Visiting the author of ancient poetry
As agreed, the day before the exhibition, Hui Zifeng and Ming Yan went to the art museum to visit Mr. Zhao Yuwei. The museum's doors were locked. After Hui Zifeng repeatedly contacted Mr. Zhao's assistant, he was finally let in. With a smile on his face, he said, "I'm sorry, something urgent happened and I couldn't see you. Mr. Zhao is resting now, so I can talk to you."
The assistant was in his early thirties, wearing gold-rimmed glasses and a serious demeanor, like a soulless robot. Hui Zifeng had never considered striking up a conversation with anyone. Ming Yan, however, eagerly tried to inquire, but was always rebuffed with the same words, "Talk to Mr. Zhao. I'm not in a position to discuss this."
"Hey, big brother, I want to ask you when you started working with Mr. Zhao. Do you want me to ask Mr. Zhao?"
The assistant smiled but remained silent, continuing to lead the way. As they walked through the art gallery, Hui Zifeng noticed that the exhibition had already been set up, though the paintings were covered with cloth, obscuring their details. It was already five in the afternoon, nearing the end of the workday. Were they planning to keep this a secret until the exhibition opened tomorrow?
The museum's backyard is a vast garden. Rockeries and rocks line the landscape, and around a corner, you'll find a glass pavilion nestled among the flowers. Inside, wooden seating offers a private retreat where visitors can relax and enjoy tea. Beyond the rockeries, you'll pass a two-story, traditional wooden building, stretching a full fifty meters from one side of the courtyard wall to the other. In front of the building, a variety of rare flowers and plants are displayed, and strings of colorful lanterns hang overhead.
Hui Zifeng was very familiar with this place. The school held four art exhibitions there each year, providing a stage for students to showcase their talents. He still felt the place was too commercial. However, the world was essentially a vast marketplace.
Walking through the lobby of this building, a bamboo forest greets you. Beyond it is a tall bamboo wall, also thatched with grass. Continue along the gravel path until you reach its end. Turning right, you'll find a series of small buildings, serving as storage facilities. To the left, there's a hidden exit, leading to a lake.
The assistant led the two people onto the winding wooden bridge and arrived at the "Closed Observation Pavilion" in the center of the lake.
Ming Yan spoke again, "What does this "Jieguan Pavilion" mean? Is the "guan" in "Jieguan" spelled wrong? That's impossible, right? Lao Hui, what do you think?"
Hui Zifeng's mind wandered, and he didn't notice what Ming Yan was saying. This time, the assistant took the initiative and said, "Don't talk."
"Uh...?" Ming Yan was speechless, thinking that he was being blatantly admonished.
The assistant looked up at the plaque and continued with his signature smile, "Don't look, don't listen, don't think, don't do anything."
"What are you going to do?" Ming Yan was puzzled.
"rest."
The main entrance was across the street. Ming Yan's assistant walked ahead, and he deliberately slowed down to talk to Hui Zifeng. "Mr. Zhao, do you mean we shouldn't ask anything?"
"Let's go take a look first." Hui Zifeng was lost in thought, and he stumbled. He suddenly asked, "Why didn't Shuixi come?"
"Oh, you finally remembered to ask him?" Ming Yan sneered. He immediately walked to the door, where he might be heard, and hurriedly said, "Shuixi has been ill for several days."
Mr. Zhao was painting when he saw Hui Zifeng and Ming Yan appear. He put down his brush and stood to invite them to a seat. Hui Zifeng and Ming Yan bowed in thanks and sat on two stools to Mr. Zhao's left. Tea was already brewed on the table, and Ming Yan's eyes lit up. The aroma was clearly that of high-grade West Lake Longjing tea.
"Try it, you're welcome." Mr. Zhao said kindly.
Ming Yan thanked him and took a sip. As expected, this was the best of the best, something even she rarely had the pleasure of tasting.
