Almighty painter

Chapter 960 Gu Weijing's Master's Heart
Anna divided the music into individual phrases and measures, played a few short sections on the piano, and asked Gu Weijing to try to match them.

Gu Weijing listened intently, inserting his own piano keys in the process.

After playing.

The woman withdrew her arm and turned to look at him.

"What is this?" Anna asked.

Gu Weijing blinked in confusion.

"You said it, Do, La, Mi, Re... clang, clang, clang, Do, La, Mi, Re... clang, clang, clang." The young man hummed the tune.

“I asked you to play the piano, not to make your mouth clang, clang, clang,” Miss Elena commented sharply. “We are playing a four-hand duet, okay, a three-hand duet, but not a beatboxing performance.”

The pianist, who was watching the sunset from a nearby bench, noticed the scene and was immediately amused.

"You played too fast, and there wasn't enough time..."

"Oh, oh, oh."

"Be bold when you press the keys. I can assure you, the piano won't eat you, OK?"

"Oh, oh, oh."

"Also, you can sit a little closer, I'm not eating either." Miss Elena smiled gently as she looked at the young painter Gu Weijing being criticized.

Do, La, Mi, Re.

Clang, clang, clang.

Do, La, Mi, Re.

Clang, clang, clang.

Do, La, Mi, Re.

Clang, clang, clang.

……

The two of them sat together on the piano bench and practiced over and over again.

The sun gradually sets along the right bank of the Pont des Arts, sinking into the lower reaches of the Seine and disappearing into the distant western buildings of the Louvre.

On their first day in Paris, Gu Weijing and Miss Irina mainly took walks. They avoided several neighborhoods that they had heard were not safe, strolled along the Seine River, passed the Louvre, but did not actually go inside to visit this incredibly famous museum.

same.

The Louvre is not the only institution that passes by without going in.

Gu Weijing thought of his father, who, unlike himself, utterly despised painting, believing it to be a game driven by capital market speculation. Since it was all a game of the financial market, he thought it better to work in banking than painting.

He set his life goals early on.

Given the chance, he abandoned everything at home and went to Paris to work as a bank teller. Gu Weijing could vaguely remember the name of the bank where his father worked. It was one of the several banks they had passed today. As the two of them walked past the black steps of that bank, a surge of desire rose within Gu Weijing for a moment.

Turn around.

Tell Anna to wait a moment.

Walking up the stone steps, past the revolving glass doors, you'll find a man in a suit and tie, head down, organizing documents behind one of the counters in that bank. He'll casually greet you, "Bonjour Monsieur (Hello, sir)."

Gu Weijing would remain silent, considering whether he should call him father.

Is there anything you want to say?

Anna's fingers rested on the piano keys.

Gu Weijing remained silent.

"Balzac, on one occasion, had an emotional breakdown and yelled at Baroness Hanska—"

Gu Weijing spoke.

“I hope they’re not arguing about where to park the carriage,” the woman said.

Gu Weijing smiled.

Anna wouldn't assign him homework like Cao Xuan would, but she would always keep a book next to the piano in the closet. Gu Weijing would flip through it from beginning to end and then put the book on the piano.

Before long, the books in the closet will be replaced.

Relying on a silent understanding, Gu Weijing finished reading Isaiah Berlin's "The Roots of Romanticism," a very thin German-English bilingual collection of Goethe's poems, over the past year.

In addition, there are two biographies of authors and subjects who are almost equally famous.

Victor Hugo's William Shakespeare, and Stefan Zweig's Balzac.

Balzac and Madame Hanska spent eighteen years together, experiencing countless ups and downs, arguments, and adjustments. Gu Weijing had witnessed most of them and simply let them pass, except for one particular scene—

Balzac.

The ruddy-faced, robust, and slightly overweight middle-aged literary giant nearly collapsed; he shouted, roared, or cried at Madame Hanska.

