Chapter 40
The final test data for the new material was like a verdict, coldly but precisely affirming all the previous efforts. Wang Rui's voice on the phone was unusually excited: "It's done! All parameters have basically met expectations, and some have even exceeded them! I'll bring you samples tomorrow!"
The next day, he arrived as promised, carefully carrying a sealed, transparent sample box. Inside lay several fingernail-sized metal nuggets, their surface a peculiar texture somewhere between matte and shimmer. The color was a deep, finely grained silver-gray, as if the starry sky had been crushed and solidified.
I took the box, feeling the coolness of the metal against my fingertips. This wasn't any other material found in nature; it was a unique species forged by knowledge and will.
"Give it a name." Wang Rui pushed his glasses, his eyes full of anticipation.
I looked at the tiny piece of metal, the product of countless failures, adjustments, and the collision of ideas from two different fields. "Let's call it 'Stardust Alloy,'" I said. The name had a touch of poetic romance, yet it also alluded to the complexity of its composition and the microscopic nature of its origins.
With the right materials in place, the 3D model could finally move from virtual reality to reality. I imported the model data into the workshop's large-scale 3D printer, selecting "Stardust Alloy" powder as the consumable material. The printing process was slow and hypnotic, the laser beam sintering the metal powder layer by layer. The component gradually rose on the build platform, like a solid object being gradually summoned from nothingness.
While waiting for the print to complete, I began preparing the other components. I selected a thick, black basalt slab with a naturally weathered surface. The rock's antiquity, heaviness, and inherent sense of history contrasted sharply with the artificiality, precision, and futuristic feel of the "Stardust Alloy." I planned to anchor the complex 3D-printed metal structure to this pristine rock base in a seemingly fragile yet meticulously calculated manner.
It is a symbolic juxtaposition – earth and sky, past and future, natural and artificial.
The aftermath of the open studio visit gradually subsided, and the art world's attention shifted to new hotspots. But I could sense a slow, steady buildup of recognition. The veteran collector came back to the studio, quietly observing the printed components and the basalt for a long time. Without asking any further questions, he simply said, "Looking forward to the finished product."
Li Wei's company seemed to have been quiet since that real estate project. Assistant Lin's regular briefings about her became increasingly brief, eventually relegating her to "no unusual activity." She seemed to have truly become a distant asteroid, vanishing from the edge of my field of vision.
My life is completely consumed by the process of creating this new work. The post-printing process—removing support material, polishing the surface, attaching it to the rock base—each step requires immense patience and meticulous workmanship. I often spend entire days in the workshop, covered in metal dust and filled with the clatter of tools.
But this physical exertion is accompanied by a deep spiritual satisfaction. Watching the abstract structure born on the computer screen gradually become a tangible entity with weight and texture in my hands, this creative pleasure is incomparable.
The process wasn't entirely smooth sailing. During one attempt to bond a metal structure to rock using a special epoxy resin, I miscalculated the proportions, resulting in insufficient bond strength and nearly destroying the expensively printed component. After a frightened moment, I sought professional help and contacted museum-level cultural relic restoration experts to learn more reliable anchoring techniques.
Frustration is also nourishment. It allows me to have a deeper understanding of the properties of materials and the boundaries of technology.
On a chilly spring evening, I finally completed the final step—adjusting the lighting. Carefully designed spotlights shone from various angles onto the work. The cool white light highlighted every intricate facet of the metal structure, reflecting subtle yet brilliant light like authentic stardust. The rock base, under the light, took on a calm, profound quality.
I turned off the main lights in the studio, leaving only the lighting on the work.
At that moment, the entire space seemed to darken, with only the work gleaming in the darkness. The precision of metal and the roughness of rock, the chill of light and the depth of shadow, the sense of the future and eternity...all these contradictory elements now achieved a precarious yet remarkably harmonious balance.
It stands there silently, no longer just an object, but like a miniature model of the universe, a silent question about origin, existence and the future.
I stared at it for a long time, my heart filled with indescribable emotions: excitement, calmness, pride, and a hint of exhaustion after completing a major mission.
I named this work: "Stardust Landing".
Then I took out my phone and took a few pictures.
They were sent to Wang Rui, Chen Hui, Maria, and the old collector respectively.
No text explanation was included.
A few minutes later, the phone started ringing one after another.
Wang Rui responded with a string of exclamation marks and complex materials science emojis.
Chen Hui's response was typically concise: "Optical reflectivity data is ideal. Structural stability has been visually assessed."
Maria replied with a long voice message, her tone excited and full of praise in German and English.
The old collector called directly, his voice calm but full of admiration: "Mr. Zhang, I want this work. Please leave it to me."
Listening to the confident voice on the other end of the phone and looking at the work in the darkness that embodies countless efforts, I slowly exhaled.
I know,
This is more than just the completion of a work.
This is a summary of one stage.
It is also the starting point of the next journey.
The sky outside the window has completely darkened and the city lights are just coming on.
In the studio, only "Stardust Landing" is glowing quietly, like a seed from the future embedded in the real world.
And I will continue to cultivate this boundless soil, situated between reason and intuition, science and art. The completion of "Stardust Landing" was like dropping a depth charge on a tranquil lake, the ripples spreading slowly but forcefully. The veteran collector's decisive acquisition was just the beginning. Maria sent high-definition images of the work and notes about her creative process to several prominent European curators, and soon received invitations to exhibit at two international biennials. While these were still preliminary, they were enough to cause quite a stir within the community.
