Early the next morning.

Char opened the door to the tavern early, changed into clothes and began to make cocktails.

As his cocktail was ready, with a jingle bell, the door was pushed open, and a familiar figure entered.

Van Gogh walked in, but in his hand he was holding a boxy object wrapped in cloth, like a painting.

Char didn't seem to be surprised by his arrival at all, but just put the wine glass in his hand in front of him.

"Give it a try, it's free."

Van Gogh came to the side of the bar, and he looked at Char.

"It always feels like you knew I was coming, and it was the same last night, and as soon as I came in, you made a cocktail."

"It's just a coincidence." Char said.

He did know that Van Gogh would come back, not because of his ability to predict, but because he knew that Van Gogh at this moment was extremely eager for the approval of others.

He sat down again, looked at the glass, took a sip, and continued.

"This is the kind you gave me last night?"

"Its name is Margaret." Char said, "It was created from a sad story created by the author in memory of his deceased lover."

When they were young, they went hunting together, but Margaret was accidentally hit by a stray bullet and died in John's arms due to blood loss.

Afterwards, John was remorseful and turned his grief into a bartending.

Margaret is mainly based on tequila, as the origin of tequila is where they fall in love.

It is then made with orange juice, lime juice and other fruit juices.

As soon as you enter the mouth, you can feel the heat of a spirit, but in an instant, this heat is diluted by the mildness of lime, and the aftertaste has a faint orange aroma.

The feeling seems to be the same as the love affair between John and Margaret. It's warm, and there's a hint of sadness. ”

After a pause, Char said in a low voice, "Sometimes, when a person dies, it is the living who suffers."

Van Gogh was silent for a moment, he raised his glass and took a sip, and at this moment, he seemed to be able to feel the sadness in this glass of wine.

"Cocktails are like paintings, they can express people's emotions." Van Gogh said.

"Human beings are the most emotionally rich and emotionally expressive creatures in the world." Char replied.

Van Gogh nodded approvingly.

After drinking the cocktail, he opened the strip of cloth wrapped around the thing in his hand, revealing the contents of it.

It was an oil painting.

"This is a painting I made recently." He said.

Char looked at the painting quietly, he knew it as "Starry Night on the Rhône" from his favorite Starry Night series

The painting depicts a night scene along the Rhône in the southern French city of Arles, with a focus on the sky and the river.

The sky is shining with stars, and the riverbank is lit up with street lamps, the light of the street lamps is reflected on the river, two small boats are moored on the riverbank, and a couple is walking along the riverbank.

Although it is not as good as his most famous "Starry Night" in the Starry Night series, it is also Char's favorite painting.

The starry sky is difficult to draw, and he was challenged to capture a night scene illuminated only by gas lighting and a night sky full of stars.

In the painting, the starlight in the sky echoes the reflection of the shore light, and the stars at night are circled by their own halos, and the picture shows the position of the stars through the intensity and interval of the warm light. This way of dealing with light reflects Van Gogh's unique visual aesthetic.

"It's a fascinating painting."

Char muttered softly in a misty look in her eyes.

"Short, cool and charming dark blue lines spread across the night sky, and powerful brushstrokes express the deep mystery and unpredictability of the night.

And the micro stars dotted on it reflect each other with the gas lamps and shadows reflected on the river surface.

The strong contrast between deep blue and bright yellow makes this work express a surging feeling of heart.

The depiction of lights on the calm river is a little clumsy"

"Your heart is eager to share, and you are also lonely, you are a very frank person"

Char looked up at Van Gogh.

There was a slight distraction in his red eyes and his breathing was disordered, and Char noticed that his fingers were trembling slightly, which was an incredible thing for a painter.

He also seemed to notice Char's gaze, and he raised his hand tremblingly to wipe the tears from the corners of his eyes, choking in his throat.

"Sorry, I lost my temper, just. It's just"

"I understand." Char muttered softly.

For the vast majority of people who have almost nothing in their lives, it is an incomparably luxurious thing to receive such a seemingly sparse and ordinary compliment.

"I want to buy this painting." Char said, "How much?" ”

"No need." Van Gogh said in a deep voice, "This painting has been given to you, and only you are qualified to have it." ”

"Although I don't think the value of a work of art should be measured by its price, the artist who creates it is also a mortal person who needs to live by value."

He took a bag from under the counter and placed it on the table.

"Take it all, you deserve it."

Van Gogh picked up the money bag and weighed it, it was not small, it should be a few hundred francs, about the same price as his last painting.

The price of four hundred francs was not too high in those days, but it was not low, and he was happy for a long time after the painting was sold.

It is undeniable that he really needs such a sum of money in his life now.

