"Art can depict beauty, light, and air; but without the courage to face mud and pain, without looking into the depths of gloom and evil, it can wither in an instant within the bubble of money. Artists should stand on the precipice of fate, with the tide crashing against the shore, laughing to the heavens, soaring by their nature."
"Art is the vibrant flowers on stage, and moreover, the flame burning in the human world. Revealing beauty is the right of painting, exposing ugliness is its responsibility."
— Preface
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2017.
In the winter of Myanmar, the weather is always dreary, and half a month can pass without seeing the sun.
The winding Yangon River flows through the mountain gorges, with grayish-blue clouds heavily hanging over the mountains around the riverbank, as if ready to drip water at any moment.
"Gu's Calligraphy and Painting Shop, this is it."
From the old capital before Myanmar moved inland, now the largest city, Yangon City, about a fifteen-minute drive east, facing the shimmering waters of the Yangon River, sits a row of continuous old-fashioned shops.
This is a relatively bustling commercial area.
International tourists visiting Myanmar disembark from the cruise ship on the Yangon River, taking only a few steps to see this string of English-style buildings enclosed by gray marble walls. These buildings are mostly old, their surfaces covered with mottled traces left by the years, with the earliest batch of houses dating back to the time of the Anglo-Burmese War, a history of over a century.
A man wearing a black T-shirt stood in front of a calligraphy and painting shop on the street, looking up at the sign written in Chinese, English, and Burmese.
He appeared to be in his thirties, wearing sunglasses, with a bald head devoid of hair, and a tattoo of a Buddha's head with an angry expression peeking out from the skin above his collar.
Two lackeys with cigarettes in their mouths followed behind him, the group exuding a chilly aura that clashed with the surrounding environment.
"Let's go, this is it. Brother Hao said we should come and give Mr. Xiao Gu a New Year greeting."
He stepped forward.
As the glass door swung open to the sides, the music of The Blue Danube filled the air.
The decor here is exquisite, resembling a small museum occupying several hundred square meters. Inside the glass frames on the walls are various paintings, large and small, ranging from oil paintings to ink paintings, each having its own section.
The independent air conditioner and dehumidifier emitted a small and subtle hum as they worked.
The two lackeys behind the bald man curiously extended their hands to feel the warm air blowing from the air conditioner.
The temperatures in Myanmar during winter aren't low, sometimes reaching above 25°C. Heating systems are rarely seen here. However, as the calligraphy and painting shop deals in valuable artworks, a stable temperature and humidity environment must be maintained year-round.
The person looking after the shop was a sixteen or seventeen-year-old thin student with glasses.
The boy sat on a beanbag sofa in front of the corridor at the entrance, with a drawing board and palette in front of him.
As the bald man and his companions entered, the boy was holding a brush, painting on canvas. His shirt, imprinted with a dark-colored Gundam design, had traces of paint smudged on it, complementing his excessively pale skin, giving him a vibrant appearance.
"What are you drawing?"
"A Mercedes-Benz classic car S220, 1:18 scale. Photorealism, an end-of-term assignment from school to be submitted after the Spring Festival." The boy pointed to the resin and metal vintage car model placed on the coffee table in front of the drawing board, along with several photos of the real car.
The painter's name was Gu Weijing, who just turned seventeen this year, originally from Jiangsu Wuxi.
His family had been making a living through painting for generations. According to family records, it is said that their ancestor was the famous Eastern Jin Dynasty painter Gu Kaizhi, who painted the "Luoshen Fu".
Whether their ancestor was really the legendary Gu Kaizhi is unverifiable now, but Gu Weijing's great-great-grandfather was indeed an imperial painter. During the Jiaqing period, he was tasked with accompanying a Qing Court envoy to Yangon when the Burmese paid tribute, where he settled and took root.
Gu Weijing was the fifth-generation Yangoner to manage this Gu's Art Gallery.
"With skills like yours, why go to school?"
The bald tattooed man patted the heads of his lackeys who were still wandering the shop, signaling them to place the tropical fruit basket they brought on the coffee table at the gallery entrance, then walked over to Gu Weijing, clicking his tongue in astonishment.
"Mingalaba (Note: Myanmar language, peace and happiness), this is a New Year's gift from Brother Hao to Mr. Xiao Gu..." As he spoke, he pulled out a bundle of green cash tied with a strap from the fanny pack slung around his waist.
The bundle of cash was hefty and thick, looking to be the size of an adult man's palm.
Faced with such a generous gift, Gu Weijing felt not a single bit of joy but rather an inexplicable irritation.
The warm words contained an aura of death.
Like the call of a death bird.
He looked down at their vague reflections on the gallery's shiny tiled floor—the black crows perched upon the ripples, like ink spilled into clear water.
These people weren't here to buy paintings.
These people came to find him.
Reasonably speaking, an ordinary high school student shouldn't attract these obviously hardened street figures, but unfortunately, Gu Weijing possessed exceptional talent in painting.
The world of art, heavily reliant on talent, is filled with various legends.
It is said that throughout history, significant figures who left a glorious and brilliant mark on art often exhibited extraordinary traits at a young age.