At nine o’clock, when the exhibition officially opened, visitors began arriving one after another. The previously quiet hall quickly became lively.
Among the guests were quite a few journalists. After all, this large-scale exhibition brought together painting and calligraphy enthusiasts from both China and abroad, serving as an artistic exchange between nations. The media naturally needed to cover it.
Ran Ming was a reporter from China Central Television. He had been assigned to conduct interviews and record the event, so he and his colleagues had arrived early in the morning.
As the doors opened, he glanced at the other reporters present. There were pitifully few of them, only a handful of official media outlets.
Compared to the crowds of reporters that followed entertainment celebrities, this was practically nothing.
There was a reason for that. Reports about painting and calligraphy rarely attracted viewers. The circle itself was small, and to the general public it was often associated with elderly people pursuing old-fashioned hobbies. Naturally, most young people weren’t interested.
Such news broadcasts simply didn’t generate ratings. If not for official assignments, many major media organizations probably wouldn’t have bothered attending.
Thinking of this, Ran Ming sighed.
Beside him, the cameraman carrying a heavy camera looked unusually excited. “I never thought I’d actually get to see a Colour Exhibition in person. Even if I’m only here as staff, this is a place I’ve dreamed of visiting.”
Ran Ming looked at him in surprise. “Brother Ren, you’re actually a painting and calligraphy enthusiast?”
Honestly, he didn’t look the type.
The cameraman was muscular and powerfully built, more like a bodybuilder than an art lover.
“Of course,” the cameraman replied. “I’ve loved painting and calligraphy since I was little. I even attended training classes. Unfortunately, I have absolutely no talent.”
Ran Ming recalled the man’s ability to turn a simple duck drawing into an unrecognizable monstrosity and silently agreed.
“Come on, let’s head inside.”
Once the doors opened fully, they entered. The venue was brilliantly lit. Even the reception staff were handsome, elegant, and attractive. Everything about the exhibition radiated sophistication and prestige.
It really is high-class, Ran Ming thought as he directed his colleagues to set up their equipment.
Around ten o’clock, a group suddenly emerged from inside and headed toward the entrance. Several elderly men among them looked familiar. Ran Ming had done his homework beforehand and recognized them as major figures in the art world. Immediately energized, he hurried after them with the cameraman.
“Mr. Smith, it’s been a long time.”
Master Cui stepped forward and shook hands with an elderly foreign gentleman.
Mr. Smith was also a member of the International Painting and Calligraphy Association. An American, he had always shown a strong interest in Chinese art and had consistently maintained a friendly attitude toward China within the association.
After a brief exchange of greetings, everyone entered the exhibition hall.
Mr. Smith raised his head to admire the paintings hanging on the walls. “Mr. Cui, Chinese painting and calligraphy always move me deeply. Is it what you Chinese call artistic conception? Ah, and this landscape painting…”
Speaking somewhat awkward Chinese, he conversed with the others in a friendly manner.
Ran Ming’s camera crew followed closely behind. In reality, after an entire day’s filming, perhaps only two or three shots would make it into the final broadcast. Yet those few seconds required a full day’s work.
As they proceeded through the exhibition, Mr. Smith stopped whenever a painting caught his interest. Sometimes he discussed it with the people around him. Sometimes he exchanged opinions with Master Cui.
He hadn’t come alone. A group of foreign guests accompanied him, all examining the paintings with clear appreciation. Although they came from different countries and spoke different languages, art itself transcended such barriers.
A painting carried the artist’s soul and emotions. Even when communication was difficult, those emotions could still be felt.
As he walked, Mr. Smith found himself nodding repeatedly. Compared to previous years, Chinese painting had become even more vibrant and diverse.
Yet despite the many excellent works on display, none truly captivated him. This disappointed him slightly.
What he wanted was a painting capable of seizing his heart at first glance. None had done so.
Until they rounded a corridor. Suddenly, gasps arose nearby. Mr. Smith turned his head. Then he froze. Before him hung a half-human-height portrait. Its background consisted of dark tones, yet somehow contained astonishing richness and color. The instant one looked at it, every ounce of attention was drawn toward the painting.
