This painting is the most expensive artwork ever auctioned in human history,
without exception.
The most recent market transaction saw it bought by a Middle East prince for nearly five billion dollars, a sum higher than the market value of most dium-sized listed companies.
"Savior" is indeed a fine painting.
But to this day, the true identity of the painter remains shrouded in mist and doubt.
So believe this painting was Leonardo da Vinci’s last completed work.
Others believe it is the masterpiece of Leonardo da Vinci’s student, Bernardino Luini.
So even think the author is a representative of the later Milan School, Botafio, or perhaps so other painter who left no na in history.
A master-level artwork with exquisite brushwork, yet the specific author is unknown.
Such a situation wouldn’t only be encountered by Gu Weijing and his peers.
The situation of "Savior" is very similar to the problem that Koizumi Katsuko and Gu Weijing need to handle.
Whether the author is Da Vinci or a lesser-known painter, it ultimately determines whether an extra zero gets added to or removed from the value of a painting.
As Koizumi Katsuko said.
The National Gallery, London, without hesitation, chose the most profitable option.
After hiring scholars to publish several professional papers, in the 2011 exhibition, the gallery, without any decisive evidence, attributed the painting to Leonardo da Vinci.
Then again, usually, there isn’t decisive evidence to be found in such situations.
The market is actually quite happy to welco another Da Vinci piece; there are too many buyers willing to pay for that na.
The transaction price nearing five billion dollars today says it all.
Profiting from it is nothing to be ashad of.
Da Vinci is just one example.
Many artworks attributed to renowned painters like Titian and Giorgione have questionable authenticity.
If one just throws academic integrity to the side, it results in a win-win situation for everyone.
Gu Weijing fell into silence.
Rationally, what Koizumi Katsuko said made a lot of sense.
But there was a small secret persistence in his heart.
This "Old Church on a Stormy Day" is of such high artistic level and historical significance, and yet it was acquired too easily.
This gave Gu Weijing a mission-like sense of duty, as if bestowed by Heaven.
Without the system, there was no way he could have acquired such a precious piece of art.
Just like the cliché yet classic Spider-Man line—"With great power cos great responsibility."
Gu Weijing felt a responsibility to do sothing for the female painter "Carol" from more than a century ago.
Such a stunning master painter once graced this world, only to be quietly swallowed by ti, which is already a very sad, very sad thing.
Now, be it the intrinsic value of this famous painting or the opportunity to publish a paper, in every sense, Gu Weijing had already received so much from this unnad nineteenth-century female painter.
And the only way he could repay this artistic predecessor from a century ago was to use a paper to proclaim her na to the world.
Gu Weijing wasn’t being overly sentintal.
Though it was highly unlikely that the painting’s author was really Camille.
Yet if Gu Weijing didn’t find the slightest clue in the materials he reviewed,
he wouldn’t mind putting out a catchy headline to tell the world that they had found a rare authentic piece from Monet’s wife.
The flaw he pointed out about the hair color, strictly speaking, wasn’t even a fundantal issue.
From the nurous portraits Monet made of his wife Camille,
it could be seen that her hair color was a deep brown with a hint of gold; although it’s habitually called auburn, calling it gold-red wouldn’t be wrong either.
But now that there was a more likely hypothesis in front of him,
to continue like this,
Gu Weijing felt it was a desecration to the female painter Carol and a desecration to his own good fortune.
He tapped on the table.
"The likelihood of it being Kara is greater. Truth cannot beco false, nor can false beco truth. After the paper is published, perhaps the academic community or society will be able to provide more concrete news regarding this painting."
"If we really manage to guess the identity of the painter, this paper’s value would significantly increase. Conversely, if the true author is indeed Kara and we falsely attribute it to Camille, it would be quite a joke."
Gu Weijing explained.
"That’s not a reason; the probability is just too small. In history, papers concerning artwork with uncertain origins are countless; after many years, how many have found decisive evidence? It’s like finding a needle in a haystack."
Koizumi Katsuko’s tone was slightly hurried.
Miss Shengzi, in fact, viewed things outside of painting very lightly.
But this paper held different significance for her.
Every ti Shengzi thought—if this paper could secure a place in art history, at least in the field of Impressionism research.
Years later, every student delving into related materials won’t be able to bypass this paper.
They would all see the nas Gu Weijing & Koizumi Katsuko side by side on the paper’s cover.
Her heartbeat would inexplicably accelerate, like a fla dancing in her chest.
Thus,
Koizumi Katsuko was always particularly serious about this paper.
She didn’t want Gu Weijing to easily give up such a sensational perspective.
"If there are no additional findings, the art market tends to be influenced by initial impressions, and our paper’s perspective would play a decisive role. At that ti, collectors, at least so of them, might take the na we decide on now as the real creator of this painting."
"The sa conjecture with a high probability of being unverified. If you now give this honor to an obscure painter, do you not feel it’s a pity?"
Koizumi Katsuko bit her lower lip, saying, "If this painting is considered as the work of Monet’s wife, perhaps it could sell for tens of millions of US dollars, then..."
Then,
my mom wouldn’t look down on you anymore.
She swallowed the second half of the sentence.
"Too pity, unnecessary."
Koizumi Katsuko looked at Gu Weijing, her eyes carrying a plea.
"If that’s really the case, shouldn’t we choose the more likely painter as our hypothesis’s viewpoint?"
Gu Weijing avoided Koizumi Katsuko’s gaze and said softly, "This is the original purpose of us writing the paper."
Looking at the boy’s persistent and serious face,
Koizumi Katsuko fell silent.
She knew if her father, Uncle Sakai, were here, he would definitely not agree with Gu Weijing’s opinion.
To put it simply, it’s just a conjecture.
Professor Yakai Ichiro has been mingling in the art circle for many years,
though not shaless, in so aspects he had already beco a seasoned veteran.
Perhaps what Gu Weijing said made so sense.
However, from a purely profit perspective, replacing Camille with Kara is not a wise choice.
In the face of reachable benefits,
how many people can maintain their persistence?
Let alone a low-risk, high-reward conclusion; even intentional academic fraud, there are plenty willing to do it.
She didn’t know how her father would view this.
But Koizumi Katsuko felt that in front of the words—"this is the original purpose of us writing the paper", she was genuinely sowhat touched, even feeling a bit flushed.
"He’s really cool."
Looking at Gu Weijing’s not-so-handso face, a little voice in Koizumi Katsuko’s mind exclaid.
To a Japanese high school girl, a boy considered cool usually had a handso, pretty-boy appearance, could play in bands, partake in sports, and occasionally, having a bit of the fierce aura of a protagonist from a yakuza manga was a bonus in so eyes.
At least, Gu Weijing didn’t fit this standard.
But Koizumi Katsuko felt that all the handso guys she had seen in the past combined were nothing compared to the boy beside her.
In the face of massive monetary interests,
being able to maintain a pure heart is a rarity.
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