Assistant Lin became incredibly busy, overwhelmed by phone calls and emails, handling a sudden surge in media interview requests, gallery partnership inquiries, and a flood of collector inquiries. He remained efficient and calm, but the sharp gleam of a professional manager became increasingly apparent.
"Mr. Zhang, we need to develop a more systematic work release and marketing strategy." He came to me with a preliminary plan. "The current attention is an opportunity, but it also needs to be guided to avoid overconsumption."
I looked at the neatly organized proposal, which laid out the media plan, exhibition schedule, edition control, pricing structure... like a sophisticated product launch plan. For the first time, the purity of art and the operating mechanisms of the market were laid out so concretely before me, requiring me to make a choice.
"Exhibition invitations can be carefully considered, choosing those that align with the concept." I pondered for a moment, then pointed to the section on media publicity in the proposal. "But don't overdo it. The works will speak for themselves. As for the price... discuss it with the professional consultant. I trust your judgment."
I don't want to be labeled prematurely, nor do I want my work to be hijacked by market demands. But I also understand that moderate operation is necessary to allow my work to reach more people. It's a delicate balance.
Assistant Lin nodded without saying anything, putting away the plan. "I understand. I'll keep it within limits."
Wang Rui's reaction to his sudden "fame" was the most interesting. A colleague in his lab had seen the report somewhere and asked if he was the scientist who collaborated with the artist to create "stardust alloy." He was somewhat embarrassed, yet couldn't hide a hint of pride. He emailed me, saying, "I didn't expect our 'byproduct' to get more attention than our main research project."
We continue to maintain frequent technical exchanges. The success of the new material has aroused his greater research enthusiasm. He has begun to write a related academic paper and solemnly listed my name as a co-author. This formal recognition from the scientific community gives me a special sense of security.
Chen Hui's feedback was the most direct. She sent a PDF of over ten pages, a template for the submission format of a top materials science journal, with a note: "Once you've finished your paper, you can submit it here. The impact factor should be high enough to avoid being considered gossip."
Looking at the cold template and the typical "Chen Hui-style" concern, I didn't know whether to laugh or cry, but I also felt extremely benefited.
I deliberately keep the studio quiet. After I delivered Stardust Landing to its former collector, a space in the center of the studio became empty. I didn't rush to fill it with a new work, but left it empty.
I needed to process everything that came with this success—the recognition, the temptations, the pressure, and the deeper self-examination.
I picked up my sketchbook again, but instead of drawing specific structures or materials, I began drawing extremely abstract things—flowing light, spreading ripples, interweaving force fields...as if trying to capture the invisible inner energy that pushed me forward.
I've also been spending more time at the foundation. The visibility brought by my success has boosted both the number and quality of applications I receive. The review process has become more demanding, but also more rewarding. I've seen more and more young faces, filled with untamed wildness and a genuine desire to explore, attempting to respond to this complex world through art.
I tried my best to support them, not only financially, but more importantly by sharing my experience and encouraging their ideas. In this process, I seemed to have reaffirmed the original intention of my own creation.
Time slipped quietly into early summer. One ordinary Tuesday afternoon, I was staring at some chaotic lines in my sketchbook when the doorbell rang.
It was a courier. Another international package, small but exceptionally well-packaged. The sender's information was simply the name of an unfamiliar overseas gallery.
I unpacked it with some confusion. Inside was no album or materials, but a flat box wrapped in black velvet. When I opened the box, I saw a brooch.
The brooch’s shape is extremely simple yet unforgettable – it is a slightly twisted yet still basic DNA double helix structure, made of some white metal (possibly platinum or white gold) with a matte surface. Set against black velvet, it exudes a calm and mysterious glow.
There was no card in the box, no instructions.
My heart skipped a beat. The DNA double helix… It instantly reminded me of Chen Hui, her field, and her words: “Some people and some things can never, and should never, be included in calculations.”
Is that her? But this style... doesn't resemble her industrial, structural approach. This brooch, though simple, possesses an... almost biological elegance and a hidden, metaphorical warmth.
I picked up the brooch, feeling the cool coolness of the metal against my fingertips. It was light and impeccably crafted.
Who would send such a thing? What's the purpose?
I carefully examined the outer packaging of the package. The name of the sending gallery was unfamiliar, and there was very little information about it online. It seemed to be a newly established small organization focusing on the intersection of technology and art.
Mystery.
I placed the brooch on the workbench, juxtaposing it with the "Stardust Alloy" sample brought by Wang Rui and the sculpture photo of Chen Hui.
It's like a stranger who suddenly breaks in with a password.
Is it a provocation? A test? Or... another form of connection?
I stared at it, with no answer in my heart, but no uneasiness either.
Instead, there was a strange, challenging excitement.
Perhaps, the next stage will no longer be about materials or structures, but about something more essential - about life, about information, and about the most basic codes that constitute our existence.
And how we use art to interpret, intervene, and even recode it.
Outside the window, the summer sun is shining brightly.
In the studio, the small DNA brooch lies there quietly, like a silent question, waiting for a long journey to be answered through a work of art.
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