Almighty painter

Chapter 948 Two Societies
"Alright, alright, it's all over. You'll pass the exam. You know what? I bet you'll do really well."

Gu Weijing reached out and lightly bumped fists with his roommate.

The strange thing about this world is that a person who has just collapsed and taken a deep breath behind the steering wheel of a car can, a few minutes later, be comforting another person who is on the verge of collapse from being tormented by Professor Kozens's sharp tongue in a room.

"Didn't you go out? Didn't Ed invite you?" Gu Weijing asked casually.

"I've been invited. I'm preparing for an internship in an art program. I've also signed up for a summer special course... I suggest you take it too. I heard the professor is quite approachable and will give half the class an A, making it easier to get credits—"

My roommate's thick lips moved rapidly, and he began to speak at an incredibly fast pace, like a small machine gun.

Gu Weijing stared at him for a while, smiled, and shrugged.

"Hey, Bro." The other person noticed Gu Weijing's expression, stopped talking, and tossed aside the thick book beside him.

"Today is the first day of the holiday."

Gu Weijing said.

The other person propped their feet up on the sofa and retorted, "You didn't go out to play either, did you?"

"Were you just trying to say that you think I'm a very un-Black person? That I should be out partying every day?" Victor scrutinized the other person.

Victor is a Black man who, like Gu Weijing, studies watercolor painting at the school, and is nicknamed "Professor".

Oh!

Gu Weijing raised his hands.

"That's a really..."

"Ha, that's so racist, isn't it?" Victor took a fry from the empty box on the table that he hadn't finished eating, and popped it into his mouth to chew.

"I just think you've really worked hard."

Gu Weijing sat down to one side.

“Have you heard? Ed and his crew flipped a car last month,” Victor suddenly said.

"Oh? Whose car is this?"

"I heard it was a Volvo sedan, over there on the other side of the bridge, belonging to a professor, a staff member, a student, or Ed's own... They might have drunk too much beer, might have been chewing on leaves, or might have been on some kind of fraternity initiation mission, but that's not the point."

The Black man said, "The point isn't what was done, the point is... who it was."

"who is it?"

"For example, you, or me."

Victor said, "What do you think would happen if I did this and it got out all over the school?"

"Pay back?" Gu Weijing asked.

“There is a boundary there, Bro. We live every moment within an endless series of boundaries. Some are real boundaries, like traffic lights. Others are invisible boundaries that no teacher will teach you directly in a lesson.”

The black guy turned his head, reached out and tapped the tablet screen, and the rapper's voice immediately came through the speaker again.

He adjusted the pacing of the lyrics.

"I feel like me and Talyor might still have sex. Why? I made that bitch famous..."

He pointed to the bolded lyrics on the screen.

Do you know whose song this is?

“Kanye.” Gu Weijing looked at the artist’s name on Apple Music.

“Kanye West, the most famous Black man in history, and also the richest Black man in history,” Victor said. “You see, I can’t be a racist. Let me state upfront, I don’t really believe in conspiracy theories about organized white people trying to kill all successful Black people. Dr. Kim, OG, Michael Jackson, now Kanye West… but, you know—”

“That’s a rapper?” he said.

"Let's not even mention Ye. Open Apple's Top Hits, talk about 2Pac, Puff Daddy, isn't that the style of many American rappers' lyrics? Lots of violence and ambiguous language, or expressions of anger. Look at those rappers on the East and West Coasts in the 70s and 80s, their gunfights, Americans saying 'Cool!' Gang leader killing another gang leader, Americans saying 'Cool...'"

"The US claims that rap can discuss drug trafficking, murder, and robbery in its lyrics, and you can call all women bitches and sluts. They cheer for you. People say that we should be tolerant of artists; this is the freedom of art, the victory of art."

"But one day, someone said something."

Viktor wiped his neck with his hand, making a throat-slitting gesture.

