There is a huge reception table in the hall, and behind it stands staff in crisp suits, receiving all the guests and arranging for autographs and photographs. As the number of guests increased, the scene was a little chaotic, but it was still orderly. After taking a photo, the pair entered the flower hall with greetings. Reporters lose no time in weaving through the process to interview some newsworthy news and figures. The flashing lights came and went, and the whole hall was as bright as day.

The whole scene was full of voices and laughter. Under the guidance of the staff, Zhuang Yousheng went to a huge banner to sign, which was almost full of names, various fonts, and various ways of writing, which looked like a strange picture. After signing his name, he was chatting politely with some other painters, and Ms. Jean had disappeared into the crowd like a fish.

As he was talking, he suddenly saw a large crowd of people coming in at the door, among which the stars were holding the moon was Lin Motian, wearing a brocade cotton jacket, with a hint of unpredictable smile, although he was very polite and gentle on the surface, but his status and prestige in the current painting world made him unnaturally reveal a different momentum. This force overwhelmed the audience, and suddenly became the focus of attention of all media reporters and people.

In the chaotic crowd, he saw at a glance that the well-dressed butterfly was also among them. Wearing a short white coat with a fluffy collar, I don't know if it's an imitation or a real animal fur, black trousers underneath, like a black bun, looking neat and neat, with a white and pure face, no fat powder. Two shallow eyebrows, how to look at it makes people feel more cherished.

She glanced around, and inadvertently bumped into Zhuang Yousheng's cold but so casual gaze, she seemed to have been shocked, paused, and then quickly moved away. She, like herself, doesn't seem to be very sociable in the crowd, the key is that there are no acquaintances inside, and she is purely an outsider.

Zhuang Yousheng has never liked this kind of party scene, and the more he is in the crowd, the more he will feel as if he is alone. Internally, he knew that he was not very good at getting along with people, and he did not know how to play any social means, both in the United States and when he returned to China.

He knows that the reason why he can't package himself like other painters, tout himself, and become a popular celebrity is because his character determines all this. His kind of loneliness could not even be tolerated by his wife back then, because he could stay alone in the studio all day and all night, talk to his wife for a long time, and even live with his wife for a long time to create a painting.

His wife said he was like an ascetic. As long as there is art, you don't need everything. Is art your whole life?

Yes, art was indeed the whole of his life, and in his most difficult and painful stage, the little flame of art in the depths of his soul burned his whole life. It was all the power that his chariot was able to keep forward.

But from the disappointed and melancholy look in her eyes, you can know what kind of change is going through in her heart.

Later, he learned that his wife was just an ordinary woman, although when he was newly married, he always firmly believed that his wife must be a strange woman, and would pursue an artistic life as fanatically as he did.

But apparently not, she just needs ordinary love, and attention. Need a healthy family life, need your own children. This is the wife is life, but not his.

He is accustomed to being alone in the painting house, but he feels calm and rich in thought.

At this moment, in the midst of the crowd, he didn't know what he was supposed to do, but fortunately, when he first arrived in China, not too many people knew him, he put his hands in his trouser pockets, and looked around like an idler. Occasionally take a glass of champagne from the staff and hold it in your hand.

There are not many people he knows here, and they are basically peers, as the saying goes, since ancient times, literati have been inferior to each other. In his arrogant eyes, those who are oily, fashionable, or pretend to be different are not real painters. Before he returned to China, he had paid attention to the trend of domestic painters for a period of time, what were they? Don't think that random smudging is called art, that's. He has been training himself since he was a child, and he can vividly express the light and shadow of ink painting, the charm and sentiment of figure painting, and more importantly, the characters in his paintings have been embedded in his soul, and sometimes he often can't help crying because of the frustration and misery of painting a person. It was as if that person was himself.

And those painters who are now dominant, are nothing but a blasphemy and insult to art. He couldn't afford it from his heart, so he shook hands and said a few words, and he already felt that his tongue was dry, his mouth was stupid, his interest was uninteresting, and he was disgusted. I can't wait to put on my wings and fly away from here.

Looking at it, he couldn't help but pay attention to butterflies.

She followed behind Lin Motian, observing her in the crowd, it could be seen that she was also an unnatural expression, and even her smile was a little stiff. He couldn't help but laugh to himself.

When he was in Wuyi Mountain, he received an email from a butterfly, he looked at it that night, it was not a serious matter, but after reading it, he couldn't help but be very surprised, and he vaguely felt an inexplicable excitement in his heart. I don't know why the butterfly article moved him after all. Her faint brushstrokes penetrated into the depths of his soul without revealing their edges, like a wanton wind, quietly blowing open the gloomy door.

He didn't expect her to actually peek into the world behind his door.

She avoided the important and didn't talk much about his art, because almost all media articles have already talked about it, she wrote about him as a person, a lonely painter with a complex inner world, his call to art, no, it was his cry for life, so desperate, and so powerful, like a survivor who had fallen into a cliff for a long time, and the rising sun he looked forward to every day let him know that he would not give up in the dark night.

He couldn't help but lose sleep that night. Because he didn't expect that such a young girl who seemed to be in the world could see through his life so much, which had to amaze him. Her understanding of him, or in a way, surpassed his own. She interprets him from the perspective of an other. His life was thus stripped of his body.

He didn't understand that her beautiful mind could still have such complex and profound thoughts.

So when he saw her again, he had a different feeling. He also wanted to know the young woman, otherwise it would seem unfair. It was as if she was wearing a cumbersome formal suit and watching him strip naked.

Lin Motian was very happy to see Zhuang Yousheng, and patted him on the shoulder very meaningfully: "You are here too, I was still looking for you just now, haha." Signed? ”

Zhuang Yousheng couldn't help but join the crowd surrounded by Lin Motian, and said as he walked: "Signed, I came early." ”

"I came late today, my daughter has been annoying with me, and she snatched my new phone again." He laughed as he spoke. Zhuang Yousheng smiled slightly.

Butterfly smiled Wan'er on the side and said, "Hello, Mr. Zhuang." ”

Zhuang Yousheng also smiled and said, "Hello." Miss Ho. ”