Taking Liu Yifei back to Northeast China for the Chinese New Year has sent the entire internet into

Chen Daoming walked to the desk.

He placed his hands on the edge of the table and looked down at it.

Ten minutes ago, he himself praised Fang Yu's painting to the skies.

He had whetted the appetites of several bigwigs.

Everyone was waiting for Fang Yu to unleash a long landscape scroll.

At the very least, it must be a masterpiece of flowers and birds with vivid charm.

As a result, Fang Yu left them with six black ink lumps.

No background.

No signature.

It just sits there all alone on the paper.

Zhou Yuanshan coughed lightly, breaking the silence.

"Brother Fang."

He pointed to the painting.

"What's the significance of this painting?"

Fang Yu looked at him, his tone casual.

"There's no particular explanation, it's just six persimmons."

He Zheng rubbed his face.

He's been making martial arts films for decades, and he believes he has some understanding of composition and aesthetics.

But he really couldn't see the beauty in these six ink blots in front of him.

"Just six persimmons?"

He Zheng pointed to the largest persimmon in the very center.

"This is drawn so dark."

"The one next to it, not even its outline is closed."

"Xiao Fang, to which school of calligraphy do you belong?"

Fang Yu put his hands back in his coat pockets and shrugged.

"No sect."

"With the pen in my hand and the ink in the inkstone, I can paint however I want."

"It's just a junk."

The others were speechless again.

Shen Weimin shook his head.

He had just granted Fang Yu special privileges, and he was already convinced that this young man had real talent.

But looking at the paper now, I still feel that this painting is somewhat ridiculous.

Chen Daoming remained standing in front of the desk, unmoved.

He stared at the six persimmons for the longest time.

People don't understand it.

It's not appropriate to speak first.

Everyone was waiting for Chen Daoming to make a statement.

After all, he was the one who started this.

Fang Yu's painting was also lifted up by him personally.

"Old Chen."

Zhou Yuanshan nudged Chen Daoming lightly with his elbow and lowered his voice.

"Don't just look."

"Let me clear up some doubts for everyone."

"How are these six dark, unremarkable persimmons better than that Yan style calligraphy from before?"

Chen Daoming rested his hands on the edge of the table.

My gaze lingered on the dark ink blot in the very center, then slowly moved to the dry patch beside it.

Make sense.

He does enjoy collecting calligraphy and paintings, and has quite a collection at home.

But those are either landscapes by famous artists or meticulous flower-and-bird paintings.

This kind of pure ink wash painting is so freehand that even the outlines aren't drawn; six dark persimmons are simply placed on the paper.

This is already somewhat beyond his area of ​​expertise.

He had just confidently declared that Fang Yu's paintings were even better than his calligraphy.

Now look what's happened.

The kid raised his hand and threw out six black persimmons.

How can he brag about that?

Even when you're trying to blow your own horn, you have to find the right angle.

Chen Daoming cleared his throat and slowly straightened up.

"This painting..."

He raised his finger and pointed to the large blank space on the paper.

"The key is to appear simple yet skillful."

"Look at this layout. The six fruits are grouped together. It looks random, but the use of white space is actually very deliberate."

He Zheng stroked the stubble on his chin and remained silent.

Zhou Yuanshan slowly turned a bead on his Bodhi string.

The people in the room, aren't they all shrewd and calculating?

As soon as Chen Daoming uttered those words, everyone knew what was going on.

Old Chen didn't understand either.

They are trying to salvage the situation.

Moreover, the rescue was somewhat difficult.

The atmosphere suddenly turned a bit cold.

Liu Yifei stood to the side, her fingers pinching the edge of the coat pocket.

She turned her head, trying to give Fang Yu a look.

The meaning is obvious.

You've created this mess yourself, so hurry up and fix it.

If it doesn't come together properly, Professor Chen will start fabricating a paper on the spot.

Fang Yu put his hands in his coat pockets and looked around at the reactions of several bigwigs in Beijing's elite circles.

