Chapter 338: Can't Even Afford a Dog

Chapter 338: Can't Even Afford a Dog

Translator: BeetleBarker Editor: Tennesh

Will's wife had originally wanted to take a look at the furnishings in Fang Zhao's room and speculate whether Fang Zhao had had any special characteristics. When she turned around, she saw Will stroking the dog and immediately broke into a cold sweat. Her face was completely pale and she pulled Will back immediately.

"Do you not want your hand any longer?!"

A painter's hands were very precious. If his hands were bitten, even though medical technology was very advanced now, but what if? What if he was unable to fully restore his former skill? What if he was unable to paint out everything he pictured in his mind?

This was a rare occasion where Will's wife got angry. But since they were in someone else's home, it wouldn't be good to say too much. After she pulled Will away, he was met with a barrage of words. Only when she saw Fang Zhao bringing a bag of things over did she force a smile, but it seemed stiffer than before.

After Will and his wife left, Fang Zhao looked at Curly Hair. "Will might look unsociable, but he has no ill intentions."

Curly Hair wagged his tail and came over and whined.

Fang Zhao also knew what Curly Hair meant. "All right, your performance today wasn't bad. Go play."

Even before Fang Zhao finished the sentence, the little thing had dashed across the room, proficiently put on the gaming helmet, and started playing his games.

This dog's gaming addiction was getting stronger and stronger.

Next door, after Will and his wife returned to their own dormitory, his wife started reprimanding him for his inappropriate actions.

"You still dare to touch an unfamiliar dog! Have you forgotten what happened in the past?"

When Will had been younger, he had been bitten by a dog as a result of a prank by some peers. The injuries had been a little serious, but he had recovered well. He had protected his arms especially well that time, so after healing, his painting skills hadn't been affected, but his legs had taken a while to fully recover. Also, New Era medical techniques were quite advanced, and the dog that had bitten him had been small. If it had been a large dog like those seen in Muzhou that had bitten Will, it would have been hard for him to even survive.

Thus, normally, when Will saw a dog, he kept his distance, and he was especially vigilant against unfamiliar dogs. Compared to his past behavior, his actions today were really unexpected.

Will seemed to be puzzled himself. "I just felt that dog was really extraordinary. It gave me an intense feeling."

"What sort of feeling?" his wife asked, suspicious.

Will's forehead creased tightly. "I felt like touching."

Will's wife: "..."

Seeing Will's perplexed manner, his wife probed, "You want to get a dog?"

Will didn't hesitate and replied, "I don't want to. Pets are too much trouble."

If he couldn't take care of himself normally, would he even keep a dog? Besides, this wasn't his own home, so he could not just leave these matter to servants or a housekeeper.

"Regardless of whether you wish to get one or not, just don't have any designs on the dog next door. Let's not talk about whether Fang Zhao is willing to sell or not. Even if he is willing to sell it, you won't be able to afford it." Will's wife continued to berate her husband, "I have checked, and the value of that ordinary-looking dog of Fang Zhao's was estimated at more than 200 million by an authoritative pet magazine! The money you earned from those paintings was spent a few days back purchasing antiques because you said you wanted to study ancient people's painting styles."

Faced with this pragmatic issue, Will paused for a bit and then said, "Old master's words really make sense."

"What did your dad say?" Will's wife asked curiously.

"Not to me—he said it to my older cousin. He said that painting requires one to put in continuous effort to improve oneself. One must continuously try to surpass oneself. If not, the art that one produces can't even be worth as much as a dog."

That cousin of Will's had loved to look at the value of a painting in monetary terms. When Will's cousin was young, he had learned painting for the sake of earning money. He'd had talent but hadn't been hardworking enough, so the old master had said such words to incite him.

Although Will's paintings currently sold in the tens of millions range, and other than a few reputed great masters with many years of experience, it was really difficult to find someone comparable, it still wasn't enough to purchase Curly Hair.

"Indeed, if I don't continue to work hard, I won't even be able to afford a dog!" Will lamented while staring at his own hands.

Will's wife: "..." No! Old master's context definitely didn't mean the sort of dog that is worth over 200 million!

Will's wife could not help but ask him, "Did you have any special feelings when you touched a dog worth over 200 million?"

"I felt like painting." Will also seemed to come to his senses when he spoke as he reminded himself before heading over to his atelier.

However, when Will sat in front of his canvas and picked up his brush, he found himself unable to move.

He couldn't paint anything.

He couldn't put his brush to the canvas!

Clearly, he'd just had an intense desire to paint, but upon sitting down, he realized that his mind was suddenly muddled. It was as if he had lost control of whatever inspiration he'd had, and he had no way of sorting it out!

Why was it like this?

Will was at a loss.

Whether it was a person or some objects, Will had his own methods of presenting them, but when he had decided to paint an object, even if the image in his mind wasn't clear, he would still have some lively outlines and colors. But now it was totally different. The outlines and colors he had in his head were just a dense fog! It was as if everything was hidden behind this fog and nothing could be seen clearly!

Will put his brush down, closed his eyes, and meditated.

Two hours later.

Meditation hadn't borne fruit.

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When Will's wife came over, she saw Will facing his blank canvas and looking miserable. He wore a look of being unable to paint and feeling grievance.

According to past experiences, this meant that Will had encountered a difficult problem. If he could not find a way to solve it, he probably would not have any appetite.

