Almighty painter

Chapter 950 The old man brandished his small leather whip
Old Gu was really good at handling things. Mrs. Jin was stunned at first, but then a look of surprise appeared on her face.

Despite being over sixty years old and widowed for more than ten years, she was only around fifty years old in Old Man Gu's eyes. She was past the age of blushing when chatting, but she still inadvertently showed a dignified shyness.

pity.

Gu Tongxiang admires Hemingway, not Marguerite Duras, and follows the tough guy route.

otherwise.

I'm afraid Mr. Gu will put down his paintbrush, pick up a book, and start reciting, "I love your weathered face more than your youthful beauty—" No, there's no need for that. Mrs. Jin's fiftieth birthday has long passed, yet she still possesses a serene temperament, far removed from words like "weathered" or "ravaged by time."

People are never defined solely by their appearance.

Even though Old Gu has gone bald, he still looks like a cool and great painter, even when he's wearing a hat, walking his cat... or being walked by his cat.
“Then… at least let me treat you to a meal. Otherwise, I won’t be able to accept your painting,” Mrs. Jin insisted, her gaze falling on Awang on the table, a smile appearing on her face. “Bring this young lady along; I know a nice Mexican restaurant near Hyde Park, I can make a reservation—”

"Waves surge, waves flow, waves, waves, waves, waves..."

Just then, Gu Tongxiang's phone rang in his pocket. He took it out, glanced at it, and made an apologetic gesture to Mrs. Jin beside him.

"Sorry, I'll talk to you in a moment."

“My grandson wants to make a video call to me.”

Gu Tongxiang gave an apologetic smile, then answered the phone with a click.

"Ah."

"Yes, I'm outside. Yes, Awang is fine. Wait a minute, I'll turn on the camera for you." Gu Tongxiang held up his phone and waved it in front of the cat.

Then he put the phone back to his ear.

"Um, um, you have something to ask me, right... I'm listening... Okay..."

"..."

"Hold on."

Gu Tongxiang was on the phone, while Mrs. Jin, who had nothing to do, sat to the side. The old lady was feeding Awang with cat food she had specially bought. Suddenly, the artist on the phone behind the easel switched to English.

"If you ask me what the secret is to maintaining my drawing practice and staying diligent?"

Mrs. Jin watched as Gu Tongxiang casually picked up a Hemingway painting from the easel, placed his phone on the coffee table, and turned on the speakerphone.

"Leche!" (Spanish slang, "Go to hell!")

Gu Tongxiang took out his reading glasses, put them on, focused his breath, and slowly recited: "Enrique said this: 'Everyone is afraid, but bullfighters are different. A true bullfighter can suppress the fear that arises in his heart, so he can provoke the bull... You, Parker, a country boy, in the bullring, you will be more afraid than I am. You will be trembling uncontrollably—'"

“Go to hell,” Parker retorted.

Mrs. Jin watched all of this with great interest—

An elderly artist is teaching her grandson using a method that she finds profound and mysterious.

Mrs. Jin listened for a few minutes.

As a widowed, artistic old lady whose children are all grown up, she had attended several podcast book clubs. The "Enrique" and "Parker" in Gu Tongxiang's words, as well as the name "Ernest Miller Hemingway" in the book, made her think that the old gentleman in the hat in front of her was reading "The Capital of the World".

A somewhat brutal short story about bullfighting by Hemingway.

“You only thought of the cow, but you didn’t think of the cow’s horns… A cow’s horns can cut a person like a dagger, stab a person like a bayonet, and kill a person like a club.” Gu Tongxiang stood in the sunset in the park, cleared his throat, and said in a fiery tone with a hint of contempt, “Enrique said, opening the drawer.”

The old man in front of Mrs. Jin clenched his fist tightly.

It was as if, while he was studying, he had actually pulled out a dagger, a bayonet, and a club from a non-existent drawer.

"Enrique took two gleaming meat cleavers from the drawer. 'I'll tie these two knives to the legs of a chair, then raise the chair to my forehead to play the bull. The knives will be the bull's horns. If you can still do those moves and charge at me, then you'll really have some skill.'"