I thought to myself, no wonder they can't understand it.

This painting is a masterpiece by the Southern Song Dynasty monk-painter Muqi.

Hidden in the small town of Daitoku-ji in Kyoto, it is revered as a national treasure.

The painting conveys a sense of Zen.

The main focus is on a method that has no limits.

in other words.

Those who understand will see emptiness, simplicity, and the great freedom found in ink paintings.

To the uninformed, they look like six black persimmons.

Fang Yu cleared his throat and pulled his hand out of his pocket.

He was pondering whether or not to give a lecture to some senior figures on "The Unavoidable Things About Persimmons and Zen Buddhism".

The words hadn't even left his mouth.

Footsteps sounded outside the study.

The middle-aged butler by the door stepped back half a step to make way.

A man in his sixties stepped into the study.

He was wearing a light gray Chinese-style jacket with a front opening and black cloth shoes with white soles.

Her hair was half white, but it was combed very smoothly.

He was also holding a folding fan in his hand.

When Chen Daoming saw the person who had arrived, he withdrew his hand from the edge of the table.

"Old Qi, I thought you weren't coming today."

Qi Wenhai casually tucked the folding fan into his belt, took two steps inside, and spoke with a hint of complaint in his voice.

"Don't even mention it."

"The art academy held an impromptu meeting and a group of people argued all morning about how to share the funds for next year's youth exhibition."

"I made an excuse to go to the toilet and slipped out through the back door."

Qi Wenhai walked to the long table and casually nudged Zhou Yuanshan.

"Excuse me, let me have a cup of tea first. I've been thirsty all the way here."

The words caught in her throat.

He originally intended to reach for the empty teacup on the other side of the table.

My gaze swept across the desktop.

It was fixed directly on that four-foot-long sheet of raw Xuan paper.

Qi Wenhai's hand froze in mid-air.

He stood frozen in place.

Two seconds later, he took a step forward, leaning forward until his nose was less than ten centimeters from the table.

Even the rhythm of their breathing changed.

His eyes were fixed on the darkest persimmon in the very center.

Then I slowly looked over the several ink blots next to me.

"This water..."

Qi Wenhai swallowed.

"This ink color..."

He straightened up, took two steps to the front of the desk, and placed his hands on the edge of the desk.

"Ink is divided into five colors: burnt, thick, heavy, light, and clear."

Qi Wenhai stretched out his finger, but dared not actually touch it, only pointing at the ink blots from a distance.

"With this stroke of concentrated ink, the moisture control is extremely precise, even taking into account the seepage within the paper fibers."

"The light ink beside it is subtle yet cohesive."

He then looked at the large blank areas on the screen.

"Where there is no painting, there is a wonderful realm."

"This blank space is not emptiness, it is energy."

"Empty and simple," Qi Wenhai murmured to himself, "there is a profound Zen-like skill in these few strokes."

He Zheng lowered his hand from his stubble.

The Bodhi beads in Zhou Yuanshan's hand came to a complete stop.

Chen Daoming stood to the side, his back straightening slightly without making a sound.

He genuinely didn't understand it just now.

But it is not important.

Now some people understand it.

Moreover, those who understand it are better at exaggerating than he is at exaggerating.

This is very comfortable.

Qi Wenhai watched for a full five minutes.

The more I watch, the more excited I get.

Finally, he suddenly raised his head and grabbed Chen Daoming's arm.

"Old Chen!"

Whose work is this?

He gripped Chen Daoming's clothes tightly, causing them to wrinkle.

"None of those old men at the National Academy of Painting dare to paint like that!"

"It doesn't even leave any boundaries; it relies solely on the tension of water and ink to support the framework."

"This is the realm of a Grandmaster!"

Qi Wenhai's eyes lit up, and he immediately looked around.

Where are they?

"Which master has graced us with their presence?"

"Old Chen, stop hiding it from me, quickly introduce me to someone!"