Chapter 49 [VIP]
Jiang Zhuochen arrived at the entrance of the art exhibition. Looking at the locked door, the straw in his mouth was bitten flat and then put back together, making a slight 'crackling' sound.
A cool night breeze made the hem of his clothes sway from side to side. Looking at the dimly lit space inside, its outlines blurred by the night, he belatedly realized that the art exhibition was closed at night.
Previously, Xu Xing had arranged everything, and he only needed to follow along, so he hadn't even thought of exchanging contact information with the person in charge. Now, alone and unable to even get through the door, he realized how much convenience the other party had provided him. He sighed and was about to leave when he heard a slightly surprised voice.
"Mr. Jiang?"
Jiang Zhuochen remembered that he was one of the people in charge of the art exhibition; that person knew Xu Xing.
Zhang Zhou, probably having just finished overtime, was still carrying his briefcase. He forced himself to be energetic as he went over to greet him. "It's so late, Mr. Jiang, you still want to come see the paintings? I'm sorry, we've already closed."
Jiang Zhuochen, somewhat embarrassed, released the straw that had been bitten into a mess and quickly said, "It's okay, I just didn't pay attention to the time. I came here because there were some paintings I didn't have time to look at carefully during the day, and I kept thinking about them."
Seeing his sincere words and the regret and pity written all over his face, and knowing that he was a favorite of Xu Xing, Zhang Zhou responded enthusiastically, "I understand, I understand. People who truly understand and appreciate painting are like this. How about I go in with you and take another look? Anyway, I have the key."
"That would be perfect." Jiang Zhuochen agreed without hesitation.
He walked into the exhibition hall once again. The noise of the crowd was gone, and the spacious and quiet interior atmosphere was completely different from that during the day.
The spotlights were turned off, leaving only a few emergency lights and the streetlights streaming in from outside the window to provide dim illumination. The paintings seemed to come alive in the dim light, their colors settling and their outlines becoming more profound and unpredictable, especially Li Mingtian's works from when he was twenty-five or twenty-six years old, where a sense of repression and struggle seemed to burst out of the frame.
The two walked and talked, with Jiang Zhuochen asking about the works and Zhang Zhou giving detailed introductions.
When the time was right, Jiang Zhuochen stood in front of a painting and casually steered the conversation toward Li Mingtian. “Mr. Li told me that he owes his success to his teacher. I’m sure his teacher was very proud when he visited here.”
Upon hearing this, Zhang Zhou's face showed a hint of emotion, as if recalling something or feeling wistful. "Yes, when Teacher Zhong Bai was still alive, he said that Mingtian was his most outstanding student. If he were fortunate enough to see this, he would definitely be very happy. He must be very gratified to have achieved such success."
Jiang Zhuochen revealed just the right amount of surprise: "Teacher Zhong is gone?" He recalled the complex and unpredictable look in Li Mingtian's eyes when he mentioned Zhong Bai.
“He’s gone. He left more than twenty years ago. Mingtian was depressed for two years back then. He was so颓废 and gloomy. Every time I went to see him, I felt like I was seeing a ghost.” Zhang Zhou chuckled dryly, pointing to a group of paintings with contrasting styles not far away. “It’s strange, actually. When others are sad, they drink and wallow in self-pity, but he locked himself up and painted like crazy. So he produced a lot of works in those two years. Look over there, they were all painted during that period.”
Jiang Zhuochen looked in the direction he was pointing. "I don't know much about painting, but the style over there is a bit harder to understand than the others, so it's because of his teacher."
“Yes,” Zhang Zhou sighed. “Actually, the two of them, master and apprentice, originally liked different schools and techniques, and their painting styles were also different. But for those two years, Mingtian was like he was under a spell, insisting on incorporating Teacher Zhong’s style into his own paintings, so they look particularly difficult to understand. He really respects his teacher.”
Why did Li Mingtian's expression look so strange when he talked about Zhong Bai?
Jiang Zhuochen seemed thoughtful, a hint of curiosity in his eyes. "Since he respects his teacher so much, why did he seem a little unhappy when he mentioned him not long ago?"
Zhang Zhou paused for a moment, then smiled wryly: "It's probably because of their way of getting along. Those two are supposed to be master and apprentice, but they're always bickering. They can argue fiercely over the slightest disagreement about painting or some trivial matter. Although I'm Mingtian's old classmate, I'm not interested in painting and have never seen them argue in person. But whenever that guy is in a bad mood, he comes to me to complain, and it's all about his teacher. Sometimes I get annoyed by it and I'll chime in with a couple of words, and then he gets upset."