After all, he can't live on his brother's handouts all the time.

"Come with me to my yard for a drink for a while."

Char took the wine from the counter that Semele had left behind.

"My yard has a nice view."

"Okay." Van Gogh said he was in a good mood right now.

Char took the wine and led him out of the place, into the castle's drawing room, and through the living room into the courtyard.

The courtyard is no different from the past, but Van Gogh could tell at a glance that it was well designed.

The shrubs on one side, the flat grass on the ground, and the beautiful flowers planted by the fence in front of it all show that the owner of this place is a man who loves life.

However, the most eye-catching thing is the lake in front of you that reflects the starry sky, the starry sky here is so beautiful that you can even see the galaxy, and countless stars are dotted on the sky like diamonds.

There is no such great lake in Provence, so this made Van Gogh a little skeptical that his psychosis had relapsed.

"This is Lake Selim, the most beautiful lake in the northwest of Beichen, the last tear of the Atlantic Ocean.

I have been here many years ago and it is even more beautiful during the day.

However, the starry sky at night is also a unique view. ”

Char sat on a chaise longue in the courtyard as if nothing happened, admiring the night sky with a blurred gaze.

"If only my mind were clear." Van Gogh said, "We should have been in West Fland, not in North Star. ”

"I'm a magician." Char said, "There's nothing surprising. ”

"No, that's the part of the surprise." Van Gogh complained.

Char got up and uncorked the wine, and the rich and charming aroma of the wine escaped to the surroundings, Van Gogh had never smelled such an enchanting smell in his life.

Char poured the wine over two goblets and pushed one towards Van Gogh.

After a moment of silence, Van Gogh stepped forward and took a sip of the wine, the rich aroma of which was surging in his mouth, but not irritating, as if he was lying in a vineyard full of grapes, intoxicating.

All the pain, trouble, and sorrow seemed to be put to the back of my mind at this moment.

Van Gogh's eyes were a little confused, and he lay down in his chair, not trying to figure out why they had come to Beichen, but began to admire the night sky.

He put his hands on his lower abdomen, and the whole person was very relaxed.

"You know what?" Van Gogh said, "In my opinion, there are many things in this world that ordinary people cannot see.

I always believe that if you look closely, there will be more wonders in the universe than you can imagine. ”

He sighed, "How lucky we are to be alive to enjoy such a beautiful world"

"Can you see the world as I see it?" Van Gogh asked in a low voice as he looked at the starry sky.

"Perhaps." Char leaned back on the chair, the breeze blowing lightly, bringing ripples in the water, looking very pleasant.

Van Gogh looked at the sky in confusion and stretched out his finger to it.

"Look at this night sky, it's not a featureless pitch black, it's pitch black, it's a deep blue."

He pointed that way.

"Over there, it's a light blue."

He waved his hand to the side.

"And whistling between the deep blue and the black is the wind that whirls through the sky, and the stars that shine brightly and burn and bloom."

He slowly got up, a smile on his face.

"Can you see their galloping and roaring starlight?"

Char listened to Van Gogh's story, and he remembered that he had seen another of his famous paintings called "Starry Nights" in the past.

The sky in front of him seemed to change as he spoke, and on the blue and black sky dome was full of dreamy whirlpools.

"Wherever I look, the magic of nature shines in front of me." Van Gogh muttered softly.

"I've seen a lot of landscapes, my friend." Char murmured, "But you're right, the scenery in your eyes is incomparable."

Van Gogh turned his head to look at Char beside him, and his eyes were swirling, and he whispered.

"You're going to be my best friend."

By the time I left the tavern, it was already dawn the next day.

Char and Van Gogh talked all night, and they seemed to be friends who had known each other for many days, and they hardly said anything.

While leaving, Van Gogh took a gift from Char and asked him to open it when he returned home.

He returned home and couldn't wait to open the gift he had given.

It was a canvas painting, and his pupils contracted slightly as he pulled the cloth that encased it apart, revealing the painting inside.

It was a landscape painting, depicting a Russian summer palace, which Char had painted before Catherine II, so the style of painting was almost the same.

He reached out and trembled as he touched the familiar brushstrokes on it, looking at its extreme use of color.

He recognized almost immediately that the painting was almost identical to the portrait of Catherine in style and brushwork, and it was almost certain that the painting was written by one person.

And in the corner of this painting, a line is written in small print.

Someday, people all over the world will pronounce your name in a different pronunciation – as a gift to Vincent van Gogh.

The straps on the purse he brought back opened itself due to its weight, revealing the coins inside.

Not the franc he had thought, but gold coins, a whole bag full of gold coins, glowing with a scorching glow in the sunlight shining through the window.

(End of chapter)