Almighty painter

Chapter 1011 Augustus... Fat (Part 2)

"Who is it? Who is it? Who is it? Who is playing music in the dead of night? Who has come uninvited and trespassed into my castle!"

The tyrannical and renowned Holy King, clad in a ginger-yellow robe, looked down at the hall below, his pupils narrowed into slits.

His Majesty leaned against the railing, his round head turning rapidly.

It assessed the possibility that its sudden jump would give the intruder a big fright.

Forget it.

The Holy King sensed a strong underlying sense of crisis. Its divine beastly intuition told it that offending the nun might lead to something bad.

It was breathing heavily.

With this woman back, justice is gone; with this woman back, the days of her throwing tantrums in the big house are over.

The woman is back... and its happy buffet life is over.

The Holy King felt a strong sense of sorrow and sighed deeply.

"Meow!"

The pink little tongue licked its fur. The Holy King lay flat on the ground, barely managing to roll over with its belly sticking out, further immersing the ground in the aura of the great king, but it did so with a somewhat listless attitude.

The time has come to pass the throne to someone else.

The Holy King looked at his vast kingdom and reminisced about the happy days when he was the tyrant of the ranch.

Where is Xiao Gu? Please, can you two fight one more time?

Forget it.

There was no point in thinking about it further, and things had come to this point, so the Holy King decided to take advantage of this lull and enjoy another meal.
-
"In the tenth month of winter, Gong Jia was besieged as King Cheng. The king asked to eat bear paws and died."

—Zuo Zhuan, Year 1 of Duke Wen
-
Ah Wang glanced at the dog beside him and extended an invitation to have a late-night snack together.

The dog didn't understand Awang's sadness about being usurped; it had already smelled the familiar scent in the air and was looking quite happy at the moment.

The Springer Spaniel wagged its tail incessantly, its chestnut-brown eyes gazing expectantly at its owner by the piano, one paw resting on the railing.

Forget it.

A simp is a simp. I've heard that the average brain size of a canine is only about the size of a lemon.

That stupid dog has no brains.

The tabby cat turned away disdainfully and went to eat the leftover cod cat food from dinner.

August turned his head dismissively, watching the round tabby cat stroll into the corridor, and muttered something under his breath.

"Wang."

Felines are, after all, lower animals; I've heard that on average, their brains aren't even as big as a lemon.

The word "stupid" is the only word.

Look, they are simply incapable of understanding complex emotions, let alone appreciating "art".

August felt pity and sympathy for Awang's crude artistic taste. After thinking for a moment, just as he had done countless times before, he took a step, licked the corner of his mouth with his pink tongue, and skillfully strolled downstairs with a "tap, tap, tap" sound.

"Wang."

Come to the living room.

It obediently lay down on the carpet and greeted Miss Elena.

……

"Hello, August, please wait a moment, I'll be finished playing soon."

Miss Elena strummed a series of notes with one hand, quickly flipped through a page of sheet music with her left hand, and casually remarked.

Her eyes were fixed on the musical staff, but just as August could sense her presence, the woman also sensed the arrival of her beloved dog, and she couldn't help but smile.

Anna turned her head and quickly nodded to August as a greeting.

Then he continued playing the piano earnestly.

very nice.

Miss Elena thought to herself that no matter how things changed, her August would always remain exactly the same as before.

That jet-black forehead, that fluffy and soft hair, that white downy hair on the chest with a few freckles, those slightly rustic big ears, and that slender, elegant, and agile figure... um... hmm?

After a few more bars of music were played, the woman's fingers trembled slightly.

Anna recalled the dog she had just seen.

Unquestionable.

That was, of course, her own Springer Spaniel, but somehow, Miss Elena seemed to have seen something in that fleeting glance that she couldn't understand.

She looked away from the music stand and glanced at August.

August grinned at her.

"Yes, it's my own dog."

Miss Elena glanced at August a third time, then a fourth, and a fifth.

"Boom!"

As the syllable fell heavily, Anna's gaze, like a radar detector locking onto a target, finally locked firmly onto the Springer Spaniel.

His jet-black forehead, his fluffy and soft hair, his fair chest with a few freckles, his slightly rustic, big, protruding ears, and his plump figure with a little belly.

???

Miss Elena has stopped playing the piano.