"Oh..." Jiang Zhuochen nodded, his doubts deepening. He suddenly asked, "Where is Teacher Zhong buried?"
"The columbarium at Antang Funeral Home, and Mingtian personally handled all the funeral arrangements." Zhang Zhou answered subconsciously, then asked in confusion, "Why is Mr. Jiang asking about this?"
"Nothing, just asking." Jiang Zhuochen lowered his eyelashes, concealing the expression in his eyes.
After saying goodbye to Zhang Zhou, Jiang Zhuochen immediately took a taxi to the funeral home.
However, upon arrival, he discovered that entering the columbarium was not so simple; reservations and procedures were required. As night deepened, he decided to avoid being seen and find a secluded spot, nimbly scaling the wall to enter.
The hall was so quiet you could hear a pin drop. Rows of solemn, lattice-covered cabinets stood silently, the air thick with the scent of burning incense and candles. Jiang Zhuochen struggled to make out the name Zhong Bai, and after staring at it for a while, he inexplicably began to get angry. He refused to believe that he couldn't do it alone!
The sound of the floor screeching came from outside the hall. Jiang Zhuochen quickly stopped what he was doing, turned around, and pretended to be confused.
A few seconds later, a young woman walked in, made eye contact with him, then casually looked away and went to a cabinet containing ashes.
Perhaps because there were strangers present, the two tacitly moved quietly, without disturbing each other.
The girl stayed for a while, wiping the urn clean again and again before reluctantly putting it back. Before leaving, she turned around and saw the boy who had been with her still wandering around, which aroused her suspicion.
She asked, "What are you looking for?"
Jiang Zhuochen paused, carefully considering his words before replying: "I'm looking for the ashes of a relative of mine, his name is Zhong Bai."
The girl was puzzled: "If you know it, how could you not know where it is?"
"I came here with my family when I was a child, I don't remember clearly," Jiang Zhuochen explained vaguely.
The girl looked at him sympathetically and didn't ask any more questions; after all, everyone who came here had a sad story to tell. She nodded and enthusiastically found the locker for him.
Once the funeral home was completely quiet, Jiang Zhuochen quietly stood in front of Zhong Bai's memorial tablet.
He muttered "Excuse me" in a low voice, gathering a faint spiritual power at his fingertips. He was about to open the urn, trying to draw out any lingering resentment that might remain in the ashes to investigate what had happened between the master and disciple.
However, when the lid was opened, there were only a few scattered relics inside, but no ashes at all!
Jiang Zhuochen's heart sank suddenly.
What about the ashes?
In that instant, he wondered if Li Mingtian had taken it. Combined with the unusual aura that Xu Xing sensed, a terrifying guess surfaced in his mind.
Li Mingtian took Zhong Bai's ashes, most likely not for burial or commemoration, but to perform some kind of evil spell to imprison a soul. Could the abnormality of his master's soul also be related to this?
Just then, the beams of flashlights and the sound of footsteps of night patrolmen could be heard in the distance. Jiang Zhuochen immediately closed the box, restored the place to its original state, and with a swift movement, he slipped out of the hall and quickly disappeared into the thick darkness of the night.
He hid in a dark, deserted alley, leaning against a cold, rough brick wall, his chest rising and falling slightly, the spiritual energy at his fingertips so faint it was almost invisible to the naked eye.
Not long ago, in order to clear the dense ghost energy in Fanglin Town, he had exhausted all his spiritual power. Now, he had to use it again while hiding his identity, and his body was already starting to give out.
He took out several jade bottles from his storage bag, shook them, and then frowned. Undeterred, he opened them one by one and examined them, then gritted his teeth and put them back unopened.
He spent most of his time in Wangxian Valley, and his Qiankun bag contained everything except for a few pills. Unfortunately, he left in such a hurry that he forgot to replenish his supplies, and only a handful of the pills he brought were left.
It's truly a case of misfortunes never coming singly.
It's still quite a distance from Xu Xing's villa here, so there's no need to worry about going back now.
Exhausted, Jiang Zhuochen pursed his lips. The amplified silence of the late night felt like a wad of cotton filling his chest, making his expression dull. He lowered his head, his eyes hidden in the shadows, and stayed there for a while. Then, the tickling sensation of his hair brushing against his cheek brought him back to his senses. He found a relatively clean corner deep in the alley, sat down against the wall fully clothed, and fell asleep immediately.
The next morning, the glaring sunlight woke Jiang Zhuochen. Dragging his still tired body out of the alley, he planned to find something to eat on his way back, but unexpectedly ran into Zhang Zhou eating soy milk and fried dough sticks at a breakfast stall on the street.
