhengyu looked at Ye Ling, who seemed to be in rather good spirits, a little speechless. She couldn't help feeling puzzled and immediately asked warily, "You wouldn't… have ulterior motives, would you?" Then she reconsidered—her family had already fallen on hard times. There didn't seem to be anything left worth Ye Ling's scheming.
Ye Ling answered the question with one of her own: "And in your opinion, do I seem like someone with ulterior motives?"
Facing Ye Ling's feigned inscrutability, Wen Zhengyu suddenly felt like bestowing the words "lunatic" upon her. But out of politeness, she quietly swallowed those words back, sidestepped the topic, and said, "Leave the painting. I'll contact you when it's finished." After she spoke, she noticed Ye Ling looking at her rather oddly. She asked, "What is it?"
Ye Ling said, "When money is involved, it's better to have a written contract." She gestured for her assistant to hand over the pre-prepared contract and passed it to Wen Zhengyu.
Wen Zhengyu read through the contract with meticulous care. Only after confirming there were no issues did she sign it. The contract was in duplicate, one copy for each party, with a photocopy of each person's ID card attached.
Ye Ling took the stapled, signed contract. After double-checking that nothing was missing, she used her phone to transfer the advance payment to the bank account Wen Zhengyu had written on the contract.
Wen Zhengyu's phone chimed. After reading the text message, she said to Ye Ling, "Advance payment received."
Ye Ling nodded. "Then the matter of the painting is settled." Her tone shifted. "The main reason I came to see Zhengyu this time is actually another matter." She gestured to her assistant once more.
The assistant produced a gold-embossed invitation and handed it to Ye Ling.
Ye Ling passed the invitation to Wen Zhengyu.
Slightly puzzled, Wen Zhengyu glanced at Ye Ling. She and Ye Ling had little connection—what could Ye Ling possibly need to invite her to? She opened the invitation and saw that a solo exhibition of the Kunlun Little Sprite's paintings was being held from the 13th to the 30th of this month at the Provincial Art Museum, and Ye Ling cordially invited her to attend.
Wen Zhengyu held the invitation, staring at the words on it. Her mind seemed to explode with a buzzing sound. She felt a little… very angry, yet didn't quite know how to express that anger. After all, the paintings had been sold to Ye Ling. If Ye Ling wanted to hold an exhibition with them, she had no right to object whatsoever. But she was furious nonetheless.
She clutched the invitation for a long moment, then gently placed it on the tea table and slid it back toward Ye Ling, saying, "My apologies. I am fully occupied during this period, and I have no wish to attend this exhibition." To go to the exhibition and look at those paintings, each one packaged up and sold off—the feeling could only be described as a knife to the heart.
Ye Ling said slowly, "The invitation, I'll leave here. The exhibition welcomes you at any time." She paused. "Although I have purchased all the paintings, these works are all the fruit of your painstaking effort. We very much hope this exhibition can be arranged to your satisfaction. I wonder if you have any requirements for the exhibition. We will do our best to accommodate them."
Wen Zhengyu had no words she wished to speak. What she hoped for most was that one day, when she had earned enough money, she could buy back all the paintings she had sold. She shook her head gently and said, "If Miss Ye has no other business…" She lifted her hand in a gesture of dismissal.
Ye Ling remained unmoved and continued, "This exhibition has invited many renowned painters from the Fine Arts Association, as well as some friends from the media. At that time, there will be a special interview arranged about the exhibition. I imagine this would not be a bad thing for you."
Wen Zhengyu said, "I am very sorry, but I do not have the time." She cast a meaningful glance at the sandalwood brocade box Ye Ling had brought.
Ye Ling rose and said, "Very well. I shan't disturb you further. However, I still very much look forward to your presence."
Wen Zhengyu rose to see her guest out.
After escorting Ye Ling out, she returned to the living room and threw the invitation into the trash can.
She gazed at the invitation lying in the trash, her heart a tangle of mixed emotions. She did not want to sell her paintings, but now she needed to rely on selling them to earn money and support the family.
When the family had first started selling off assets, she hadn't felt much. But now, the gap between having money and having none, the changes, were gradually manifesting. This sense of decline was slowly emerging. Many things were no longer a matter of what she wanted or didn't want; she had to consider survival, earning money, supporting the family, and other such realities.
Wen Zhengyu took a deep breath and silently repeated to herself three times: "Sell paintings. Sell paintings. Sell paintings." After reciting this, she felt so heartbroken that tears nearly came. She simply resolved not to dwell on it, consoling herself bluntly: anyway, an entire room full of paintings had been sold already, what difference did this half-piece make? She'd already accepted the advance payment. What else could she do?
She picked up the brocade box from the tea table, went upstairs, returned to her room, and painted.
Because this was a painting started halfway through, the conception and composition had all been worked out. She only needed to follow her original vision and fill in the unfinished portions.
She took the painting out of the brocade box and spread it flat across the painting table. As the scroll unfurled, the incomplete Phoenix Battles the Heavens gradually revealed itself before her eyes. She looked at her work, and the world within the painting surfaced in her mind. Her entire heart suddenly quieted. All the surrounding disturbances and vexations receded into the distance.
A single painting seemed to fold time upon itself, carrying her away to that world from countless eons ago, a world teeming with wondrous and magical life.
Over twenty years of immersion in painting had turned many basic preparatory tasks into instinct.
