The Versatile Master Artist

In terms of pure sketching ability, he saw this sketch on the promotional board.

"Sigh, am I really not as good as him?"

In Koshiba Tarou’s mind, it was as if a little person was sighing on one side while evaluating.

He is currently rated as a "one-star painter" in the buyer’s guide section of the "Oil Painting" magazine.

Then how might Gu Weijing’s painting skill be evaluated?

One and a half stars?

Or even higher?

Koshiba Tarou looked at the names of Cao Xuan and Gu Weijing side by side, inexplicably thinking of Cao Xuan’s last disciple, Tang Ning.

At 29, Tang Ning received a four and a half stars evaluation.

At that time, breaking the half-century record as the youngest renowned painter in Asia with more than four stars.

Could it be that he might one day touch that field?

"Don’t be silly. Such an absurd guess, how could it be possible. The future of the art road has too many variables. Without a weighty gallery as a stage, he is nothing."

Koshiba Tarou shook his head, throwing away the thought that even he found ridiculous.

Yet, Koshiba Tarou couldn’t help but wonder—

If back then, instead of the Great Golden Pagoda sketch, it was this sketch on the promotional board in his hands, would he still choose to tear up the painting?

Or would he... be unable to resist signing this newcomer for his own Xiaosong Gallery?

"Baka! Damn it, how spineless!"

Koshiba Tarou cursed himself in his mind, spat on the ground, turned around, squeezed through the crowd of surrounding students, and walked away in anger.

...

For the first time in her life, Koukou lost interest in joining the fun.

She knew there was a stage rehearsal in the evening, and the police car from home was waiting outside the school gate to pick her up, but she pretended not to know.

Koukou just wanted to run around the track.

Circle after circle, as if she could just roam endlessly this way without thinking of anything, and slowly run to the end of time.

It’s impossible not to think at all.

As spring arrived and the Fitz School campus with its lush trees became noisy, the cuckoos called "cuckoo-cuckoo" and the cicadas chirped "zhir-zhir."

Miss Koukou’s mind was equally chaotic.

She forcefully kicked a rugby ball, left over from some unknown club or PE class practice, into the green area on the side.

The rugby flew into the woods, only bringing back the empty echoes of rustling leaves.

Just like her hollow heart at the moment.

No heart-wrenching, unforgettable experiences felt by Koukou.

She had more ex-girlfriends than Gu Weijing had girlfriends.

Koukou wouldn’t cry her heart out over separating from any boy, like the romance-obsessed protagonists in Korean dramas who’d rather die.

She just felt very empty inside.

It’s like when Koukou first removed her braces, and her tongue unconsciously flicked across her teeth, you’d always feel like something was missing.

Many years ago, when Koukou was a child and her mother passed away,

She felt something similar.

Before her mother died, her mind was not quite right for a long time.

In the old days, such a state was called "heart disease," but modern people call it "mental illness," anyway, a little crazy.

People all said this woman’s luck was bad, dying before her husband made it. They also said her father was lucky, getting promoted, wealth, and widowhood all at once, the major joys of life.

Otherwise.

The wife of such a promising rising star in the police force could not be a crazy woman who couldn’t even take care of her children, like what kind of person does that make her.

Koukou didn’t think her mother was crazy.

Incapable of caring for children, perhaps true. Her memories of her mother while alive were already faint, looking back at old photos, realizing that she always sported a tomboyish bun, and her clothes were always dirty.

But she always preferred to remember that her mother was the only one who would stand for weeks every year on her birthday in the 40°C heat, just to pray for a good mother for her daughter’s peace and joy.

When Koukou’s mother passed away, she felt very empty inside.

She didn’t want to think much about anything.

Neither crying nor laughing,

Just not happy.

"Tear."

She stood in place, took a piece of bubblegum from her pocket, tore off the wrapper, and put it into her mouth, chewing vigorously.

Blow bubbles when happy, blow bubbles when not happy too.

It was a habit she developed as a child.

Pop! Pop! Pop!

One bubble after another expanded and burst.

Koukou stood there, not knowing how many bubbles she had blown, until her gaze caught the figure sitting by the track.

"Hello, Mona."

Mona sat on a bench in the shade, holding a copy of Hilary Mantel’s historical novel "Wolf Hall." This novel, which tells the turbulent court struggles during the era of Henry VIII, won the 2009 Booker Prize.

Should be, right?

The recommendation on the library book cover said so anyway.

Mona had been sitting by the track for so long, still staring at the title page, not having read a single word.

She just randomly took a book that looked thick enough to give herself a quiet environment, to calm herself down.

"I don’t regret it."

Mona gently said to herself.

Yes,

She doesn’t regret it.

She also needs to tell herself not to regret.

A choice is a choice, Mona was just executing her envisioned life plan as best as possible, striving for upward mobility.

She realized she misjudged Gu Weijing.

Perhaps what he said when he came to her house that day wasn’t just some overconfident delusion.