Chapter 689 - 315: Thoughts Like Water (Part 2)

At that time, his inferiority and fear were suppressed by Koizumi Katsuko’s tender and sweet story about Manet and Monet.

Gu Weijing also felt that, after all, with the system available to add points at any time, perhaps he was just being overly pretentious and affected.

For days, he had been struggling to figure out how to paint wisteria, but to no avail.

Until on the train, when he saw a video of a journalist interviewing Tang Ning.

Gu Weijing suddenly realized another possibility—maybe, the flowers were the same, but the people were different.

Li Bai’s prosperity like brocade, Xu Wei’s desolate bleakness, and Lady Tang Ning’s small bridge and running water, all carried deep meanings.

All were correct.

No painting technique was wrong.

It’s just that Gu Weijing couldn’t comprehend any of them, nor could he paint them.

Because when it required real comprehension to break through the bottleneck, he was neither Li Taibai, nor Xu Wenzhang, and certainly not a daughter nurtured by the thousands of spiritual charms of a Jiangnan calligraphy and painting family like Tang Ning.

The fault lay with Gu Weijing.

The fault was, he was merely a plain and unremarkable local from Yangon.

Objectively speaking, this was the most reasonable explanation for why he could never produce the work he desired.

Dragons give birth to dragons, phoenixes give birth to phoenixes.

His grandfather, Gu Tongxiang, spent his entire life stuck at the Tier One Professional bottleneck in painting, going through a whole era without making any progress.

What qualifications or abilities did Gu Weijing have to follow the path Professor Lin Tao prepared for the imagined artistic genius "Gu Weijing," read a couple of books at random, and suddenly become enlightened like a waking blow?

"Quiet, stop thinking about all these things, just paint... I need to paint... All you need to do now is to paint the wisteria well."

Gu Weijing painfully closed his eyes.

He knew that the more he thought like this, the more he got into a dead end, and the worse it became.

He tried to throw away, like taking out the trash, the echoes of thoughts and the static of self-pity ringing in his mind.

Yet Gu Weijing couldn’t do it at all.

Eastern artists emphasize tranquil and clear thinking like water. According to "Mengxi Bi Tan," Lin Bu, who had wives like plum blossoms and cranes, would bathe, burn incense, and change clothes before writing poetry and painting, all to adjust a state of immersion.

In his hasty state, the more Gu Weijing tried to sever some thoughts, the clearer the echoes in his mind became.

At first, it was the lines from the interview video that echoed in his mind.

As such echoes gradually filled every corner of his heart, the noisy little person in his mind silently transformed from Lady Tang Ning’s voice into Gu Weijing’s own voice.

"Add points, just add points and solve it. This is the path I should take. Why make things difficult for myself?"

"Others don’t know your situation, but surely I do. I know exactly my own capabilities!"

Gu Weijing breathed heavily.

He panted as he opened the system’s virtual panel; the payment for the "Little Prince" illustration task hadn’t been converted by the Jasmine Foundation into distributable free attribute points yet.

Fortunately.

He still had a little free experience points reserved for daily use of the Calligraphy and Painting Identification Skill.

Dumping the last hundred points of the gap, directly stacking the Chinese Painting Techniques to Tier Two Professional was still enough.

"Ha, outstanding techniques can’t cover up the emptiness of inspiration. That’s the biggest difference between me and Louis Troy. You might fool yourself for a while, and maybe even fool Elder Cao and some viewers, but you’ll be exposed one day. You can’t fool everyone throughout your career. Do you think adding points will help you understand the artistic meaning of a wisteria painting?"

"No, no, no, young man, this is entirely two different matters. Experience and proficiency cannot replace perception, which is the true soul of an artist."

When his gaze fell on the panel, the little person in his mind changed from self-talking in "Gu Weijing’s" voice to Tang Ning’s sneering tone.

"You’ll never become me. Mediocrity will always be mediocrity, always. Your best outcome is to become Louis Troy."

The tip of the brush Gu Weijing was holding trembled slightly, a drop of pale purple ink dripped from the pen’s tip, becoming a smear of ink on the xuan paper.

"Can’t add points. Adding points may not be the problem itself. But adding points with this mentality, this threshold will become a permanent barrier in your heart, one you’ll never be able to overcome in your lifetime."

He vaguely had this feeling.

"Mr. Gu? Are you feeling unwell?"

Sometime, Koizumi Katsuko stood beside him with concern, witnessing this scene.

Miss Sakai did not bother the bodyguard to ask for the palette and painting tools.

The girl had just taken out a deep green sketchpad.

Little Girl Mo Li played with a cat under the green shade of a big tree, while Koizumi Katsuko sat on a large stone not far away, drawing with her sketchpad.

She wanted to draft a few sketches for the image representing "Human World’s Clamor" in "The Girl Reading Poems to a Cat," and design the most suitable composition.

A few minutes ago.

Koizumi Katsuko originally wanted to ask Gu Weijing if he wanted to have something to eat at noon together.

Shengzi noticed her boyfriend’s emotions were somewhat off.

His face was too red!

Gu Weijing’s fingertips, pinching the brush, turned slightly pale, his eyes were slightly bloodshot, and he muttered restlessly to himself, his chest heaving violently with each breath.

His temples were covered in a fine layer of sweat.

"Hey, look at me, are you okay?" Miss Sakai gently raised her voice.

"No... Shengzi, don’t disturb me. Let me finish this painting. I can do it. Gu Weijing, you can definitely do it." He softly muttered to himself, staring at the white xuan paper before him, as if looking at an avalanche rushing in, one that would bury him forever if he couldn’t run out.