"This is what my master brought me. I'm going to use it to entertain guests tomorrow. Let me give you some first." Mr. Zhao seemed in no hurry to talk about the important events of the day, and started talking about tea. Ming Yan talked freely.
"Mr. Ming's children are truly outstanding."
Mr. Zhao's flattery skills were no less impressive. Hui Zifeng had no chance to interrupt, so he drank his tea and looked at the unfinished painting on Mr. Zhao's desk.
The mountain path, the camellias, the waterfall, the teacher waving and beckoning below, and the girl in green—all were remarkably similar to the painting he had seen before. It was from this painting that the very thing he had been pursuing since childhood began to take shape. To this day, he still didn't know the full face of this girl who held such a fascination for him. Mr. Zhao's painting left only the green-dressed girl's features unfinished.
Mr. Zhao didn't mean to snub Hui Zifeng. He simply knew that the two students' reason for coming today was Hui Zifeng's, and he hadn't yet figured out how to respond. When he sensed something was amiss with Hui Zifeng, he couldn't delay any longer and decided to confront the challenge head-on. He asked, "Zifeng, are you interested in my paintings?"
"I've seen him somewhere else." Hui Zifeng stood up and approached the drawing table. Ming Yan, seeing this, also moved closer, and was visibly surprised. Zhao Yuwei's eyes flashed with panic, and he meaninglessly adjusted his sitting position and asked Hui Zifeng where he had seen him before.
"Mingyan, do you remember? A painting very similar to Mr. Zhao's is in your shop." Seeing that Mingyan didn't remember, Hui Zifeng continued to remind him, "It's in your shop, in the room you have to pass through to get to the attic. You hung that painting there and used it as a screen. Do you remember?"
This was a bit difficult for Ming Yan. There were so many things in the store that it was hard for her to remember anything that didn't have any unique features. Hui Zifeng was at a loss for what to do. He didn't know how else to remind her. She couldn't prove the painting really existed and it had nothing to do with it. Hui Zifeng was now eager to know why Mr. Zhao had painted such an identical painting.
"Teacher, what was your original intention in creating this painting?" He must have seen realistic paintings somewhere before, right? But Zhao Yuwei, only forty years old, had probably only seen the costumes of figures from a hundred years ago in plays. But this painting didn't have any special features, so why was he wasting his time on it?
"Have you seen this picture somewhere before? Is there anything special about the person in the painting?"
"Don't be so anxious. Sit down." Zhao Yuwei took control. After Hui Zifeng sat down, he stared at the painting in silence for a moment before saying, "I believe you when you say there's another identical painting. I've seen that painting before, and my master also painted it. It's very strange. When I was young, I met a girl, and my master would never allow me to have any contact with her. Later, I saw my master secretly painting her in the room, but he never filled in the facial features..."
"Could it be that your master is..." Having said that, it was hard for Ming Yan not to think in that direction.
"I'm not worried you'll spread rumors, so I told you the truth. Whether it's true or not, you can figure it out on your own. I'm tired." Zhao Yuwei sighed as he gazed at the lake in the distance. He continued, "The artist of this painting is a colleague of my master's father. They were teachers in a small town at the time and took their students to seek refuge in the mountains."
When Hui Zifeng heard the word "refuge", he couldn't understand how it was connected to the painting.
Zhao Yuwei saw his confusion and explained, "They were indeed seeking refuge. Yes, war was about to break out. Although they had heard many stories about the cruelty of war, it was their first personal experience, so they were still naive. Despite their advance preparations, they were among the first to die, and none survived."
"That girl in green is dead too?" Hui Zifeng was incredulous. How could a dead person, someone who had only lived for a little over a decade, leave behind so much information? Hui Zifeng's head ached. He thought, perhaps his thoughts were muddled, subconsciously fabricating an omnipresent figure to add to the story's mystique.
