Chapter 719 Signature

The Leyada District is the least modernized area in the city.

The Good Fortune Orphanage has been powered with electricity, yet the surrounding shantytowns remain shrouded in darkness, with candlelight and lanterns providing faint glimmers along the wet streets.

Occasional pedestrians cast long, wavering shadows beneath the weak candlelight.

Everything seems like a silent, centuries-old film reel.

No sounds, the colors are stale, flickering candle flames add an aged sepia tone to the scene before him.

There are a few breaths.

Gu Weijing can almost imagine that in the next moment, at the end of the long alley in front of the orphanage, a female painter with sunlight-colored golden-red hair and features as exquisite as a Greek statue will emerge.

She wears the kind of buttoned long dress frequently seen in Cwieg’s novels, with black lace gloves extending to her elbows, a gas lamp in one hand and a sketch pad strapped to her back, standing before the orphanage’s gate, gazing at the Holy Mother statue in the courtyard and pondering whether the scene could be captured in her painting.

Who along the river first sees the moon? In what year does the river’s moon first illuminate mankind?

On this night.

Gu Weijing stands where Lady Carol once stood, staring at the same bright moon that hung in the Myanmar sky in 1876, just gazing for a long time.

He stands by the window, cradling a tea cup, sipping slowly, waiting until the steaming amber tea in his hands cools to match the tepid night of Yangon outside.

He keeps thinking he should do something memorable.

Gu Weijing doesn’t understand drinking wine.

Attempting to copy an oil painting like “Old Church on a Stormy Day” is already too late, and he feels it would be contrived; Lady Carol doesn’t need such formulaic commemoration.

Finally, he comes up with a good idea.

Gu Weijing takes out his phone, opens the Twitter page.

The Twitter homepage defaults to the long-unused account of Detective Cat.

Gu Weijing casually clears backstage private messages, including dozens of abusive junk messages, some interview requests from unknown art tabloids, and collaboration requests from several YouTube creators.

He scrolls through the screen, clicking to delete one by one.

The only surprise is.

Among these eclectic private messages.

He finds he received an invitation from the program “The week in art”, asking if he would like to participate as a guest in the recording of their radio show.

Discussing the relationship between art and mental illness in his heart.

“The week in art” is one of the highest-subscribed columns in the art category on Apple podcasts, currently with 560,000 subscribers.

Unlike “Mr. Tree Sloth’s Art Criticism” private radio shows that follow niche boutique paths.

“The week in art” is actually the official art news channel under Christie’s auction company, making it one of the more mainstream art media outlets.

Perhaps… the favorable outcome of that salon appreciation critique led to this invitation?

You don’t know until you see it; once you do, it’s quite shocking.

Two months ago, when he registered this account, his only comment was responding to jokes about Miss Elina in the “Moonlight News.”

He hardly updated any news content; unexpectedly influenced by public opinion, he has unknowingly accumulated over 5,000 followers.

He even received an interview invitation from “The week in art”. If not for the resentments from the “Oil Painting” magazine, perhaps there’d be more similar invitations.

In the blink of an eye.

Whether famous or infamous, “Detective Cat” is already a cultural figure of some standing.

“Thank you for your invitation, but I’m sorry, I’m not planning to participate in any program recordings for now… perhaps we can cooperate in the future when the opportunity arises.”

After a few seconds of hesitation, Gu Weijing still politely and tactfully declines the invitation for “The week in art” recording.

It’s not bad for a mainstream art program to invite him to participate.

However, Gu Weijing is aware of himself.

His understanding of art trends is not much beyond that of an ordinary high school student.

Christie’s program is more serious than the chatting salons of Mr. Tree Sloth that comment on fan-submitted artworks; he can’t rely on Calligraphy and Painting Identification Skill to cheat in advance.

It’s best not to embarrass himself.

“I don’t know when there will be journalists of this caliber coming over to interview ‘Gu Weijing’ instead of ‘Detective Cat’ — perhaps at least until he actually wins an award at the Singapore Art Exhibition, then there’s a possibility?”

His mind whirling, he’s already clicked settings and switched his account.

Changing the username from “Detective Cat” to his real name “Gu Weijing”, immediately turned the account cold.

The number of followers suddenly dropped from 5,803 to 24 people.

This Twitter account was registered during a school’s self-media operation class.

Originally there were 25 followers, almost all classmates from the course.

After Mona canceled their mutual follow, it became 24 people.

The artist’s Twitter account is very important.

It represents the painter’s online presence on the internet; in the art market, fame equals money.

In the Western art world, there’s no more convenient and cost-effective way to promote oneself than on Twitter.

Most people might not attend art exhibitions more than a few times a year, but everyone looks at their phones every day.

If someone like Jean Arnou, with millions of followers, follows or unfollows someone, it becomes gossip fodder for art newspapers and fans alike.