"You're 'dead.' All the big corporations just threw him out like trash and told him to shut up. Suddenly, no CEO was standing up anymore and saying, 'Oh, we should give him the right to express himself.' Twitter banned him, saying he was spreading hate speech."

"I'm not taking Kanye's side in this matter, and I won't make excuses for him, but I think he's the kind of person who has bipolar disorder. You know, he's been to a mental hospital, so it's hard to predict what he'll say. What I'm saying is that back when the West Coast and East Coast were singing songs about sending a bunch of gunmen to kill each other, if the lyrics said they'd use M1911s to shoot holes in each other's heads, wouldn't that be considered promoting hatred? Wouldn't that be much more ruthless than Kanye?"

Victor said.

"I may disagree with many of his actions, which lack respect."

"But 2PAC really did just drive out and get riddled with bullets by the rival gang!"

“That’s society for you,” Viktor said. “At the Hamburg Academy of Fine Arts, our teachers always tell you about artistic freedom. They tell you to be tolerant and respectful of every artist. You can express yourself completely and freely.”

"I highly doubt that this is a European professor's lie."

"In my view, there are bounds in the world."

“Racism, racial hatred, is a very, very, very bad thing, one of the worst things in the world. But I think lying is too.”

"University professors tell you, go have fun, enjoy your school years, GPA doesn't matter, personal ability is what really matters. If you want a gap year, go for a gap year, if you want to change majors, change majors, it doesn't matter how crazy you are, because we are a free school."

"lie."

“Maybe it’s half true, half false, but not for me,” Viktor said. “I have no right to make mistakes. That line will always be there—”

"Make some small mistakes. People will say, 'Oh, you're that kind of guy.' Make some slightly bigger mistakes. Oh, you're finished."

“I’m not entirely sure how the school will handle this. If I graffiti on a car window, the school won’t bother me; they’ll just think I’m ‘that guy.’ If I pushed that Volvo into the river, I’d be expelled. Overturning a Volvo is exactly on the line.”

"My choice is not to do it. There are two kinds of society in school: one is the kind where mistakes can be forgiven, and the other is not."

“If you don’t want to be that guy, if you want to go down a different path, if you want to become a professor-in-residence. To become a real professor, you have to put in one or two times, much more effort than white people to get the opportunities you deserve.”

Gu Weijing listened quietly.

The older man in front of him was talking animatedly, as if he were a profound thinker. Originally, he had only regarded him as a hardworking scholar.

“Gu. My friend, you need to understand that the society we live in, the country we live in, is different from what the German teacher described. I often play these songs, away from the music, to help myself remember... to remember this extremely complicated story.”

“I’ve been thinking about what the meaning of art really is,” Viktor asked.

“To speak up for the weak,” Gu Weijing replied.

"Jews suffered terribly during World War II, without a doubt, it was terrible. But Jews were never the only victims of World War II. So many massacres, tens of millions of people died. FUCK, Hitler put Jews in concentration camps. And what about Black people? His order was to execute them on sight, skipping the concentration camp step altogether. And Gypsies, and so many others?" he asked.

“This is a disaster for the world,” Gu Weijing said.

"Yes."

Victor nodded. "A catastrophe for the world."

"Jews have suffered and been treated unfairly. They turned this into works of art, made a hundred Oscar-winning films about it, and told the world that it is terrible to divide people into different classes, that it is terrible to turn people into refugees, that it is terrible to let children die shivering in the attic of a house without going to school or reading books. No matter how far you go, it is all wrong."

"Mustache, Nazi, militarism, or fasis—it shouldn't be smeared with any reason; this is the evil of the world."

"This is an unforgivable act, an act that requires the German Chancellor to kneel before the statue in Warsaw."

"The Diary of Anne Frank, what a touching work."

"But what about the millions of Palestinians living now? They are also victims of war. They have been driven from their homes."

“Any racial hatred will cause disaster. It is wrong to divide people into second-class citizens, third-class citizens, and fourth-class citizens. Isn’t this a lesson that history has taught us?”

