Chapter 62 Keep your heart and wait for me to come back
Tang Zhixu understood. But he had a clear self-awareness. With his current level, it was enough for him to enter the auction, but it was still a bit short of entering Jiade, let alone being put together with these big names.
"Even if China Guardian is willing to buy my work, it will still go unsold," he said bluntly.
Wang Qiqing thought to himself that he was truly stubborn, yet gifted with extraordinary talent. He would eventually become a successful artist, but the growth cycle for calligraphy and painting was too long, and by the time he did, he would have retired.
He had learned last week that the Shanghai Museum was planning to go to the US to purchase the Chunhua Ge Tie collection. As the person in charge of the calligraphy and painting department, he wasn't even on the list. Tang Zhixu's expertise in calligraphy and painting appraisal was irrelevant to him; Ming Yuanxing was the one taking all the credit.
For him, the greatest benefit would be if Tang Zhixu could become a master of calligraphy and painting as soon as possible. Apart from anything else, he has a dozen or so of his works in his possession over the years, and they can complement each other.
Now that the conversation has started, he might as well be frank with him.
"Xiao Tang, do you really think that just because you're a good painter you'll be valuable? Zhang Daqian was discovered by Chaozhou merchants and became successful. Mr. Xie also graduated from the Shanghai Museum. There are many good painters, but how many of them can become famous? If it weren't for the Shanghai Museum's status, do you think you would have achieved what you have today?"
Tang Zhixu remained silent. He was no longer a fresh graduate, so how could he not understand this? Being a good painter was one part, but so was paying respects to the master; neither was indispensable.
Wang Qiqing continued, "I've contacted Guardian Auctions. They've seen your paintings and are willing to buy them. You've worked at an auction house before, so you should know that if you don't want them to go unsold, they won't. Not only will your paintings not go unsold, but they'll also be sold at the lowest price in the auction. After this autumn auction, your name will officially be included in the ranking of contemporary Chinese painters."
Tang Zhixu stared at Wang Qiqing, whose face, often stern, had deep furrows. His gaze was dignified, enough to intimidate his subordinates. He offered a tempting offer, hoping he would surrender.
"What do I need to do?" he asked.
"Two things," Wang Qiqing said, "First, you know the level of Jiade, so bring out your best work. Second, you'll be meeting some people when you return, so you should know what to do. Consider collecting works once the Chunhua Pavilion Calligraphy event is over."
Qin Tian had been busy all day. Early in the morning, the publishing department rushed to her, saying the manuscript had been proofread and sent to the publishing house yesterday, but they'd discovered a few issues and had to halt printing. They told her to fix it immediately and as quickly as possible, and have it ready by the end of the day, so it could be printed tomorrow.
She returned to the office and rushed to revise it. Tang Zhixu arrived and asked her to go out for lunch. Without even looking up, she said she couldn't have lunch today. Then she stared at the computer, checking the data. After a while, she looked up to drink some water and found Tang Zhixu still there.
She asked in surprise, "What's the matter?"
"When will you be ready here?"
She said with a bitter face, "It would be great if it can be done before leaving get off work."
"What about after get off work? Do you have anything to do tonight?"
Who said it was okay? She hadn't finalized the topic for her second paper yet, and needed to go to the reference room to research. Yuan Junruo's experiment to further reduce the thermoluminescence error rate had stalled, and she was waiting for her review. And the Kong Museum's fake exhibition scandal had reached the authorities, and they were questioning the Shanghai Museum. She also had to write a report explaining the entire process.
She gathered her hair into a ball of straw and said bitterly, "Work overtime. There's a lot to do."
Tang Zhi was silent for a moment and said, "Finish your paper first. I'll come find you after get off work."
He went out and came back ten minutes later with lunch for her. She said goodbye to him gratefully and went back to writing.
The rain was getting heavier, water droplets covered the glass windows, and fog blocked the view outside the window.
Qin Tian finally finished revising the paper and submitted it before leaving work. She saw that it was already 5:30 and Tang Zhixu was standing at the door. She belatedly realized that he probably had something to tell her.
"I'm going to the United States with Director Ming tomorrow night." He sat opposite her.