Her thoughts had already drifted to that world of spirits, ghosts, immortals, and demons, yet her hands were methodically preparing the tools for painting without the slightest disorder.
First, she smoothed the painting paper flat and pressed it down with paperweights, then prepared the ink and brushes.
In gongbi painting, ink and brush are fundamental. Commonly used brushes include line-drawing brushes, coloring brushes, and large flat brushes. Line-drawing brushes are further divided into garment-line brushes, leaf-vein brushes, large red-hair brushes, small red-hair brushes, crab-claw brushes, wolf-hair brushes, and purple-hair brushes. Coloring brushes consist of large white-cloud brushes, medium white-cloud brushes, and small white-cloud brushes. For large-area color application, flat brushes made of sheep's wool are used. The ink is primarily lampblack ink, pine-soot ink, and lacquer-smoke ink. Lampblack ink is used for outlining; pine-soot ink is used for painting hair, eyebrows, and feather rendering; lacquer-smoke ink, which is deep black, fine, and glossy—extracted from the resin of the lacquer tree—is often used as a black pigment. Then there is color mixing. Every mixture has its precise ratio. After so many years of painting, the proportions were ingrained in her memory.
With ink and brushes prepared, it was time to begin painting.
Gongbi painting uses sized xuan paper or sized silk. Because sized xuan paper and sized silk do not readily permit corrections, most artists first complete a draft sketch. Once the draft is finalized, the formal draft is then painted on the sized paper or silk. Typically, the overall outlines are drawn first, followed by layer upon layer of fine brushwork and color application, building up the effects gradually through successive washes of color.
Because a sketch exists beforehand, the lines of the entire painting are usually outlined on the paper at the very beginning.
Her first teacher in painting had been her grandfather. And her grandfather was a painter of xieyi, or freehand brushwork. Although she had studied gongbi meticulously, she could not help being influenced to some degree by the aesthetics of freehand painting. Moreover, what she painted were mountain spirits, ghosts, monsters, myths, and legends—things that did not exist in the present world. When painting, she focused not only on form but also on essence and spirit. Because her conceptual approach differed, there were subtle variations in her painting process.
Take, for example, the Phoenix Battles the Heavens spread before her now. The first thing she had thought of was the Phoenix Bird, and the first thing she had painted was the Phoenix Bird. When she began this painting, the thunderbolts, the dark clouds and lightning in her mind had all been vague background. What filled her thoughts, what appeared before her eyes, was only this Phoenix Bird's proud and unyielding form. And what she painted was only this Phoenix Bird.
When the Phoenix Bird was completed, this sheet of paper held only the Phoenix Bird. It was the soul of this painting, and it was the first thing painted.
Only after there was the Phoenix Bird did there come the multitudes of birds—countless thousands, of varying sizes, varying shapes, varying species—following behind it. In this great battle, some still soared upward against the thunderbolts toward the highest heavens, some were scarred and battered with feathers falling, some had already lost their lives and plunged straight down from the ninth heaven…
What she presented were the forms of these countless thousands of birds. Every bird was unique. Even among an identical flock, each bird was still one of a kind, just like people—among more than six billion human beings, you cannot find a second person who is exactly the same. Every bird in this battle had its own unique, distinct expression. Her brush had to capture each and every one of them, because in her eyes, they were all alive. If her painting could not completely capture them, then the painting would not be complete. It would be flawed, perhaps even lifeless.
Only after that came the firmament of heaven and earth, the dark clouds and lightning, the mountains and ridges, the burning sea of fire, and, cowering in the crevice of a mountain below the flames, a tiny, trembling little sprite roaming the vast and boundless Kunlun Divine Mountain…
That little sprite was herself, the Kunlun Little Sprite. A tiny sprite that was always hiding among the mountains, rocks, grasses, and trees, making it extremely difficult to find—that was her signature hidden within her paintings. It was precisely because such a little sprite had seen this strange and wondrous world that her paintings existed at all…
The daylight outside faded. The lamplight inside replaced it.
Suddenly, she heard a dry cough beside her. Turning her head, she saw that Elder Wen, who had left early that morning with his driver and wandered off to who knows where, was now standing beside her with his hands clasped behind his back, his expression suggesting he was looking for someone to hold accountable.
Wen Zhengyu immediately felt a pang of guilt. Typically, this kind of situation boded very ill. She looked out the window and saw it was already completely dark outside. She had no idea how far past dinnertime it was. She hastily put down her brush, pursed her lips into an ingratiating smile, and said, "Grandfather, you're back?"
Elder Wen, his smile utterly genial, replied, "Indeed. I'm back after having my late-night snack."
Wen Zhengyu's hairs stood on end in fright. Without a second word, not daring to utter a single sound, she swiftly cleaned her brushes, nimbly wrapped up her work, and, not daring to look back, scurried downstairs to eat.
When she reached the living room and looked at the time on the grandfather clock, she realized it was already past ten at night. She guessed she had been so absorbed in her painting that when Sun Yuan had come to call her for dinner, she hadn't heard.
At this hour, Sun Yuan had already gone off duty. But on the stove, soup was being kept warm over a low flame. A small note had been left for her, telling her there were dishes in the refrigerator, wrapped in plastic wrap. She just needed to pop them in the microwave to heat them up. She opened the refrigerator and found three plates sealed with plastic wrap, with little notes stuck on them telling her what heat setting to use and for how many minutes.
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