Almighty painter

Chapter 1056 Deep Blue, add points.

"The person hasn't been found yet?"

The man looked at the English sign next to the photo that read "Still missing," then at the curvaceous woman next to the cool guy, shook his head and said, "What a pity. I've always liked his work."

"You even got his name wrong, Bro," the guy next to me pointed out.

“But I have an artist’s soul, and I am an artist too,” the homeless man said. “Good artists always appreciate each other.”

The man stared at the grayish-brown newspaper, which resembled dirty snowflakes, turning black and melting in the leaping flames.

"I always felt that he looked a little familiar."

He picked at the itchy pimple root on his chin with the tip of his thumb.

“I know where he is.”

Someone suddenly said.

Everyone immediately turned to look at the guy who had suddenly spoken. His voice was low and he was staring intently at the firelight.

"seriously?"

The person who picked up the newspaper immediately asked, then shook his head.

"No, shit, no way."

"The news says anyone who can provide reliable information will receive a $50 reward from Hunter Bull's family. Why didn't you claim the money?"

"Shh..." The man nervously put his finger to his lips, making a shushing gesture, and looked around.

“Be careful, someone is listening to us,” he said.

"FBI."

The crowd initially didn't believe him, but his appearance made them a little nervous.

“Y2K,” he said. “Do you know about the Y2K bug? Current computer systems can’t recognize the new century’s calendar. When the clock jumps from 11:59:59 to midnight, all electronic systems will collapse. Hospitals, banks, governments… planes will fall from the sky, and nuclear bombs in missile silos will detonate directly. This is the end of civilized society.”

"Hunter understood this point, and he was taken away by a UFO."

The man took a swig of the suspicious liquid from the filthy flask and glanced at the old watch on his wrist. "At that time, only a purely mechanical watch like this will still work properly."

The bystanders couldn't hold back any longer and wanted to interject with something.

The man took another sip of his drink and glanced at his watch: "Now, there are 1 minute and 35 seconds left until that moment."

"100".

50.

30.

“20…10…” He put the bottle aside, stretched out his palm, and curled up one finger for each number he counted.

"5, 4, 3, 2, 1."

"Bang!"

His fingers suddenly spread open.

Everyone stared at him as if he were an idiot, thinking that even among the homeless, this guy was really crazy.

"What the hell—" The man who had taken the newspaper first felt embarrassed that they had been held captive by a madman for more than a minute, and he wanted to curse.

Bang!

Suddenly, a thunderous roar erupted, and a series of explosions illuminated the entire night sky like lightning.

"WTF!"

This guy was so scared he almost peed himself.

He lunged forward and landed on the ground, covering his head and looking in the direction from which the explosion came.

Fireworks lit up the sky one after another, the magnesium powder in the gunpowder emitted dazzling colors under the high temperature, and the spire of the Empire State Building looked magnificent and majestic amidst the fireworks and snow.

As New Yorkers celebrated the arrival of the new millennium, they set off a New Year's Eve fireworks display. The madman's watch was indeed a mechanical watch, so it was inaccurate, running almost ten seconds fast.

damn it.

The man was embarrassed and at a loss for what to do, while the others around him burst into laughter.

The man who had initially said he seemed to have seen Hunter Bull was standing by the fireplace. He had actually been quite frightened by the explosion, and this interruption had made him forget what he originally wanted to say.

He probably misremembered.

How is this possible?

He glanced at the fireworks exploding overhead, then lowered his head again and slowly warmed himself by the gasoline drum.

If you love someone, let them come to New York; it's paradise.

If you hate someone, send them to New York, this is hell.

The chimes of Times Square, the Empire State Building overlooking the world, the twin towers of the World Trade Center, each 110 stories high—this place is steeped in countless myths of wealth. It is the second art capital of the West after Paris.

Meanwhile, snow is falling in the shadowy corners of the city, and countless stories of the downtrodden are buried, frozen, illuminated, and burning in the burning gasoline drums under the bridges.

Success is a paradise for successful people.

Failure is hell for losers.

Everything felt very New York, the city that inspired the comic book "Gotham".

UFOs, Area 51, sixth kind of contact, Y2K crisis, nuclear explosion, civilization collapse, doomsday survivalism... everything seems to be happening in America at the end of the century.

1899.

Vienna at the end of the century was a microcosm of European civilization. It was more like the heart of an empire than Paris. The steaming brown liquid in the cafes was the blood that the heart was constantly pumping. On the surface, it was a prosperous golden age, a flowing feast, but in reality, undercurrents were surging.

1999.

New York City at the end of the century was a microcosm of North America. It was more like the heart of an empire than Washington, D.C. Stocks soared on the exchange, and Friends played on television. On the surface, it was a prosperous golden age, a moveable feast, but in reality, undercurrents were surging.

And somewhere in this heart.