Gu Tongxiang finished reading the book and closed it.

"Now, for the sake of the scriptures, do you understand?"

The old man asked.

He listened for a couple of minutes and said, "I won't tell you if it's right or wrong. You have to think about it carefully yourself, really think about it. Read more books, read more Hemingway."

"The only thing I can tell you is... given the choice between being a second-rate bullfighter and a truly brave bullfighter, I always choose the latter."

"Every Time!"

Gu Tongxiang swung his fist forcefully.

Then the old man went on and on with a series of "uh-huhs".

"Okay, I'll remember to weigh Awang every week... Okay, okay, bye." Gu Tongxiang smacked his lips and hung up the phone.

He smiled at the old woman in the dark blue dress standing to the side.

Pat the book next to you.

Hemingway, Mua, Mua, I love you! Old Gu thought he was really cool just now.

"Excuse me," the old man chuckled softly again, "Where were we?"

"Reading Hemingway to your grandson?" Mrs. Jin shrugged, her fingertips pinching her round-brimmed hat with a pink bow decoration that she had brought from home on her knee. "Mr. Gu, this is truly a rare way of communicating with your child."

“My grandson is having a solo art exhibition, and it’s quite large.”

Gu Tongxiang mentally calculated that it wasn't the right time to show off his grandson's exhibition at the Louvre.

"He's under a lot of pressure. He wanted to call and ask for some life advice."

Old Gu shrugged.

That air about him—it was as if he often played the role of a life mentor to his grandson at home.

"Young people, there are always things they can't handle."

"Mr. Gu, your grandson—"

“Wei Jing, have I mentioned him before? I'm sorry, his name is Gu Wei Jing,” Gu Tongxiang said.

"Is Gu Weijing organizing some kind of literary book exhibition?" Mrs. Jin asked, her curiosity growing.

"An art exhibition." The old man scratched his head, looking somewhat helpless. "When he was little, I taught him how to draw stroke by stroke. As he grew older, I taught him how to do things little by little. Now, he's almost twenty years old, and he's a fully grown adult."

“There are some things that I can no longer teach him like I would a child.”

Gu Tongxiang said.

“He’s no longer a little boy, he’s a man. Just like me.” Gu Tongxiang raised his chin, indicating that what had just happened was a conversation between men.

"So...you read Hemingway to him."

"I can only try to teach him how to face life." Gu Tongxiang's tone was super cool in front of the "young lady".

Mrs. Jin's eyes showed an expression of admiration, mixed with incomprehension and confusion.

"Mr. Gu."

After a moment's hesitation, the dignified old lady couldn't help but remind her, "The World Capital... that's a tragedy." She pinched her fingers.

"If I remember correctly, Parker wanted to be a bullfighter, and Enrique raised a dagger, saying that only if he dared to charge at the dagger would he be a true bullfighter. So Parker tied his kitchen apron around his waist and charged—"

“Then he died,” Gu Tongxiang said.

"Yes."

Mrs. Jin nodded.

Parker failed to dodge the knife on the chair, and so he died. What grandfather would tell such a story to his grandson as an inspirational tale?

"This is not a normal art exhibition suggestion. Ms. Jin, this is not a normal art suggestion in the first place."

Gu Tongxiang said.

"Gu Weijing has many, many people around him. He has teachers who are far, far better than me, and agents who are far more professional than me. If I were to go and teach Gu Weijing how to organize an art exhibition, it would obviously be making things worse, and that would not be appropriate."

"Facing life?" Mrs. Jin asked.

"Face life with certainty," Gu Tongxiang said firmly.

“I think whether it’s a tragedy or not often depends on how you look at the story. In that Madrid apartment, there were many disillusioned bullfighters. Enrique had agility and could do four beautiful, slow-motion gypsy-style bull-fighting moves in a second, and then put his cape back on his waist.”

