Ding ding ding...
In front of the presidential suite, the sound of the doorbell rang.
A few seconds later, the door opened.
"Who is it? Elder Cao is taking a nap."
Old Yang’s puzzled face appeared behind the oak door of the hotel room.
Elder Cao was very old, and living alone would make it difficult to care for him if he caught a cold or fever.
Moreover, the presidential suite naturally included a small room for a secretary, so Old Yang and Elder Cao stayed in the sa room.
He heard the doorbell, opened the door, and saw Professor Lin Tao standing at the door in a bathrobe, holding a phone in one hand and supporting his waist with the other.
"Oh, it’s Professor Lin. Do you need anything? If you need, I can call Elder Cao."
The impatience on Old Yang’s face quickly disappeared, replaced by a smile.
For this second disciple of Elder Cao, he showed no airs.
"Since he’s napping, let’s not disturb the teacher’s rest."
Lin Tao imdiately lowered his voice, waving his hand to indicate that he was not in a hurry.
"Call when the teacher wakes up, and I’ll co back."
"No need, I’m awake now, co in."
The voice of Elder Cao ca from inside the room.
Lin Tao walked in and saw Elder Cao wearing a Tang jacket, sitting on the sofa in the suite.
The teacher looked like he had just gotten up, holding a cup of Biluochun tea that Old Yang had just poured from the thermos on the coffee table.
The steam rising from the teacup gave him an ethereal, immortal-like aura.
"Teacher, I’m showing you a painting."
Lin Tao lit up his phone screen and handed it over.
"Have you been drinking again?"
Elder Cao took the phone handed over by his disciple.
Without imdiately looking at the painting, he glared at Professor Lin Tao.
"Socializing, socializing."
Professor Lin shrank his neck imdiately when his teacher glared at him.
"This morning, the Yangon governnt officials held a celebration for the first phase of the project. The Yangon Mayor was there, and since you, the great artist, didn’t want to attend, I, as the disciple, had to represent the school and drink a few cups."
"Excuses. Can’t even control your own mouth, useless. At your age, I can’t believe you can’t refuse them drinking."
Even though Lin Tao was almost at retirent age, the old man still had a stern authority when lecturing his disciple.
Lin Tao could only smile awkwardly.
"Don’t die before this old man does."
"Look at the painting, look at the painting first." Lin Tao quickly changed the subject.
Elder Cao took the tortoiseshell glasses from the assistant and placed them on his nose.
"This painting, which artist wants your advice now?"
Looking down at the painting, Elder Cao spoke in a flat tone.
"Seems pretty ordinary, nothing special. This kind of artist, you can guide him, still need to look?"
The old man glanced at it casually, recognizing it as a work of a standard professional painter.
"The painting itself is nothing much, but do you know who painted it?"
Lin Tao sat nearby, his tone with a tinge of uncontrollable excitent: "It’s by that kid you favored recently."
"Gu Weijing?"
Elder Cao’s originally indifferent tone slightly lifted.
"Yes, it’s him. Just a few weeks and already painting decently. The teacher truly has good judgnt." Lin Tao sincerely praised.
When Elder Cao initially praised Gu Weijing, Lin Tao had so reservations.
At least he thought the other party, at their current level, was not yet deserving of Elder Cao’s comnt, "Better than this old man."
That sentence was shocking, but perhaps only he, as Elder Cao’s second disciple, knew what it truly ant.
And only he understood how weighty those words were.
In Asian culture, the master-disciple tradition is paramount; whether it’s the mason at the end of the street, the carpenter at the door, or the market vendor, they feared training their disciples only to eventually end up starving the master.
But the more accomplished the teacher, the more they felt an obligation to pass on their knowledge, and the more they hoped for a greater successor.
Na and fa, Professor Lin Tao and the other students already possessed all they ever could in a lifeti.
They had yearned all their lives for one thing: their teacher’s acknowledgnt that their standing and achievents surpassed his own.
"You’re better than ."
This was the highest praise Lin Tao could imagine.
Regrettably.
Lin Tao couldn’t achieve it.
Among their generation, only five were truly accepted by Elder Cao as inner disciples.
The most talented was the eldest brother, truly seen by Elder Cao as the heir, but he tragically passed young in a marine accident.
That was arguably the heaviest blow to Elder Cao’s fa, nearly turning his hair completely white overnight.
Then there was the oldest, himself, and the youngest, Tang Ning, who was accepted by Mr. Cao at sixty, coming from a renowned Jiangnan family in calligraphy and painting.
Among them, none could claim to have surpassed their teacher.
It wasn’t due to a lack of effort; the truth is, a painter’s skill can’t be chased down by re effort.
When Lin Tao was young in apprenticeship, Elder Cao seed a towering mountain above the clouds.
In middle age, when he achieved fa, Elder Cao remained a peak unseen.
Now older, glimpses of the summit’s scenery finally appeared, but Lin Tao knew he had reached his technical limits.
He stood at the pinnacle, one more step was daunting beyond asure.
There’s an overused quote: success is 99% perspiration and 1% inspiration, but that 1% is more crucial than the 99%.
For a painter, sotis talent truly outweighs re hard work.
This painting wasn’t remarkable to Lin Tao; many could do better.
But making such strides in a short ti was indeed rare.
Especially since this might be his apprentice in the future.
"The ink trails retract within the lines, no brush with no return, it truly captures so essence of Chinese Painting."
Elder Cao enlarged the photo, examined the brushwork intently, and nodded in satisfaction.
"Much stronger than I was at that age."
Professor Lin Tao said.
"Still not as good as Xiaoning; at that age, she already had so poise in her work."
Elder Cao’s expression remained severe.
"Are you really considering letting Gu Weijing participate in the Lion City Art Exhibition?"
Lin Tao asked.
In his view, if it was just about participation difficulty, Gu Weijing, with his impressive sketch skills, might find it easier with Oil Painting.
Objectively, in the choices of curators abroad, Chinese Painting was harder to get into exhibitions than Oil Painting.
So foreigners indeed couldn’t appreciate Eastern Art’s beauty at all.
Especially when faced with two works of similar caliber, the curatorial committee would lean towards selecting an Oil Painting.
This is determined by cultural context and aesthetic capabilities.
"I an what I say."
Elder Cao shook his head, "When Tang Ning won the Shanghai Art Biennale Master Award, she was only 22, not much older than Gu Weijing now. To be my last disciple, he naturally needs that courage and capability."
"That’s incomparable; Junior Sister Ning’s family background is different; Gu Weijing’s is on a different level entirely."
Lin Tao shook his head with a wry smile.
Junior Sister Tang Ning ca from a great Jiangnan family, renowned in painting since the Southern Song, surrounded by masters.
Historically, how many artists had such advantages?
There’s no comparing that with Gu Weijing.
"Whether you believe it or not doesn’t matter. From today, Lin Tao, start systematically teaching Young Gu. He can already start learning the truly spirited elents in Chinese Painting, beginning with painting flowers."
Faced with Lin Tao’s doubts, Elder Cao remained noncommittal.
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