Will's wife quietly knocked on the door. When Will looked over, she asked, "What's wrong?"

"I can't paint that dog."

"Can't paint it?" Will's wife looked at the blank canvas. She didn't understand too well, but she knew Will's way of thinking when he painted, so she suggested. "You can paint Fang Zhao first, the way he was next door, him sitting on the sofa and Curly Hair lying beside his feet. If you start with Fang Zhao, that might aid you in painting Curly Hair."

Will felt that this was feasible. It wasn't that he was unable to paint a dog, just that he wasn't able to create a painting of that dog next door. Since that was the case, he could try it out and start with painting the owner. Perhaps while painting, he would get clearer inspiration.

With this in mind, Will picked up his brush and starting working on the canvas.

However, after a few strokes, he stopped.

He couldn't continue painting.

Unable to continue.

So much so that the more he painted, the more his mind became muddled.

That shouldn't be the case.

Will appeared even more perplexed than before. Not only was he not able to paint a dog, he couldn't even paint a person, something he was very adept at!

Finally, Will decided to shelve this assignment. Following that, he altered the study plans he'd created when entering this advanced course. He once again submitted a new study-plan form to the guidance teachers.

The teaching methods of teachers in this advanced course were different from normal schooling. Teachers here did not get the students to do whatever they said. Rather, whatever the students wanted to do, the teachers would be there to help them realize their goals.

Thus, there were study-plan forms to let the teachers understand the advanced student's objectives and orientation. This way, they would be able to give focused guidance and have the best people in each specialized field impart their skills and knowledge.

Will's new study plan form did not see any huge changes, but he made changes to the two most important projects.

————

During the period of advanced studies, my short-term objective: to paint Fang Zhao.

My final objective: to paint Fang Zhao's dog.

————

Upon seeing the newly amended study plan, the guidance teachers for painting and calligraphy: "???"

Fang Zhao didn't know that Will was at a loss. He had just received his course schedule for the first week and was preparing to welcome his advanced-studies curriculum.

Course schedules would vary, and only the nearest week's arrangements could be set. The lecturers weren't set either. If a certain great master was free this week, he might have a few sessions. In the following week, another great master might take over. Whoever had time would give lessons.

Every advanced student would receive a different course schedule. As their specialties, genres, and styles were different, there would also be differences in the teachers for each student.

The schedules weren't too tightly packed. Much of the time would be for advanced students to make their own choices. They could seek out a certain great master after lessons to discuss issues, or they could self-study and visit the library or some other location to polish their skills. Alternatively, they could seal themselves up and create their works, but they would need to give a heads up beforehand.

Fang Zhao's first lesson in the Twelve Tones advanced course was a collective class. Students with painting, calligraphy, dance, and music, as well as other specialties, would attend a class together. Besides the current batch, there were also other advanced students from past batches that had not left yet. With this, there were close to 30 people.

It wasn't that those advanced students from past batches had not met the graduating criteria for the course but rather that they still had some collaboration projects with the teachers that were not yet complete. Once these were complete, they would naturally leave.

For the new student's first lesson, it wasn't the lecturers speaking but those seniors from the previous batch speaking about study issues during the course, giving those without a clear niche some form of reference and making them think, What do you want to do in the future? What sort of heights can you reach?

For everyone else, seeing the 20-something Fang Zhao call a 100-plus-year-old person senior was extremely strange. But in Twelve Tones, these sorts of scenes were seen often. When the next batch of advanced students enrolled, regardless of how old they were, they would still have to call Fang Zhao "senior."

Regarding Fang Zhao, who was the youngest advanced student, at the start, others had surely felt a little uncomfortable, but after all, everyone here had some status and was accomplished within their own domain.

The path of art was like a sort of religious practice, a form of cultivation. Their thoughts should be placed on upgrading themselves instead of spending time being jealous and so on. That sort of cultivation was no good.

The reason why academically inclined great masters did not really like people with an overly commercialized vibe was because they did not like placing too much of their thoughts on things that were not art. As for the private lives of these advanced students, the requirements weren't high.

Thus, once everyone had adjusted their mentalities, during the first lesson, Fang Zhao received care and concern from his seniors as well as fellow students from the same batch.

Outside the classroom, a few great masters who would be teaching were observing four of the new students this year. Of the four, Fang Zhao was the one they knew the least about, and he wasn't from a familiar family known for their art.

An elderly man looked at Fang Zhao in the classroom as he asked the person beside him, "This is the kid?"

In the eyes of these people who, on average, were 120 years old, at 20-plus years of age, Fang Zhao was just a little kid.

"Yes. Back then, Xue Jing brought this kid along on his global lecture tour. Mo Lang also thinks very highly of him," a different teacher voiced out.

"No wonder Mo Lang says that he wants to come to Twelve Tones to give a few lectures after his vacation ends."

"We will see whether he really has the ability when the course starts. From what we can see now, Fang Zhao does indeed have innate skill and talent. He doesn't seem to have that cupidity or fickleness. For him to have done so well at his age is already very difficult."

These people were really not focusing on and talking about Fang Zhao on purpose. If it was anybody not from the industry seated there, they would also be staring at Fang Zhao.

Because when looking inside the classroom, Fang Zhao was too conspicuous. He was like the only grandson sitting among a group of people who were like his grandparents or parents.

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