Victor picked up the last fry from the box.

"Look, this is another line. Disliking apartheid is equivalent to hating Israel, hating Israel is equivalent to anti-Semitism, which is equivalent to supporting genocide and supporting Hitler. This is the defined discourse. This is hypocrisy. This is unfair to many people."

"This is even unfair to many Jews themselves, whether those who were persecuted in the past or many still are. People shouldn't be defined so simply. Every ethnic group, every place, has very, very good people. There are outstanding musicians, wise men, and more importantly..."

“There are also many kind-hearted ordinary people,” Gu Weijing said.

“But people never want to discuss these things. This is a much, much more serious mistake than pushing a Volvo into a lake. Once you cross that line, many people will stop talking to you about artistic freedom.”

Victor bumped fists with Gu Weijing again.

He said.

"My friend, we live in a world that is a mixture of truth and falsehood, reality and illusion."

"This place looks like a garden. If you want to take a walk and enjoy the breeze, that's fine. You can live happily like this forever. But what if some students find that they want to gain something else? Like access to the resources of the art-in-residence program, like becoming a great painter, or like becoming a professor?"

"This is a forest of flesh and blood."

"A young Asian painter who won a gold medal at the Biennale was arrested by the police for drug possession and expelled from the Hamburg Academy of Fine Arts? Not bad art news, is it?"

"Some problems are no big deal for white people who have really made a mistake. They can even be proof of a prodigal son's redemption at an awards ceremony. But for some people, that's a big problem. You'll never have the chance to stand on the podium again."

"Take care of yourself, my friend."

The professor turned and buried himself in the books on the table, seemingly determined to achieve excellent grades in the upcoming summer semester.

On the tablet computer on the table.

The speaker continued playing his lyrics at a low volume.
-
Gu Weijing pushed open the bedroom door and placed his schoolbag on a chair to the side.

After a year of living together, this was the first time Gu Weijing had spoken so much with his roommate. Victor's words flowed like a machine gun, driven by a powerful urge to confide.

This was the first time Gu Weijing had come to understand the issue from a different perspective, and to understand the country beneath his feet from a different angle.

A full year after arriving in Germany.

Gu Weijing gradually realized that this was a long-established developed country as defined by the United Nations, the engine of the European economy, and the hometown and homeland of Menzel—one of the greatest watercolor painters in history—whose first skill he acquired after obtaining the system, "Menzel's Basic Painting Techniques."

This place gave birth to a great many of the greatest artists in the history of European art.

The hamburger looks just as good as the one Gu Weijing saw in the picture.

The hamburger was not quite what Gu Weijing had imagined.

It felt like ordering food at a fast food restaurant.

The one in the picture looks incredibly similar to the one that was actually served, but I don't know why.

Too sour, too sweet, too salty, and too much wasabi was added.

Anyway, once you actually put it in your mouth, you'll gradually realize that it's completely different from what you imagined.

It's a really leisurely and relaxing place, yet full of energy. There are small bridges, ancient castles, and houses. There are many nice cars on the streets, and even an old lady can speed along the highway. Many people on the road will smile at you.

Maybe.

At some point in his life, Gu Weijing fell in love with this city.

Victor told him that this was a hypocritical place, that there were two completely different worlds here, and that this was still a forest of flesh and blood.

Gu Weijing remembered the combination lock box that Lao Yang had given him, and the inexplicable emergency call he received a few months ago.

slowly.

slowly.

Gu Weijing understood a little.

There is no heaven in the world, at least not in Hamburg. Nor is there a visa to heaven that allows people to travel to heaven simply by changing their environment.

You will always need to work hard, you will always need to face the real world, and you will always need to put in hard work to achieve what you want.

this is life.

This is the battle that is everywhere in life.

Gu Weijing took out the book next to him and looked at the gift Cao Xuan had given him.

He tidied his desk, ground the ink, and slowly wrote a large character "静" (quiet) on the rice paper.

(End of this chapter)