"Mr. Jiang? So early?" Zhang Zhou greeted him warmly. "Haven't eaten yet? Let's eat together!"
Jiang Zhuochen did not refuse and sat down opposite him. Sipping the warm soy milk, his mind was active, and he continued to probe: "After seeing the art exhibition yesterday, the more I think about it, the more I find Mr. Li's paintings intriguing."
“Right?” Zhang Zhou agreed. “Many people have said that. It’s really a matter of timing and fate. No wonder he became famous.”
Jiang Zhuochen continued naturally, "I'd really like to know what his creative process and state of mind are like when he's painting. Would it be convenient for me to visit his home and observe his painting process?"
Zhang Zhou took a bite of the fried dough stick and said indistinctly, "Mingtian always paints in his own studio, which is usually off-limits to outsiders. But I can ask him what he thinks."
Jiang Zhuochen nodded absentmindedly: "Then I'll trouble you."
So it turns out that modern people even have a dedicated studio for painting. He was careless; he even considered using the excuse of going to Li Mingtian's house to perhaps search for Zhong Bai's ashes.
The clues he had painstakingly pieced together had become tangled again. Jiang Zhuochen put down his bowl of soy milk, his gaze sweeping over the bustling street, but his thoughts drifted to Li Mingtian's residence, which he couldn't find anywhere.
He needed to find out as soon as possible whether his master's soul was still there and where it was.
Zhang Zhou was surprisingly efficient, replying to Jiang Zhuochen shortly afterward that Li Mingtian had just been inspired and was currently painting in his studio. Hearing that Li Mingtian was interested in the creative process, Zhang Zhou said he wouldn't mind if Li Mingtian came to observe.
Jiang Zhuochen's heart skipped a beat, and he immediately agreed.
The studio is tucked away in an old tenement building. The building is like a honeycomb, weathered by time, with its grayish-yellow cement walls covered in brown stains from rainwater. The windows are densely packed together, each frame with peeling paint, some covered with newspaper, others with plastic sheeting, rattling loudly in the wind.
Seeing the doubt that flashed in Jiang Zhuochen's eyes, Zhang Zhou led him up the creaking cement stairs while explaining, "This is actually the studio that Teacher Zhong Bai used in his early years. Mingtian started his painting enlightenment here. He probably has an attachment to it, so even after he became famous, he has never been willing to move to a different place, saying that this is the place where he can calm down the most."
Pushing open the old wooden door, the interior space was opened up and appeared quite spacious. Several professional fill lights illuminated the interior, making it bright and clear. Easels, canvases, paint buckets were scattered everywhere, and the walls were covered with sketches and color test papers of various colors.
Yet, in this ordinary room, Jiang Zhuochen keenly sensed a sudden oppressive feeling, like an invisible, heavy, and dense dark cloud pressing down, making it difficult to breathe. He calmly looked around, but apart from the numerous art supplies and artworks, he didn't find anything particularly unusual.
Li Mingtian was standing in front of a huge easel, the canvas a hazy, indistinct background. When he saw Jiang Zhuochen, he gave him his usual gentle yet slightly aloof smile, offered a brief greeting, and poured him a glass of water.
"Mr. Jiang, please feel free to look around. I happen to have some ideas," Li Mingtian said, returning to the canvas. He first laid a layer of somber blue-gray at the bottom of the paper, then dipped in other paints, gradually adding details and layers.
Jiang Zhuochen stood obediently to the side, asking a few questions every now and then. After drawing for a while, Li Mingtian suddenly got up and said apologetically that he needed to get something and asked him to rest for a while.
Jiang Zhuochen responded and, after everyone left, carefully observed the entire studio. Apart from the small, partitioned rest room where Li Mingtian went to get his things, the studio was completely open and flat, with various painting tools and materials piled up somewhat haphazardly.
His eyes swept over the pile of picture frames and miscellaneous items in the corner, and then a delivery document bag casually tossed on the floor caught his attention. It had an address from another place on it.
He was cautious, and quietly reached his fingertip into the bag, took out a blank yellow talisman, and quickly used his fingertip spiritual power to trace the address onto the back of the talisman before putting it away.
Having just finished all that, Li Mingtian came out carrying a white ceramic bowl. The bowl was mostly filled with liquid, with some extremely fine grayish-black particles floating on the surface. These particles did not dissolve but slowly suspended and sank, making the whole bowl of water look somewhat dirty.
Li Mingtian placed the bowl on the stool next to the palette and then stood in front of the painting.
Jiang Zhuochen leaned closer curiously, his gaze falling on the bowl, and humbly asked, "Mr. Li, what is this?"
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