"My master told me that only her clothes and some personal belongings were found; her body was never found. The colleague who survived at the foot of the mountain adopted my father. One day, he came home from the street and locked himself in his room, leaving the lights on all night. According to my master, his adoptive father wasn't skilled in ink and brushwork, but he did produce several paintings the next day, one of which is like this. Several other drawings were discarded because the figures were missing faces."
"Then why is there no face in this painting of the teacher?"
Zhao Yuwei sighed. "To be honest, I don't know if it's because I'm half-hearted or something else, but the more I try to recall, the more I lose track of things. Some important items I saved before are nowhere to be found. I'm a very meticulous person, and I kept everything I wanted to keep organized and well-organized, but I just can't find them."
"I remember how to draw that picture I saw before. Would you be willing to let me have a try?"
Zhao Yuwei readily agreed, offering his seat respectfully, then leaning over to focus on the painting, eagerly anticipating it. Ming Yan was also delighted; finally, he had the chance to see this genius in action; it was a rare opportunity.
Hui Zifeng picked up his brush, confident in his thoughts, but paused before moving his brush downwards, adding a few more strokes to the camellia bush.
"Is that all?" Ming Yan was very dissatisfied. What if he couldn't do it? What was the point of showing off just now? He had wasted everyone's time waiting.
"I'm sorry, I can't draw."
"Not bad, not bad." Zhao Yuwei expressed satisfaction. "We should add a few more details here. Have you seen similar female students?"
"Not really." Hui Zifeng was reluctant to elaborate on his feelings. "I've met the son of the original artist of this painting before."
"Ah? Where is he? That's the relative my master has been looking for for most of his life! Because his adoptive father has become increasingly confused and his health has been getting worse and worse since then, so he planned to stay away from trouble and leave home to make money, but then he gradually lost contact with him and he never came back." Zhao Yuwei felt like he had found a treasure when he heard the news. He hurriedly asked about the whereabouts of the man. After Hui Zifeng gave him the address and a photo, his excitement slowly calmed down and he got back to the point.
"The original painting is now hanging in your shop, Mingyan," said Hui Zifeng.
"If this painting is of such great significance, I will call someone to send it to you right now." Ming Yan still couldn't remember where the painting was.
"When I wanted to buy it, the gentleman refused to sell it to anyone. How did you get it back, Mingyan?" Hui Zifeng asked.
Ming Yan was stumped and couldn't remember.
Hui Zifeng finally reminded, "That gentleman is nearly a hundred years old, in good spirits, with silver hair and a long beard. He should be very impressive."
"Ah!" Ming Yan remembered something. "I see. I remember now. He was indeed an impressive old man. I even took a photo with him. Look, isn't that him?"
Ming Yan pulled out the photo, and Hui Zifeng confirmed it. Zhao Yuwei, not recognizing it, simply looked at it and asked Ming Yan to send it to him. He wanted to tell his master the good news. Who could have imagined that these two brothers, separated in their twenties, would have the opportunity to meet again sixty years later?
"He came to me on his own, never expecting my shop's reputation to spread so far. He must have endured a lot of hardships, having come all this way. He told me he came all by himself. His shop and paintings had no one to inherit, so he had to find a place to preserve them. I was surprised he chose to trust me over a local art gallery. But now those paintings have a better home, right, Mr. Zhao?"
"Thank you very much," Zhao Yuwei said. He had originally come to answer questions for the two students, but unexpectedly received good news from them. Zhao Yuwei was excited, "Master will definitely be very happy."
"So, Teacher..." Hui Zifeng had to remind him of the original purpose of today's visit, "What exactly does the poem I asked you for advice on mean, 'On the Cloud-born Hall, I worship the Magpie Bridge. Whose husband is the one who comes to the pavilion this morning? The deer rides on the mountain god, but his wisdom is not as good as yours. The lion roars and plays with love, but the coffin has not yet hidden the moon.'"
Zhao Yuwei pulled a piece of white paper from the drawing tube at his feet. Written on it were the four lines of poetry Hui Zifeng had spoken, but written in modern simplified Chinese. The story behind this was about to be told.
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