She turned to the side.

“August!” she called out.

August immediately stood up and ran over happily. It wagged its tail and was very intelligent. It stood upright and raised its front legs, nuzzling its fluffy head affectionately against its mistress's chest.

Its throat gurgled and whimpered, making friendly, repetitive syllables, as if saying to Miss Elena, "You played so well," "You played so well."

Anna scratched its ears and chin with her fingers.

Then he reached out and touched August's soft belly.

"August..."

Miss Elena said in disbelief, "It wasn't very clear on camera, but she really did lie on the carpet next to you and throw herself into your arms." Anna finally confirmed it.

"Oh my god, you've gained so much weight."
-
On a pasture outside Hamburg, Anna was playing the piano when the now-fat August, sniffing the air, came running.

In the desert next to Dubai.

Yang Dekang was observing the stars at night.

Ah, those brilliant stars—

Mr. Yang stood in the camp and murmured softly.

"The weather is great tonight, there are so many stars." A passerby overheard Yang Dekang's remark. "Poets always believe that the stars hold all the secrets of the world. Many ancient civilizations had astrologers, and legend has it that experienced travelers could predict future weather by looking at the stars."

The guest casually remarked, "However, modern city dwellers no longer possess such skills."

"Tomorrow will be cloudy, and the high temperature will probably be slightly lower than today. The daytime perceived temperature will be around 35 degrees Celsius." The middle-aged man studied the sky.

His eyes narrowed slightly.

"Is it going to rain?" he murmured to the Milky Way.

"Seriously." The guest next to him was startled. "This is the UAE, does it rain in the desert?"

"It will rain, and occasionally it will be torrential rain."

Yang Dekang tilted his head back at a 45-degree angle, gazing at the brilliant stars in the night sky.

"But not tomorrow."

Is that the Big Dipper?

He muttered, then shook his head, "Tomorrow it will just be windy, around level three or four, and the UV intensity won't be low, so... be careful to protect yourself from sand and sun."

He took a bite of the kebab in his hand, reminded his companion beside him, and then stared intently at the Milky Way for a few seconds.

“That’s right.” “That’s the Big Dipper.” The middle-aged man nodded, uttering a prophecy in the face of the mysterious cosmic code, and then turned and left with a flourish.

One of the guests in the same tour group who came to go dune bashing was a programmer partner at a small Silicon Valley company. He didn't believe in this at first, but the way it was done was just too cool and impressive.

His body trembled violently.

It shook again and again.

He stood where the middle-aged man had just stood, gazing at the starry sky, seemingly mesmerized.

The Big Dipper?

Which one is Ursa Major? Are there really people in the world that powerful? It's like watching the weather forecast.

That's awesome, Bro.

……

Yang Dekang, who had just checked the weather forecast and was enjoying a barbecue while stargazing at the night sky, was unaware that his daily casual gestures, radiating an aura of dominance, had intimidated a Silicon Valley programmer who, upon returning to China, developed a strong interest in the mysterious art of astrology. The programmer eventually became a business astronomy enthusiast and enjoyed vividly recounting on online forums how he had encountered a mysterious master who could predict even the intensity of ultraviolet radiation with just a glance at the stars.

Yang Dekang walked through the camp.

He pondered for a moment, and then, just as he had thought of countless times before, he took a step, licked his lips with his big pink tongue, and skillfully strolled toward a tent with a "tap, tap, tap" sound.

"what!"

We entered the tent-like room.

Old Yang obediently pulled up a chair, sat down, and greeted Gu Weijing.

……

"Hello, Brother Yang, please wait a moment, I'll finish drawing right away."

The young artist held an oil pastel in one hand, lightly applying color, and casually remarked.

Gu Weijing's eyes were fixed on the drawing board. The tent was quiet, like a different world from the bonfire barbecue dinner outside. He heard the sound of the curtain being opened and knew that a guest had arrived.

The artist turned his head and quickly nodded to Yang Dekang, as if to say hello.

Then he continued drawing diligently.

very nice.

Mr. Gu thought to himself that no matter how the world changes, Brother Yang's extraordinary and unique temperament will never change.

The slightly curly, jet-black hair, the oily cheeks, the chin tilted at a 45-degree angle, the strange yet cool style, and the plump little belly were the finishing touch.