She was surprised and asked, "What's going on? Why haven't you heard anything about it? Did you just find out?"
He said he simply explained the matter.
"Few people in the museum know about this, so we can't publicize it. We don't even know if we can buy it, or if the other party is willing to transfer it."
"If we can really get the original copy of Chunhua Ge Tie, it will be a big event that causes a sensation." Qin Tian sighed.
He looked at her and put aside the auction. He had to pack his luggage and prepare materials tomorrow and would not be going into the museum. He came here to say goodbye to her and to share a few words.
She was also there to remind him not to forget to bring a suit; that if he needed any information he could contact her immediately and not to worry about the time difference; that Director Ming was old and he should take good care of him; and most importantly, to take care of his health and not get sick.
Her voice was so moving, her presence so close, yet his heart was filled with sorrow. She was only on a business trip and would be back soon, but he had a premonition of parting.
"Qin Tian." He called her name softly, his voice more gentle and hesitant than ever before.
She stopped talking, and a moment of silence fell. The rustling sound of rain outside the window echoed through this moment of farewell. Deep in his dark eyes was an indelible melancholy.
"Wait until I come back."
.
On Friday morning, Song Suiyang nervously pushed open the door to the restoration department, mustering the courage to look at Tong Zhongyuan's restoration table. No one was there. Disappointed, she let go of the doorknob and walked in.
Tong Zhongyuan didn't come yesterday. She asked him about it on WeChat, but he didn't reply. She vaguely suspected it was related to her gossip the other day, but she didn't think it was that serious. Tong Zhongyuan was always calm and composed, and such a small matter was not worth mentioning to him.
Without him, she didn't dare to repair the Qing Dynasty bamboo bowl alone, so she had to turn back to mending the purple clay teapot. She kept glancing at the time, wondering if she had arrived too early and Tong Zhongyuan would be here soon.
Tong Zhongyuan never turned on the hotel TV in the mornings, not even on weekends. But now he was on, a program playing that was completely incomprehensible. His eyes drifted uncontrollably to the safe, and when his phone rang, he picked it up to check. It seemed that using the TV as a distraction wasn't very effective.
The time on the upper right corner of the TV chimed in at 10 a.m., and the phone remained silent. He stood up from the sofa, walked to the safe, squatted down, looked at it for a moment, and then entered the code.
The safe beeped and unlocked. Tong Zhongyuan opened the door, took out a brocade box, and placed it on the table.
He picked up the remote and turned off the TV, then walked to the bathroom, took a shower and changed his clothes.
He admitted defeat; his plan hadn't worked. The timeline he'd given them yesterday was to sign the contract by ten o'clock today, but apparently, they'd given up. He'd originally planned on three months, giving him ample time to relocate the statue to its rightful destination. His miscalculation wasn't about the time it would take to transfer the statue, but about his ability to handle it. With only two weeks left, he couldn't hold out any longer. He was tired of making enemies. After all, he still had to stay at the Shanghai Museum for another month or so. Why would he become estranged from his colleagues for the sake of a strange old man?
He walked over to the table and opened the brocade box. A golden Buddha statue, simple and solemn, was revealed. "Give it back to her. She probably won't be angry with him anymore after that." He hesitated as he picked up the brocade box, a nagging thought forming in his mind: what if she's still angry? Then what should he do?
At that moment, his cell phone rang at the perfect time. He turned around with the brocade box in his hand. It was the notification sound of an incoming email.
He put the box down and walked over to grab his phone, his heart racing. It would be best if it was as he thought. Instead of returning the statue to her, only by proceeding according to plan could he be sure she would truly forgive him. He paused at the thought. Why forgiveness? He had done nothing wrong. What was there to forgive?
He took his phone, put aside his chaotic thoughts, gathered his thoughts, and opened his email. He glanced at the sender and the email title and couldn't help but clench his fist.
He suppressed his excitement, clicked on the attached contract in the title, read it word by word, and only after seeing the final electronic seal did he truly breathe a sigh of relief.
He put the brocade box back into the safe and locked it, picked up the hotel door card, and hurried to the museum to work.
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