The Versatile Master Artist

There were all sorts of gifts being given out.

Cosmetics, jewelry boxes, and the like.

It was really quite outrageous.

I’m a very socially anxious person, I didn’t participate in the things mentioned above, but I still managed to get some consolation gifts: a UAE cap, a UAE backpack, and something else I can’t quite remember. Anyway, as long as you take a stroll around, everyone gets something.

So.

Yet another stereotype was reinforced.

That the wealthy folks from the Middle East are really super-rich.

But I also wondered, within the same school, which truly represents their reality: the UAE party or the girl from that war-torn country?

They both can represent it.

Or perhaps neither can represent it.

Later, I learned that in places like Dubai, it’s also a city heavily troubled by fraud issues nowadays.

Every time I think of that party, it truly feels like a crystal ball.

Not just that beautiful castle.

When I look at London, it’s also like looking at a gigantic crystal ball.

It’s really beautiful there.

London has so many modern buildings, the famous London Eye, and high-end shopping centers and such. But what left the deepest impression on me was one night driving through a historic district.

The wind blew outside the windows.

The elegant and serene buildings, the wind slightly lifted the curtains, revealing a hall with wooden floors behind them, where a girl was practicing dance.

Wow.

A fleeting, passing glance.

Yet it truly felt like a dreamlike scene.

Next to the school, there was a car club, and during weekends, vacation convoys would set off.

Ferraris, Rolls-Royces, Bentleys, and an endless stream of various versions of the Porsche 911s, a convoy of a hundred luxury cars passing by, taking a full five minutes to pass by you, with a sunglass-wearing guy sitting behind every driver’s seat, some were even elderly gentlemen.

However, meanwhile, in the same city, it was also the first time in my life seeing many homeless people.

It was also my first time seeing someone homeless, just holding a piece of cardboard, with a grey and unrecognizable sleeping bag, quietly lying on the sidewalk in the night.

As I walked past her.

I stared at her face.

The strands of brownish hair hung from her ears, with her eyes closed. I wanted to say—just like asleep, but I knew what I actually thought was a more offensive phrase... just like being dead.

Her chest barely rose and fell.

Her face was frighteningly pale.

People walked past her a few meters away, yet it seemed like two completely different worlds.

I could barely discern her age, the dust of life obscured her true age, she seemed to be 35, yet also 53.

What on earth had she been through?

Did she ever have a family, children?

I couldn’t help but wonder in my mind.

I saw those homeless people the same day I saw those car convoys. The impression left by my fleeting glance at her was just as profound as the sleek hoods of those Ferraris and Porsches.

One is noisy and clamorous.

One is silent and still.

Which one is the more authentic London?

Both are.

Or perhaps neither is.

Truly like a crystal ball.

...

During college, the few universities nearby, I’m not sure if it was due to admissions policies? Every year there’s roughly one or two international students from Southeast Asia.

Thailand, Vietnam, Myanmar.

Not in my department, but I vaguely heard some ambiguous stories.

Good ones, bad ones.

Ambiguous ones.

They said that in the past, ten plus years ago? In places like Yangon or Mandalay, you could even receive Mango TV, a classmate watched Running Man growing up, and could use Taobao, just the delivery would be slower.

That certainly created common ground.

I also know that a lot of tragic things are happening there, especially in places without law and modern order, all sorts of evil things could happen... so, it still feels like a constantly changing crystal ball.

This is an art piece.

I’m not too sure I’m capable of writing about many things well.

I shouldn’t ignore the mud and mess of the world, nor do I want to write too sensationally, summarizing an entire country with just some people and events.

Of course.

That’s also a lazy excuse.

I don’t really have a concept of the ”entire nation.”

As an ordinary writer, my learning, knowledge reserve, and life experiences don’t qualify me to make moral judgments on such grand concepts.

If I must—

Fraud and crime, human trafficking are certainly the worst things.

I remembered that girl dancing on the house roof again.

If people could live happy and stable lives, capable of reading and learning well, it would definitely be good (even if it’s cramming for college entry exams at dawn).

So.

The story thus begins.

Before starting the book, I hesitated several times about whether to set the story background in Yangon or Bangkok, or a completely different main line, a version focusing on cultural relic restoration and historical crossing at Chuanshu Art Academy.

In the end.

I still chose the former, choosing the version of more intense confrontation between the protagonist and Brother Hao.

Was the story inspired to some extent by ”Unrivaled”?

Wow.

My dad really thought Chow Yun-fat was super cool, and I grew up watching movies like ”Heroic Bloodshed.”

The first volume of the story.

A young painter steadfast to his heart.

A forger of paintings.