Mr. Sakai's dumpling-like physique makes him seem too soft and cute.

On the contrary, Teacher Yang's small belly is more purely oily.

Gu Weijing made a few light strokes on the paper, his fingers trembling slightly.

The young painter recalled the middle-aged man he had just seen.

Unquestionable.

That was, of course, Yang Dekang, whom he knew well. But somehow, the painter seemed to have seen something in that fleeting glance that he couldn't understand.

He looked away from the drawing board and glanced at Mr. Yang.

Yang Dekang grinned at him.

"Yes, it's the same old Brother Yang."

Gu Weijing couldn't help but glance at Yang Dekang a third time, then a fourth, and a fifth.

"Boom!"

Gu Weijing placed the oil pastels beside him, and finally, the painter's gaze, like a radar detector locking onto a target, firmly locked onto Yang Dekang.

Slightly curly, jet-black hair, oily cheeks, a chin tilted at a 45-degree angle, a strangely tacky yet cool hairstyle, and a plump little belly.

Both are correct.

But... that smile.

It looks even oilier.

Models love to be depicted by good artists, and good artists are also tirelessly searching for models.

A good model doesn't necessarily conform to the conventional definition of "beauty." Having a unique temperament can also make one an excellent model. Gu Tongxiang, who loves photography, pointed out to Gu Weijing a long time ago that those who carry cameras and take pictures of young girls on the street are all amateur photographers. Those who hold up their lenses and look for sunsets, bus stops, bald old men... those are the real high-level photographers, and they can be called true photographers.

He had always thought that Teacher Yang was the "Supreme Master of Oil," so oily that he was invincible.

did not expect.

It's unbelievable that a smile could add fuel to the fire.

Every time Gu Weijing glanced at Lao Yang, Lao Yang's smile became even more greasy. By this moment, his smile seemed to make the entire oil field reserves of the UAE look dull and insignificant.

???

Gu Weijing has stopped painting.

"Brother Yang!" he asked tentatively.

Yang Dekang immediately stood up and strolled over happily. He shook his head as if he could sense what Gu Weijing was thinking, and handed over the large skewers of grilled meat dripping with oil from the plate in his hand.

I also craned my neck to look at Gu Weijing's drawing board.

"Oh. I'm drawing."

Old Yang gulped down and uttered a friendly, repetitive syllable, commenting, "It's really well drawn."

"Ah."

“It’s a really nice painting.”

"Did you need something from me?" Gu Weijing declined the roasted meat on the plate.

"It's nothing, it's nothing." Yang Dekang wiggled his belly, thought for a moment, and tentatively asked, "Is this a painting for a gallery?"

"Not really."

Gu Weijing said, "I just drew it for fun."

"Like this, oh."

Yang Dekang nodded.

"I heard... that the contracts with the Ma Shi Gallery are quite lenient, with no requirements for artists donating their works privately. However, if there is a commercial sale during the three-year contract period, it must be done through the gallery?"

Yang Dekang blinked tentatively – Did you understand? Brother Yang is targeting you, Brother Yang is targeting you.

Gu Weijing nodded.

"Forget about this one. If Brother Yang wants it, I'll paint one for you separately."

Get on the road!

"That would be so embarrassing."

Yang Dekang spoke shyly, but his face was beaming.

"Wait, will this outfit suit me? I need to wear sunglasses too. Yeah, it needs to look cool, manly, and have that vibe. It would be even better if it could highlight that vibe... Oh... right, I also want that painting from before. Hmm, I hope Brother Yang doesn't mind... Hmm, it would be best if you signed it in the corner of the paper—"

"A gift to my friend Yang Dekang."

"Yes, if you're willing, you can write one and give it to your dear brother Yang Dekang. Hmm, and add a line of poetry, like Turner or something, when they're passionate about painting, they like to add a line of poetry in the corner of the page."

"Can't write?"

Yang Dekang patted his chest confidently.

"It's alright, it's alright, Brother Yang can write. Brother Yang will teach you. Let's use Keats's poems, there's one that praises a handsome face—"

Anna is playing the piano for August.

Gu Weijing is drawing a picture for Brother Yang.

then,

Their first solo art exhibition thus came to an end.

(End of this chapter)