“You should know what kind of devil, what a sorceress, my mother was. What she made me go through. My sister Doris and my grandmother's lives were all destroyed by her. She hated me! She had so many reasons to hate me! She hated me even before I was born—”

“She didn’t bring me any warmth during my childhood. She sent me away like a burden. She threw me into a prison-like boarding school and then went to another city.”

"This is a wound in a child's sensitive heart that can never heal. My mother is the cause of all the misfortunes in my life."

Gu Weijing was lying on the sofa at the time, flipping through a book.

This passage held a mesmerizing allure for him. He read it over and over again, once, twice, three times. The words of the great writer seemed to burst forth from the pages of the book, resounding powerfully in his ears.

It brought Gu Weijing an almost suffocating sense of oppression, as well as... a tearing pleasure.

Balzac angrily denounced his mother, his rightful closest relative, to Baroness Hanska for her inaction and lack of concern during his formative years. He was not an orphan, yet he had only his grandmother for company.

This, in turn, shaped the sensitive quality in Balzac's personality.

Balzac in the book is roaring.

Gu Weijing, who was outside the book, almost burst into tears.

At this moment, in Paris, in the city where Balzac wrote those words, in the city where Gu Weijing and his father may have just passed each other not long ago, Gu Weijing sat silently by the piano for a while.

He said to Anna.

“It’s alright, let’s play it again,” he said.

Miss Elena stared at him for a moment, then turned around and said okay.

“This time we’ll start from the beginning,” Anna said.

The sound of the piano rang in his ears once again.

Gu Weijing's fingers rested on the piano keys as he listened to the music.

There was a moment today when Gu Weijing almost cried. He wanted to cry, shout, and roar like Balzac.

Balzac said that he had never had a mother in his life.

Gu Weijing's life was never marked by the presence of his father.

Ultimately, the idea vanished like melting snow in the sunset over the Seine. From the other person's perspective, the father may have simply made what he believed to be the right choice. It is said that Gu Tongxiang in his youth was not necessarily a good-tempered person; he supervised his children's painting practice in an almost forceful manner.

Perhaps my father lost all interest in painting when he was young, due to the family environment he grew up in.

It is also very painful for a person to be forced by their family to pursue a certain profession when they have no interest in it.

Gu Weijing's suffering was not fake.

His father's suffering... was not either.

The other person grew up under Gu Tongxiang's shadow for the first half of their life, and then chose to leave as if they were strangers. There must be some reason for that.

It is very likely that some painful family lesson, some suffering that his father had endured, prevented Gu Weijing from experiencing the same pain during his childhood, and also made Gu Tongxiang examine his own parenting methods.

Perhaps. In the father's eyes, a phone call between father and son once or twice a year is a better form of education than what he had experienced before.

Everyday life, rights and wrongs.

Who knows?
Who can say for sure?
Gu Weijing could have confided in Anna, who might have listened quietly and patted him on the shoulder with sympathy. If they had gone into that bank together, perhaps he could have asked for "revenge," and Miss Elena could have filed a complaint to make that man lose his hard-earned job.

But in the end.

He said nothing.

He did nothing.

Gu Weijing grew up in fear and insecurity, feeling abandoned by his parents.

He has a grandfather, an old man who loves reading Hemingway and martial arts novels.

But he always wanted to ask why.

When Fitz International School required students to choose a second foreign language upon enrollment, Gu Weijing immediately selected the French class. Deep down, the reason might not have been as simple as the fact that this was the art capital of Europe, the second home of Van Gogh and Picasso.

Gu Weijing couldn't let it go.

When Gu Weijing and Anna had a fight that summer, Gu Weijing insisted on going to Paris, probably not just to watch the sunset on the Seine like Renoir.

Gu Weijing couldn't let it go.

at last.

at last.

Gu Weijing suddenly felt that it was unnecessary; during his growing up, he still had his grandfather.

Grandpa told him that people... ultimately have to live their own lives well. This is his responsibility: to fight against life and be a true bullfighter.

He abandoned himself.

