Five years ago, Long Shancheng, who had a much younger face, created another ghost painting, and the tiger called him early to book this painting.

There was a tacit understanding between Tiger and him, and whenever he had a new painting, he was always the first to call him.

So other people who want to work with him will get the same answer every time. That is, the painting has already been set, and the repeated failures have seriously damaged the self-esteem of other intermediaries. They generally believe that Long Shancheng is playing tricks on them, and there can be no such coincidence in the world.

Every time, they say that the paintings have already been booked, and they don't want to sell the paintings, so they speak out, and use them to trick them, wasting their precious time.

The saying that time is money applies to all trading activities.

Naturally, over time, only the painting intermediary Tiger had the exclusive right to sell Longshan Cheng Paintings.

Long Shancheng didn't care who the person who sold his paintings was, even if it was an angel or a devil, as long as he paid him money, he wouldn't bother about selling his paintings. He had only one requirement, he had to pick the owner of the painting.

This strange regulation has caused a lot of missed deals. Some of the buyers felt humiliated and even left angrily, proclaiming that he was a little painter with a temper and a bigger shelf than some of the big painters. But those buyers didn't expect that their behavior pushed Long Shancheng instead, and his "personality" became his selling point - arrogance is a common problem of genius.

Such a painting with character and talent, painted a ghostly work that does not resemble the world, and suddenly became a hot must-have in the circle of buyers with unique hobbies.

None of Yama's ghost paintings are embarrassed to say that they are collectors who like gloomy, bizarre, and thrillers.

"Tiger, have you talked over there?"

"No problem, I'll do it, you're kind."

The tiger's hearty laughter spread through the earpiece.

Long Shancheng held a paintbrush in his hand and looked intently at the drawing paper, his mobile phone was turned on, and the tiger's laughter echoed in the closed and empty room.

"The old rule is to arrange for me to meet with the seller to see if he has any fate with my paintings."

When other art dealers heard of his conditions, they might point at his nose and scold him, and then persuade him that "the customer is God". Although he is talented, in those big bosses and people with heads and faces, he can crush a dozen painters who are similar to him with a single finger.

However, Tiger is a pure businessman, and in business, he will never say a word about superfluous things.

He immediately agreed to Long Shancheng's request.

"East Star Plaza, Murphy's Cafe, Thursday at three o'clock."

Every time they met, they were almost in that café, and Long Shancheng could suspect that Tiger had a cooperative relationship with that café, and maybe that café promised to give him a cut. But it has nothing to do with him, he just meets people and judges whether he is suitable for the painting he wants to buy.

He wouldn't touch anything in the café too much.

"I'll go there on time, and ......" Long Shancheng paused and said, "I'll bring that painting." ”

The paintings in the living room were unusual, and the average person would feel a pang of discomfort when they passed by, although he was almost used to their horror. However, every time I have to carry a painting on my back and take it to meet with the buyer, I have to have close contact with those ominous paintings. If it weren't for the need for money, he would burn the tools he used to paint, and no more similar paintings would be born into the world.

At two o'clock in the afternoon, Long Shancheng was wearing a mask, and behind it was his painting. He carried his paintings behind him, along with his paintings, and almost every time he painted a painting, he had to scrap a drawing board. Compared to the money for a new sketchpad, even if the reduced time of contact with the painting is only a few seconds, he does not want to see the painting he drew by himself.

It's like ordinary people who go to the cinema to watch horror movies, and their fears only linger in the theater and don't bring them to their own homes. There is a clear moat between reality and illusion, and for Long Shancheng, the symphony of fear, hesitation and anxiety is the main tone of his life. No one can understand his inner anxiety, watching the ominous inhuman works being born under his pen, but there is no way to stop them from happening, nothing can compare to the panic caused by this sense of loss of control.

No one will believe it, and when he puts down the pen, he doesn't know the final effect of the painting. He is also a participant, a medium of communication. Once the process of painting begins, the outcome of the process is not up to him, like a prisoner in electric shock handcuffs, a strong electric current spurs him to paint, he has a strong premonition that if he does not create this painting completely, the paint of the creation painting will be replaced with his blood.

This intuition was inexplicable and completely unfounded, but he just thought so. He doesn't gamble with his life, and he's not a bad gambler who has nothing and gambles like his life. Nor did he have the confidence to gamble on the temper of the elusive things that might be lodged in the paintings, and he felt extremely disdainful of the endless tricks of the protagonists in today's horror films.

Life is not an archive game, and failure is death. Ancient human beings drank blood and were in danger, and natural disasters and beasts were the killing machines in their lives. In civilized society, the law of the jungle has been whitewashed, but strife is a constant theme for human beings, just like the Soviet Union once was. The fall of this behemoth, and the remaining flesh and blood on its body became the growth of the other survivors.