On a bench a few dozen meters away from the gasoline drum, a bearded man wearing a greasy thick coat lay on the bench. A kind person once ran over to see if he had accidentally frozen to death.

but.

He was actually just asleep.

now.

He was awakened by the New Year's Eve fireworks display, and moved his hand to pull back the newspaper covering his face.

“...The famous artist 'Elvis' Hunter Bull has been missing for more than two months…” The man rubbed the sleep from the corner of his eye.

Aside from the somewhat similar cheekbone lines, even with the photo right next to him, it seemed impossible for anyone to recognize this dirty-looking man as the same person as the glamorous guy in the newspaper.

He crumpled the newspaper into a ball, tossed it aside, sat up on the bench, and stared at the New York sky, something he had often done during the two months he had spent wandering like a ghost.

He looked like he was watching fireworks.

Reality.

He was staring at the screen in front of him. The artist felt that it looked a lot like the character panel in Diablo, the very popular game developed by an internet company called Blizzard Entertainment three years ago.

[Character: Hunter Bull]

Character Panel —

[Sketching Technique: lv.7 Master Tier 1 (57247/100000)]

[Oil Painting Technique: Level 7 Master Tier 1 (18961/100000)]

[Plaster Sculpture: Lv.6, Class 3 (13521/50000)]

[Metal Sculpture: Lv.7 Master Tier 1 (10238/100000)]

Miscellaneous Panel —

[Crayon Drawings: Master Level]

Watercolor painting: Excellent grade

Skill Panel —

[The Art of Painting and Calligraphy Authentication: A Legendary Journey], [The Complete Guide to Oil Painting Techniques by James Whistler], [Fragments of Pre-Raphaelite Ghosts...]

Knowledge Cards —

[Auguste Rodin's Surface Texture Techniques in Direct Sculpture]

【…】
-
7 years ago.

Marienburg, Lower Saxony, Germany.

The first day of the opening of the art museum under the Elena Family Foundation.

The guests in the corner of the press area watched as the blond man in a suit, carrying a framed portrait of Leonardo da Vinci, strode onto the stage, craned his neck, and spoke into the microphone—

"This is the real Leonardo da Vinci!"

"for real?"

People were whispering in the press area.

"If I'm not mistaken, he's making sarcastic remarks about 'The Savior' somewhere. I reckon someone's going to be unhappy about this."

“The Elena family has the right to say that.”

"Sour grapes."

"No way, the Elena family isn't short of that money." "No, no, no, that's five hundred million dollars! The Elena family isn't short of paintings, but their ability to convert them into cash is a different story. Besides, just because the Elena family isn't short of money doesn't mean he isn't. Want to hear some gossip...?"

……

The guest recognized the man holding the painting on stage; his name seemed to be Kara. If he remembered correctly, the man was a member of a branch of the Elena family.

I heard it's a character who used to gamble away fortunes at casinos in Monaco.

They linger in theaters, brothels, and racecourses, then turn around and discuss art in salons.

"What a spendthrift heir, exuding classic European charm!" a guest exclaimed in admiration. "The Elena family is truly steeped in old-school style!"

If this had happened many years ago...

Maybe they can still become good friends.

"...I have read Leonardo da Vinci's journal. As an alchemy enthusiast, he himself scoffed at the secret techniques of transforming gold. He believed that those who were keen on creating all things through alchemy should be strongly condemned."

"Because they promised to make real gold and silver, but they only deceived people with fake metals and minerals."

"Alchemy is just empty talk."

"..."

The guest shook his head, sounding utterly bored.

Boring.

he thinks.
-
The afternoon marked the first time Marin Castle had been opened to visitors since its renovation.

Everything was done very formally.

"Sir, may I ask if you can go through security?" A museum security guard stopped a man wearing a media personnel visitor card.

The man nodded.

"Would it be convenient for you to take off your hat?"

The security guard, holding a scanner, asked.

The somewhat silent man continued to nod, then took off his hat, revealing a full head of fluffy, jet-black hair.

"Thank you."

The security guard glanced at his name tag again, which showed that he was a YouTuber from Germany who had been invited by the museum as a social media professional.

"I hope you have a pleasant visit today, Mr. Anderson."

Hunter Bull nodded, put his hat back on, put his hands behind his back, and stepped into the ancient palace.

When he disappeared from the public eye, he was just over forty years old. In today's internet environment, someone that age might already be called "Old Tom Cruise." But considering that forty-year-old Tom Cruise could still play a charming rich young man, the profession of painter is prone to polarization.

They either live very short lives or live extremely long lives.

So at that time, he could even be considered a "young painter" with some difficulty.

But now.

Twenty years have passed in the blink of an eye.

He is over sixty years old this year.

Twenty years of wandering like a lost soul not only did not destroy his health, something his previous life of debauchery lacked, but instead gave him a robust physique tempered by wind and rain and bathed in sunlight.