"But he was washing dishes in a restaurant. He was a third-rate bullfighter his whole life. When he actually participated in a bullfight, an amateur bull charged at him. He was terrified, so he turned and ran away."

“Parker charged forward, and in that moment, he became the real bullfighter in the apartment.”

"'The bull'—for Weijing, it represents confusion, the art exhibition, and life itself," Gu Tongxiang said. "If I were a truly powerful person, I would stand in front of him and stop the bull's horns with one hand. Unfortunately, I don't have that ability. I can't give Gu Weijing an artistic answer."

“I can’t tell Gu Weijing whether the art exhibition will be a success or a failure. My grandson doesn’t need me to tell him, ‘Grandpa believes in you, the exhibition will definitely be a great success!’ That’s not what he needs. Just like neither Parker nor Enrique can know whether Parker can dodge the knife.”

"This isn't about whether you can dodge a sharp knife or not. It's about choosing to be Parker or Enrique."

"If he wants to be a bullfighter, he can't face the docile bull of his imagination; he has to face the real bull charging with horns. If he wants to put on a good art exhibition, he can't run away from it. If he wants to be a real man, he can't run away from life."

"He has to take responsibility!"

"This is my life experience. It's hard for people to choose how to face the outcome of life; they can only choose how to face it."

Gu Tongxiang crossed his arms and leaned back tactically.

Mrs. Jin, standing next to him, looked at Old Man Gu with eyes that practically sparkled with adoration.

"Mr. Gu, you are truly a tough guy."

Let's go have dinner together.

……

Fifteen minutes later.

The real tough guy, Gu, packed up all his art supplies, grabbed the cat leash, and was ready to happily head to the Mexican restaurant.

"Meow!"

Awang called out lazily.

Old Gu, who was instructing his grandson on the phone and boasted that he would always charge at the bull's horns, no matter if it was a dagger, a bayonet, or an iron rod, shuddered.

As if under a mind-control spell, he spread his hands.

Awang nodded in satisfaction after seeing Old Gu bow "humbly," then kicked off with his hind legs and jumped into Gu Tongxiang's arms.

I'm tired.

I don't want to walk by myself.

I want a hug.

"Meow."

Awang wagged its tail, signaling to Old Gu that he could get going.

With a bitter face, Gu Tongxiang picked up Awang and chased after them, feeling that his old back would eventually give out.

What he held in his arms was something far more powerful than a dagger, bayonet, or iron rod.

That is a very terrible thing.

That is……

It's a cat-shaped bus!
-
Gu Weijing hung up the WeChat call.

He turned on his e-reader, found Hemingway's collection of works on the reading app, took out the short story his grandfather had read to him, and read it aloud word by word from beginning to end.

"—He didn't even have time to express his disappointment with the film starring Greta Garbo. The citizens of Madrid had been looking forward to that film for a long time. And the film disappointed audiences throughout Madrid for a whole week."

Gu Weijing finished reading the last line of "The Capital of the World".

He chuckled softly without a sound.

For a young painter who has been preparing for a long time to hold a large solo exhibition, reading a novel that ends with such words doesn't seem like a very good thing.

Gu Weijing shook his head.

But so what?

"Given the choice between being a second-rate bullfighter and a truly brave bullfighter, I always choose the latter."

"Every Time!"

Gu Weijing took out his phone again and called Miss Elena.

The other player is still AFK.

The young man put his phone aside, picked up his calligraphy brush, and meticulously rewrote an entire piece of Ouyang Xun's calligraphy. Then he slowly began to study the works he had prepared for the art exhibition.

That night.

Gu Weijing fell asleep at his desk.

……

That same evening.

Miss Elena was not asleep. She sat by the old fireplace, reading page after page of the Little Prince, a book whose pages looked old but were still neatly trimmed.
-
And just like that, another week passed.

Throughout this entire week.

Gu Weijing and his agent have almost completely lost contact. Miss Elena did not reply to Gu Weijing's text messages, and Gu Weijing did not try to call again.

In the same city.

In the same area, even on the same campus, they lived lives of isolation from each other.

(End of this chapter)