To live or to perish? This is not a philosophical question, but an existential dilemma that every individual faces.

If you don't want to be someone else's food, try to be strong, bite other people's flesh, and turn it into your own nourishment.

Until then, abiding by the rules of the general environment and living carefully is the only truth.

If you don't stand at that height, you won't have the right to speak, and if you don't become strong, you won't have the strength to resist.

All the methods that Long Shancheng could think of, for these untouchable dangers, the effect was unknown. It is impossible for him to collect seemingly absurd items such as rooster blood, black dog blood, cinnabar, glutinous rice and other seemingly absurd items because of film and television works, or some unresearchable wild history, and pay the price of blood to prove the utility of these things.

He was not a great philanthropist, nor was he a compassionate Virgin Mary, and compromise was the way out he weighed. At the very least, he still has a little room for choice, and he can decide whether or not to start working on a painting.

The autumn breeze is cool, and the surrounding area is a bleak scene. The plants of the south also come alive in winter, and the plants of the north are all covered in a blank of snow, and then he is located in the city of Modri, which is neither south nor north. When autumn comes, the decayed leaves exude the smell of yellow decay, there is no red heat of maple leaves all over the mountains, only the dead silence of Tagore's autumn leaves, and whether they have ever been as gorgeous as summer flowers, in most cases, there is none. They are just the common green trees on the roadside, and they will survive the four seasons without dying. For the most part, nothing changes, a dull year, followed by an equally boring next year.

The cold wave enters, the temperature drops a lot, and a trace of white mist can be seen in the exhaled heat. The bitter wind swept the lingering leaves of the treetops, scraped against the cold asphalt, and the sidewalk drainage walls.

Under the overly blue sky, I swam in a hurry, carrying the things I had bought.

Cotton jackets, long scarves, black masks, coffee-colored woolen hats, Long Shan Cheng's dress does not look abrupt at this season, there are always people who are particularly afraid of the cold, and they can't wait to wrap themselves in three layers inside and three layers outside.

The sketchpad he was carrying was wrapped in a black cloth, and most visitors would be curious to take a look at it.

Xindao is an artist. Or rather, learn how to draw.

Then, he continued to go his own way.

The busyness and order of worker ants carrying food and storing food for the winter in autumn is hardly not staged in human society.

The destination of Longshan Cheng is Murphy's Cafe in Dongxing Plaza, and the menu of the café is written in foreign languages without Chinese notes. Oddly enough, the city of Modri is still on fire. It doesn't matter if they can't read the foreign language, the prices of the menu are marked with numbers, and the currency of the designated issue is still collected, and the foreign currency of other countries is not accepted. As long as they pay the money, they can sit in the small atmospheric coffee, take pictures and send them to the circle of friends to show off, what is the food and drink, and what does it matter?

The purpose of Yongsancheng's visit is not to drink coffee or eat desserts.

This time, the buyer made an appointment to meet him at 3 p.m., and he struggled to open the sleeve of his left hand. On his left hand, he was wearing a world-famous watch of tens of thousands of yuan, which was a rare property that he left with him when he ran away, and he was reluctant to sell it.

At table eight of the coffee, a man in his thirties sits. His face was cynical, and he wore a silver cross ring on his finger. The cross is the religious symbol of Christ, while the anti-cross is the majority symbol of Satanism or an organization or sect that codes evil as its opposite. The other party's appearance is not bad in the upper class, not like the kind of nouveau riche rich businessman although his eyes have a hint of playfulness but when long shan cheng walked up to his table.

He still said to him politely, "Hello, Mr. Yama. ”

"Hello, the tiger told you, do you have my rules?"

"Don't worry, the Blue Mountain Coffee and Black Forest Cake in this café are the signatures, are you interested in trying them?"

As the leader of the younger generation, it is normal for him to have this kind of upper-class habit of giving orders. He didn't ask Long Shancheng's opinion, but beckoned the waiter to order two Blue Mountain and Black Forest cakes.

"This ......"

"My surname is Chen, Mr. Yan Luo, you can call me Mr. Chen."

"Mr. Chen, let's talk about painting first."

This Mr. Chen still didn't "hear" Long Shancheng's words.

"I have a lot of artistic ideas and I want to communicate with Mr. Yama."

"I only sell paintings, and I'm not interested in what you say."

Long Shancheng interrupted the other party's words without hesitation, and Mr. Chen's face was not good-looking. With his family background and fame, he has never tasted this kind of situation where others do not sell his face.

This Yama's personality is really as friends in the circle said, and his temper is a bit big.

If he hadn't seen his paintings with his own eyes, he wouldn't have met such a small painter in person.

"Mr. Chen, with all due respect, you may not be the owner of this painting."