A celestial maiden wearing elaborate robes played a pipa behind her back. Her eyes were lowered slightly. Within her gaze shimmered a touch of gold, lending her an aura of mystery and nobility. Long silk ribbons floated around her, making her seem even more ethereal. Behind her stretched a vast dark backdrop, somewhat resembling azurite blue yet far more complex. Within that darkness bloomed golden lotus flowers.
In Buddhism, the lotus was a sacred symbol.
Against the backdrop of those golden lotuses, the heavenly maiden appeared even more divine and compassionate.
Mr. Smith instinctively pressed a hand against his chest. At that moment, his heart began pounding wildly. It felt as though Cupid’s arrow had struck him directly. He was deeply moved.
Jiang Yu possessed a remarkable gift when painting people. The figures she painted felt alive. It was as if she poured a soul into them. How could such paintings fail to move others?
This particular painting had been created after she began studying under Master Cui. Her mastery of figure painting had improved significantly, and combined with her extraordinary understanding of color and a moment of inspiration, the result was this masterpiece.
It was a perfect convergence of timing, circumstance, and inspiration. Even if Jiang Yu tried to recreate it now, the result might not surpass this one, much like her earlier masterpiece, Starry Sky.
Mr. Smith practically lunged toward the painting.
A protective glass frame stopped him from touching the artwork itself, but the cold glass could not diminish his excitement.
“Oh, Mr. Cui! When did China gain such an outstanding painter? I absolutely love this work! Is the person in the painting your country’s angel?” He asked enthusiastically.
Master Cui and Master Yang exchanged a glance. The expressions on their faces were identical: Pride and satisfaction.
All morning, Mr. Smith had praised various works, but his attitude had remained calm. None had genuinely excited him. Now, finally, one painting had managed to do so. And it happened to be painted by their student. Naturally, they were pleased.
“This figure is from Buddhism. We call this Feitian,” Master Yang explained. He pointed toward the instrument. “She is playing a pipa. You know what a pipa is, don’t you, Mr. Smith?”
Mr. Smith nodded enthusiastically. “Oh! I feel as though Cupid has shot me through the heart. I’ve fallen in love with her, the flying apsara. She’s so beautiful and holy!”
The celestial maiden reminded him somewhat of angels from his own culture. She possessed the same otherworldly purity. One glance was enough to know she did not belong among ordinary humans.
The foreign guests behind him were similarly captivated. Every face displayed admiration, and fascination. Great art transcended nationality. It spoke to everyone. And this painting had clearly resonated with them all.
At that moment, a young man wearing a hat spoke. “How much would it cost for me to buy this painting?”
Everyone turned. The speaker was a remarkably handsome youth. He had porcelain-white skin, sapphire-blue eyes, and golden hair. Elegant and noble, he looked like a prince who had stepped straight out of a fairy tale.
Master Cui and the others exchanged surprised glances.
“Prince William,” Mr. Smith introduced respectfully. Turning toward the Chinese hosts, he added: “This is Prince William of our country. He is His Majesty’s youngest son.”
Among the few nations that still maintained a monarchy, his homeland remained one.
The prince spoke Chinese, though with an even stronger accent than Mr. Smith’s.
“I like this painting. I want it. How much?”
Master Cui smiled apologetically.
“That isn’t something we can decide. We’ll need the artist’s permission.”
The prince immediately looked disappointed. His bright blue eyes dimmed visibly.
Watching this, Master Yang almost felt sorry for him. The young prince was simply too good-looking. With that expression, it felt as though they were bullying a child.
“Your Highness,” Mr. Smith said gently, “there are more excellent works ahead. Let’s continue.”
The prince blinked. Then he looked at the signature on the painting.
Slowly and carefully, he read: “A Fleeting Dream. Is that the painter’s name? Does this artist have other paintings? I want to see them.”
Hearing this, Mr. Smith was also curious and looked at Master Cui and the others.
“Yes, of course!” Master Cui thought to himself, fortunately, he had persuaded Jiang Yu to submit two paintings. Pointing to another wall, he said, “That painting over there is also by A Fleeting Dream.” It was Rooster Welcoming Spring.
Compared to Feitian, it was much simpler. Bold brushstrokes outlined a proud rooster standing atop a rock. Its crimson comb shone brilliantly. Its head was raised high as it crowed toward the sky. Below it bloomed clusters of yellow winter jasmine flowers.