Hunter Bull still exudes that youthful vigor and vitality.

Another benefit and skill derived from his two decades of wandering incognito is that Hunter Bull has become very adept at hiding himself.

In fact.

This process may be much simpler than many people imagine, and it doesn't require the dramatic contrast between Kazunari Sakai's before and after weight loss.

in other words.

Creating a sense of contrast doesn't require a 200-pound belly. There are far more people in this world who define who someone is by their clothes, accessories, skin color, etc., than people imagine.

In many people's eyes, they are just as noticeable as a 200-pound belly.

It's like dating apps like Tinder, where you can spend an entire afternoon editing your profile, but people only have a fraction of a second to decide whether to swipe left or right.

In the first forty years of his life, Hunter Bull learned the secret to making himself shine.

The next twenty years.

Hunter Bull, on the other hand, was learning how to become part of the shadows.

Coincidentally.

Hunter Bull succeeded in both things, and in both, he was a true master.

Even today, the social media is probably more familiar with the radiant Elvis Presley of 1999 that remains in our memories.

and so.

He put on a wig, changed into height-increasing insoles, and wore a mask, then mingled with the visiting media. The reporters, known for their sharp eyes, all kept their eyes fixed on the stage.

Surprisingly, no one recognized that a legendary star in art history was sitting next to them.

Oh.

In fact, it wasn't that no one recognized him.

Mr. Bull, or as he is now called "Mario Anderson" according to his identity card, paused slightly.

When the show ended earlier.

A middle-aged man with a belly was playing with a dog on the lawn when he suddenly looked up at Bull as if struck by a sudden inspiration.

Their eyes met for only a moment.

With his keen artistic sense, Hunter Bull still noticed that the other person recognized him instantly.

On that large ship in Singapore, the moment Gu Weijing made eye contact with the robbers disguised as crew members, he sensed something was amiss.

Eyes.

Everyone's eyes are different.

Some people's eyes are always filled with a hazy mist, some people's eyes hold a vast ocean, and some people's eyes... might even hold a cowboy from the West.

The moment his eyes met Hunter Bull's, the guy's gaze was like a cowboy spotting a bounty poster on a town wall.

"Cool!"

The revolver was already pulled out of his crotch.

The man felt that the other person had almost said "Mr. Bull" but didn't, smiled at him, and then lowered his head to continue petting the dog.

"Cool!"

The revolver was tucked back into his crotch.

"A rather interesting person," Hunter Bull thought to himself.

……

Outside the museum.

"Hey, hehe, do you know who I just saw?"

In the square of the Château de la Mas, the dog dragged Yang Dekang to find Gu Weijing.

"Who?" Gu Weijing asked in return.

Teacher Yang fully grasped the essence of August's tactics: if he couldn't win a direct confrontation, he was adept at tattling. The dog couldn't outmaneuver Awang, so it wiggled its rear and snatched Anna away.

Old Yang also couldn't figure out what Hunter Bull was up to.

He wiggled his hips, turned around, and found Gu Weijing.

Who the hell is Mario Anderson?
These days, masquerade balls aren't fashionable anymore. How come these people are all doing it so elaborately, playing role-playing games like crazy?

Is it possible that Mr. Yang is too innocent and naive to become a great artist and can't keep up with the times?

Yang Dekang hummed the background music "I'm still the same boy I used to be" in his mind as he pondered the matter seriously.

“That… Hunter Bull,” he said.

Gu Weijing was stunned for a moment.

"No way, I checked the guest list, and he wasn't on it. *Oil Painting* magazine did send someone, but it should have been an associate art director—"

“It wasn’t ‘Oil Painting’. I saw his name tag, which had a different name on it, saying something about a self-media video creator.”

"You must have misread it. Why would he do that?" Gu Weijing questioned.

"Maybe." Old Yang thought for a moment, then shook his head. "No, I think that's him, but I don't understand why he would do that. That's why I came to ask you. I thought it was some kind of special arrangement by the museum."

The young man spread his hands.

"It was definitely not arranged by the museum."

“If what you’re saying is true, then I don’t understand either,” Gu Weijing said. “Given Hunter Bull’s status, he could come in without an invitation. It’s an honor for him to come, and even Anna, the curator, can accompany him on the tour.”
-
Because it's an internal media exhibition.

Considering the overall capacity of Marien Castle, the number of visitors in the exhibition halls was not large. The large group of guests who gave Anna's speech in the square looked like one or two small goldfish swimming in a bathtub when placed in the entire museum's exhibition halls.

Hunter Bull strolled through the exhibition hall.

Unlike those media professionals who have writing or photography assignments, he wasn't in a hurry at all. He patiently waited for all the real reporters taking photos and the real content creators shooting videos in front of Hall 1 to finish their work and disperse.

Mr. Elvis then slowly strolled to the front of the display stand and looked at the two paintings in the display case.

(End of this chapter)