Gu Weijing didn't want to throw his life back like an unpleasant time bomb, and then ask the other person if they regretted it now. Looking into his eyes, he asked, "Do you know? You are the culprit behind all the disasters in my life. I can't live my life well, and it's all because of you."

No.

Whether it's the other party's fault or not, it doesn't matter.

He shouldn't punish himself for other people's mistakes. He needs to grow up. He is a good person, and he can have a good and happy life.

at least.

He can face all the challenges in life without fear.

Therefore, some questions don't need to be asked.

responsibility--

Everyone has their own responsibilities; this is the way of life. One who cannot shoulder the responsibility of his own life is not a true man.

Gu Weijing once felt apprehensive and uneasy.

just now.

He sat calmly at the piano.

"Ding!"

Gu Weijing heard the system panel notification sound.

"The Way of the Master—"

"Breaking Through the Realm: The purpose of painting is to educate, assist in human relations, explore the mysteries of the universe, and fathom the subtle and profound. It has the same function as the Six Classics, operates in harmony with the four seasons, and originates from nature, not from written works."

"Note: Every art master in the world is completely different. So, find your own path to mastery in painting."

"Congratulations, your current breakthrough mission is complete."

"You have discovered your own 'artistic heart'."

"Your Chinese painting skills have been improved to - Lv.7 Master Painter, Level 1".

"Your oil painting skills have been improved to - Lv.7 Master Painter · Level 1".

"Congratulations! All your remaining painting skills will be able to be upgraded to Lv.7 without encountering any bottlenecks after accumulating enough skill experience points."

"The path to mastery is already at your feet."

Gu Weijing gently pressed the piano keys with his fingertips.

The arpeggios in the high register of the piano, interspersed among Miss Elena's continuous music, were like a strong wind striking water. Their timbres were crisp, delicate, soft, and extremely gentle.

To Gu Weijing, the piano piece Anna played was just a "piano piece".

just now.

Only when he is truly and wholeheartedly immersed in the music does it begin to reveal its vibrant and diverse colors.

All music is alive.

All colors are real.

The performance of music should never be linked to the quality of the instrument itself, at least not strongly.

If listening to music, appreciating music, and playing music are privileges reserved for those with expensive instruments, privileges that can only be obtained through accumulating wealth, then music itself, art itself... it's unimaginable how boring it would become.

Because of its extremely limited number of surviving individuals.

A Guarneri violin costs 300 million euros, and a Guarneri viola last sold for $4500 million at auction.

When they were handcrafted by Guarneri hundreds of years ago, they were merely “common goods” that sold for only 30 silver coins.

They were replacements for those musicians who couldn't afford Stradivarius at the time.

Just right.

There was another item that, when it first came out on the market, also sold for 30 silver coins—

Van Gogh's paintings.

People initially ordered Van Gogh's paintings as an alternative to ordering those expensive works.

It's easy to conclude that artistry is never determined by market price. A self-portrait is special not because it costs $100 million, and a musical instrument can produce beautiful sounds not because it costs $45 million.

4500 million.

One hundred million.

Even 4500 billion doesn't matter.

They are different only because of Van Gogh, they are different only because of Paganini, George Enekus, and Henri Vieux, who have left their mark on art history.

Because of their mastery.

Because of their artistic heart.

Miss Elena played the piano over and over again on the farm. The so-called "cheap" electric piano had a sound source sampled live from a top concert hall and cost $3, which was equivalent to many ordinary second-hand Steinways.

The two of them, playing the same instrument, were both frustrated.

One of them was listening absentmindedly.

Now, with a small tip, they borrow a "very good" electric piano from a pianist on the streets of Paris, a dilapidated one that looks like it would cost no more than five hundred dollars in a secondhand store.

It doesn't even have a basic weighted keyboard; by Anna's standards, it could only be considered a toy.

Music, however, is colorful and tangible.

The laughable "clang clang clang" that Gu Weijing hummed in his mouth was more real than all the applause he gave for Anna.

(End of this chapter)