The entire painting overflowed with vitality. Even viewers unfamiliar with Chinese art could feel the energy of spring radiating from it. The prince appreciated it, but he still preferred the celestial maiden.
He couldn’t stop thinking about that mysterious dark background and the strange brilliance hidden within it.
Behind the group, Ran Ming quietly told the cameraman, “Get plenty of footage of that painting. And this one too. We might need it later.”
The cameraman nodded. His eyes lingered on the paintings before reluctantly looking away.
The tour continued, yet it was obvious the foreign guests were no longer fully focused. Their minds remained trapped by Feitian, the painting that had left them stunned. Even now, they had not recovered from its impact.
Seeing this, the organizers decided it was time for lunch. “It’s getting late. You must all be hungry. Let’s eat first and continue viewing the exhibition this afternoon,” Master Cui announced.
Naturally, nobody objected.
Before leaving, the prince spoke again. “May I meet this ‘A Fleeting Dream’?” Because he had been quiet for most of the visit, it was easy to forget his presence. Still, nobody could truly ignore a prince.
Mr. Smith nodded eagerly. “Yes! I’d like to meet the artist too. These are the finest paintings I’ve seen in the past two years.”
That was exceptionally high praise.
Master Cui and Elder Yang exchanged another glance. Then they sent someone to fetch Jiang Yu.
At that moment, Jiang Yu was happily wandering through the exhibition. Her steps were light and cheerful. She was clearly enjoying herself.
“Jiang Yu! There you are! I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”
A familiar voice called out. She turned and saw someone approach. His named seemed to be… Zhen Kun?
Without waiting for a response, he grabbed her arm and began pulling her away. “Hurry! Someone wants to meet you.”
Jiang Yu was taken aback. “Who?”
As they walked, Zhen Kun explained everything. When he finished, he couldn’t help sighing. “All those foreign guests love your paintings. Prince William even tried to buy Feitian.”
To be honest, he wanted to buy it too. He had seriously considered it. Unfortunately, he knew countless others would want the same painting. His chances of obtaining it were slim. So he had given up.
When they arrived, the group was still standing before Feitian. Prince William clearly had no desire to leave.
Mr. Smith smiled. “Our prince has loved painting since childhood. He even studies it himself.”
Though, admittedly, he wasn’t especially talented.
Jiang Yu approached. Master Cui and Master Yang beckoned her forward. “Prince William, Mr. Smith, This is Jiang Yu.” Master Cui said.
The foreigners looked confused. Why were they suddenly being introduced to a young woman?
Master Cui smiled. “She is also the person you wanted to meet.”
Mr. Smith was stunned. He wondered if his Chinese had worsened, and he had misunderstood the old master.
“She… is Yi Meng Fu Sheng?” the prince asked, looking at Jiang Yu with a puzzled expression.
Master Cui nodded. “She is indeed ‘A Fleeting Dream’, the artist behind Feitian and Rooster Welcoming Spring.”
Mr. Smith’s eyes widened. “Oh!” His exclamation was dramatic. “She is far younger than I ever imagined!”
Beside him, Zhen Kun added cheerfully, “Miss Jiang is not only the artist. She is also a student of both Master Cui and Master Yang.”
“What?!” Mr. Smith was so shocked that English burst out automatically.
The foreign guests were equally stunned.
How could someone so young produce works of such quality?
Watching their reactions, Zhen Kun and the others felt refreshed. At least they weren’t the only ones who had been shocked. Anyone hearing the truth reacted exactly the same way.
Jiang Yu simply looked too young.
Prince William recovered first. He looked at Jiang Yu seriously. “I really like your paintings. May we exchange ideas?”
The two old masters glanced toward Jiang Yu. Though youthful in appearance, she showed no trace of nervousness. Her manner remained calm and graceful.
Jiang Yu smiled. “It would be my honor.”
“Oh!” Mr. Smith exclaimed again. “So ‘A Fleeting Dream’ is such a beautiful young lady!” Stepping forward, he took Jiang Yu’s hand and placed a polite kiss upon the back of it.
From a distance, Ran Ming immediately urged the cameraman to capture the scene. Watching through the lens, he couldn’t suppress a grin.
Only moments earlier, he had been lamenting the lack of anything newsworthy. Now a headline had practically fallen into his lap.
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