Chapter 27: Failing to Find Fault

Jiang Zao glanced at him curiously, then surreptitiously pulled him aside. “Let me tell you, buying paintings at an exhibition is the least cost-effective choice. The works at the booths are so overpriced… If you really want art, you can go to an art college and commission a student. Not only is it several times cheaper than what you see in the gallery, but you can even customize the theme yourself.”

Du Bin was amused by her manner. “In truth, I don’t really understand art.”

Jiang Zao replied earnestly, “It doesn’t really matter whether you understand art. I just mean to say, making money isn’t easy. For ordinary people like us, it’s enough to keep ourselves fed. Art isn’t something ordinary people can afford.”

As they walked out together, Du Bin asked in confusion, “Then why did you choose to study art, Miss Jiang?”

Jiang Zao looked out at the bustling street, her voice distant. “When I was young, I was full of lofty ideals, convinced of my own uniqueness… But talent, after all, can’t feed you.”

“The works at today’s exhibition each have their own merits. Your paintings are by no means inferior to the others, Miss Jiang. You should have more confidence in yourself.”

Jiang Zao shook her head. “When it comes to skill and technique, I’m not lacking compared to anyone in there. But I’ve realized I’m out of touch with the current trends—cyberpunk wastelands, vaporwave interpretations of classic themes… Those, I truly can’t create.”

Although Du Bin didn’t understand much, he grasped one thing. “Miss Jiang, I can’t appreciate the kind of art where people pilot machines and fight with swords. That’s why you’re the best in my eyes.”

Jiang Zao looked at him and couldn’t help but laugh. “Given your background, there’s really nothing wrong with you saying that.”

Soon after Jiang Zao and Du Bin left, a flashy Porsche sports car pulled up at the entrance of the exhibition.

Zhou Jiayan stepped out in high heels and an ostentatious couture suit, tossing her keys casually to the waiting attendant.

The exhibition manager, who had been waiting after being notified, immediately stepped forward to greet her. “Miss Zhou, it’s so rare to see you here. The last time was at the auction in N City. Today is the first day of the exhibition, so all the works are on display. Allow me to accompany you as you look around. If anything catches your eye, I’ll have it delivered to your home myself.”

Zhou Jiayan didn’t even look up. “No need. I’m just browsing today.”

Sensing her displeasure, the manager wisely refrained from further questions. Noticing that, unlike usual, she wasn’t accompanied by bodyguards, he tried to make conversation. “You came alone today, Miss Zhou? It’s rare not to see your security detail. Is Vice President Zhou at ease with that?”

Zhou Jiayan stopped and looked back at him. “What does that have to do with you?”

Perhaps it was a belated rebellious phase, but Zhou Jiayan now disliked anyone meddling in her affairs.

The manager awkwardly took the exhibition guide from a nearby staff member and handed it to her. “Miss Zhou, this is the catalogue for our exhibition. Every piece is included here. The theme this year is ‘Dawn,’ and all the artists are the country’s top young talents. They’ve used innovative techniques and interpreted the theme from various perspectives…”

“Is there an artist named ‘Jiang Zao’?”

Zhou Jiayan flipped through the catalogue, cutting off the manager’s rambling.

He thought for a moment, then quickly answered, “Yes, there is a painter named Jiang Zao. She was specially invited on the recommendation of a professor from the Academy of Fine Arts…”

“Where is she?” Zhou Jiayan interrupted again.

The manager, unable to track every artist’s movements, quickly looked to his secretary for help.

The secretary glanced at her phone and replied on his behalf, “Miss Jiang made a brief appearance for photographs and then left.”

Zhou Jiayan stomped her foot in irritation and strode forward angrily.

She had come specifically to witness Jiang Zao’s embarrassment at this obscure little exhibition, yet the woman had the audacity to leave early.

How rude.

Remembering how her usually doting brother had recently yelled at her over this woman, her resentment only deepened.

Sticking to the principle of “since I’m here, I might as well look around,” Zhou Jiayan wandered through the exhibition, arms crossed, taking in nearly all the works.

Though her father had never been particularly affectionate, he had spared no expense in her education. Zhou Kuan had always tried to cultivate an air of refinement, filling the house with art in hopes of influencing himself. His taste in collecting may not have been the highest, but after years of such exposure, Zhou Jiayan had at least learned how to recognize quality.

Perhaps it was in her genes, but even after attending classes with industry experts and frequenting concerts and exhibitions since childhood, she’d never quite developed a knack for it. Now, faced with a hall full of dazzling artworks, she couldn’t quite see how any of them related to the theme of “Dawn.”

The manager followed beside her, fawning, but seeing her lackluster expression, he began to worry that today’s sale was doomed.

Her heels clicked briskly across the floor in front of every painting, but not a single piece captured her interest for more than a fleeting moment.

Suddenly, the sound of her heels striking the floor stopped short. The manager’s eyes lit up—perhaps there was hope after all.

There, occupying most of the canvas, stood a reindeer, ethereal against the backdrop of snowy mountains and forest. In the faint light of early morning, a golden ray pierced the cold horizon, the only warmth in the entire composition.

“Dawn.”

As Zhou Jiayan gazed at the painting, the word surfaced in her mind. It wasn’t just the sunrise, but a rebirth for all life depicted. This was what people called universal appeal—even someone as unrefined as herself could appreciate it. All those years of attending exhibitions had not been in vain.

Without hesitation, Zhou Jiayan took out her checkbook, delightedly scribbling what seemed like endless zeros. Just as she was about to sign her name, her gaze caught the nameplate beside the painting: Jiang Zao.

With a snap, the checkbook was slammed shut, as if the countless zeros inside were nothing but a dream for the manager.

“Miss Zhou…?” the manager and his staff were bewildered, trembling as they wondered what had happened.

…

Fuming, Zhou Jiayan left the exhibition, climbed into her car in her high heels, and, still angry, crawled along with the sluggish traffic.

Yet another red light. She leaned dispiritedly on the steering wheel, feeling that she’d gotten up early for nothing, with not a single good thing coming her way.

Suddenly, she remembered there was a shortcut that could bypass the traffic jam. Without hesitation, she turned the wheel and stepped on the gas, heading into a nearby alley.