Chaoyang District, Huajiadi.

A whale "falls" all things.

Maybe it is not appropriate to describe CAFA in this way, but because of its existence, the chain of interests dominated by it has spread out one after another.

The golden rays of the early sun pierced through a dirty window, trying to "squeeze" through the mud spots that were attached to the glass.

People think that the golden sunlight is warm and hot.

When the bundles of golden arrows pierced the cold in the studio, many people just squinted, and then leaned away slightly, feeling that the light was "too dazzling".

Zuo Feifei squatted on the low stool, because he twisted his ass restlessly, making the wooden stool that had been ravaged for too long make an unbearable "crunch" sound.

His gaze was normal, ordinary, too ordinary, and the paintbrush in his hand was lightly dipped in the paint pan at his feet, and then slowly sketched a few lines on the white cloth.

Zuo Feifei seems to be not very accustomed to his surroundings except for paintings. Occasionally, he would glance at the man leaning against the wall.

He thinks that the tall man is sick, why is it so boring to watch people draw, is it interesting?

Stuffy! Zuo Feifei thought so, he was just expecting something.

He got up as usual and wiped his face with cold water. The palm-sized mirror stood on the washstand, but its uneven lines showed that it was just a broken mirror.

The area of the broken mirror is too small, and it can only reflect half of his face, Zuo Feifei looked at the stubble on his chin, thinking that someone was coming over today.

So he picked up the razor on the shelf, but it was slightly rusty, and although the "click" jaw did not look clean, at least it was significantly younger.

Just swallowing the cold and hard steamed buns with boiled water, he will break the steamed buns into a little bit and soak them in the boiled water, so as not to "speak" his throat.

It's just that this bowl of steamed buns soaked in boiled water lacks a few traces of the sweet, sour, bitter and spicy taste of mutton soup soaked in steamed buns, and it is mostly bland and tasteless.

"Left Feifei."

"Yu Yanqiao!"

"This is a person who lives in the spiritual world and entertains himself." Yu Yanqiao thought so.

Wang Xiaoshuai said that my script was inspired by him.

He also said that this man was a poor man, who had nothing in reality, only a pile of paintings that could not be sold, and a simple studio that was like hundreds of the same as a flower's house.

He also said that his spiritual world is rich, but Zuo Feifei has never shown it, because no one knows what kind of thing he painted because of the oil paintings he painted.

No one went to peep, because there was no such idle panic, is the money in reality not fragrant, or the beautiful woman is not soft?

So, like the owners of all the studios in this film, they are forgotten and exiled to themselves......

Call~

Yu Yanqiao squatted against the wall, sipping his cigarette holder irritably, he was like a normal person who had broken into some absurd world, all of which he felt disobedient and uncomfortable.

In the quiet studio, paint residues can be found everywhere on the floor, like wildflowers blooming on the roadside.

Zuo Feifei sat in front of the canvas, wooden like a thousand-year-old dead tree, standing there at an unknown age, exuding decay, dilapidation, and turbidity......

Only, there is no taste of "people".

After he finished drawing, he would stop for a while, bow his head and light a cigarette, and Yu Yanqiao, who was squatting by the wall, seemed to be absent in his eyes.

For a moment, he seemed to think of something, and then he took a pen and dipped it in the canvas and scribbled it on randomly, like a child doing whatever he wanted.

Yu Yanqiao once called to ask Wu Gang how to play a painter, and he said "confused".

It was close to noon, and the sun was blazing.

The broken door of the studio, which had been in disrepair for a long time, was pushed open by a hand, and a man with glasses with a short jaw and a short beard walked in, holding an oil painting framed in a wooden frame.

Compared with the paper littered everywhere in Zuo Feifei's studio, the wooden-framed oil painting handed over by the middle-aged man with glasses is slightly exquisite.

The middle-aged man with glasses stopped behind Zuo Feifei for a moment, his low tone did not have any ups and downs, and he said:

"People said you didn't know what you painted, and it was returned."

After speaking, he handed the oil painting framed by a wooden frame at Zuo Feifei's feet, glanced at Yu Yanqiao again, and stopped walking out, as if he was talking to Zuo Feifei behind him, and saw him say:

"If someone comes to learn to paint, then teach it well, don't confuse life with ideals!"

Zuo Feifei in front of the canvas was like a deaf man, and did not react, and after the middle-aged man in the glasses left, he suddenly sighed and continued to trace the twisted "dog" in the canvas.

Yu Yanqiao once called Gao Yalin to ask how the painter should act, and he said "idealistic".

……

"Drink some water, don't get stuck in your throat!"

The two sat cross-legged on the floor, Zuo Feifei pushed the hot water bottle at his feet towards Yu Yanqiao, dipped some water in the lid of the kettle with a stiff steamed bun, and swallowed it again.

He felt that Yu Yanqiao was no different from the paintings he painted, and naturally told him to "eat", and did not treat him as a guest, so he could not talk about the restraint of life.

Zuo Feifei is a painter who indulges in an ideal country, although no one admits that he is a painter, and even points to him and says, "This girl is a second-rate child who has nothing to do."

Infection is a very mysterious word.

Some people because of emotions, some people because of ideals......

At first, Yu Yanqiao was like a state of stress due to the rejection of the unfamiliar environment, but slowly, he would stop behind Zuo Feifei, and it was as if time stood still, slowly "trapped" in.

At four o'clock in the afternoon, the broken door of the studio, which had fallen into disrepair, was gently pushed open by a white hand.

A girl with eyebrows and bangs suddenly appeared in the studio, her indifferent round face glanced around, very skillfully stepped over a chair that had fallen to the ground, and then leaned around a horizontal desk.

Her eyes were cold and wooden, and there was a word to describe them in later generations.

World-weariness.

Zuo Feifei, who had been soaring in the clear blue sky, "landed" on the ground because of that girl, and he was a little angry at the moment.

"I'm pregnant."

The girl didn't care at all about the existence of another person in the studio besides them, but Zuo Feifei seemed to be the same.

"Uh... Good... How to ......"

Zuo Feifei is like a "god" who has fallen to the world, his feet fell to the ground, and what followed was people's "seven emotions and six desires".

Joy, the anticipation of a life that is about to be brewed.

Hesitation, firewood, rice, oil, salt, sauce, vinegar and tea, this is a man's responsibility.

I am afraid, the harvest of the spiritual world cannot fill the belly of reality.

All kinds of expressions crossed his face one by one, and finally turned into a sigh.

"Knock it out!"