Chapter 30: Is His Love Not Enough?
Shen Chuyan’s eyes were full of stars. “That’s great! With A-Ting’s encouragement, I have even more confidence!”
The man raised his hand and rubbed his head dotingly. His eyes were full of undisguised affection. He asked softly:
“How is the preparation for Xiao Yan’s entry? Can I see it?”
At these words, panic flashed across Shen Chuyan’s face. He smiled unnaturally and blinked mischievously:
“The work is ready! But I can’t show it to A-Ting now. We have to keep a bit of mystery~”
Ji Songting furrowed his brows slightly and gave a helpless, light smile. His tone was drawn out with praise and appreciation: “Alright. I’m very much looking forward to Xiao Yan’s work tomorrow.”
In a shadow where the man couldn’t see, Shen Chuyan’s deep, black eyes flashed with a sharp, cold glint.
The Swimming Hall.
The sound of water was gurgling. A cold atmosphere filled the corner. It was pitch black, making it suffocating.
Suddenly, a ripple appeared on the surface of the pool. A skeletal hand reached out of the water and climbed onto the edge.
A person, soaked through with water dripping from his hair, crawled out of the pool.
“Cough, cough, cough…“
Jian An lay on his side on the damp floor, his chest coughing violently, spitting out the water that had entered his nose and stomach. He was in a wretched state.
Dirty water mixed with traces of blood flowed over the once-clean tiles. It was a shocking sight.
After coughing for nearly fifteen minutes, his vulnerable stomach finally felt a bit better.
But his face was withered, as if the blood had been drained from it. His vacant pupils were full of horror and despair.
Jian An knew he had escaped death once again.
Did Ji Songting want to kill him…?
He could have followed that man’s wishes and died completely, leaving this place of sorrow. He could have left a cold corpse the next day. So why did he crawl out of hell in such agony?
He didn’t ask for anything now, nor did he have a shred of expectation for Ji Songting. It was just that whenever he thought of his lonely mother, he couldn’t bear to leave.
He had to get that one million from the competition first.
As he thought, Jian An’s body began to twitch uncontrollably. An oppressed, painful wail escaped his throat, as if it were being brutally torn from the depths of his soul. Such sorrow.
His eyes, filled with pool water, were incredibly sore, yet he couldn’t shed a single tear.
When the pain reached its peak, one couldn’t cry. He had no strength to struggle. He just lay there quietly, letting the heart-wrenching pain erode his will.
The darkness began to swallow his last bit of reason. Extreme fear, a dread that struck the heart.
Jian An dragged his exhausted body and slowly crawled toward the only door that showed a faint light.
He struggled to stand up, but his legs, which had cramped in the water, could no longer support him.
He looked up at the tightly closed door. It seemed to be locked from the outside; he couldn’t get out.
A chill ran through Jian An’s heart. He collapsed on the floor in despair. His throat was so choked by the water that he couldn’t make a sound. He could only stretch out his arm to weakly push the glass door, but it had no effect.
Gradually, his body was no longer cold but became burning hot. His teeth chattered uncontrollably, and he coughed violently.
His face was grey-white—paler than the walls. Cold sweat flowed continuously, and his dark lips were icy.
Jian An struggled to raise his hand and touch his forehead. It was burning hot. Did he have a fever?
He shook his head hard, trying to clear his mind, but his body and eyelids became heavier and heavier.
“Is… anyone… there…”
He called out silently, curling himself up in the doorway where the light could enter. He hugged his arms and buried his head between his knees, like a dying young animal.
Jian An’s vision gradually blurred. He gritted his teeth hard until his lips turned white.
He couldn’t just fall asleep. Tomorrow was the official screening for the art competition. He had lived his whole life for others. Now that he finally had a chance to be brave for his dream, he must not give up.
The dead swimming hall was cold and dark. Boundless despair continued to tear at that bit of hope.
The audience and judges’ seats were full, yet it was silent. All eyes were gathered on the contestants’ stage.
The oil painting Utopia’s Redemption was displayed on the exhibition stand for the best outstanding works.
Shen Chuyan stood beside the portrait, the center of attention. With a smile, he gently pushed the microphone toward his mouth.
He cleared his throat and introduced the background story of the oil painting:
“The youth in the painting is the last prince of the Boer Dynasty in the Greek Middle Ages, Adonis Allen. After the dynasty was defeated, he was offered as tribute to the King of the Casablanca Empire. Because the youth’s beauty was like a god’s, King Elro fell in love at first sight, giving the prince the highest love and power.”
“The youth thought he had found redemption and gradually fell in love with the King. But what he didn’t know was that a priest had once told the King: only if the youth truly loved the King could his heart completely revive the dead Queen.”
At this point, a look of regret appeared on Shen Chuyan’s face. “The youth reached out his right hand toward the deity in the church, praying for long-lasting love with the King. But the deity responded with his left hand. This point already alluded to the youth’s fate.”
In the judges’ area, Ji Songting listened quietly with his fingers interlaced. An elegant and gentle smile rippled at the corners of his mouth.
Shen Chuyan glanced at the man with a mix of nervousness and joy. Seeing him nod in approval, he continued explaining:
“Because in the Bible, the right hand usually represents strength and blessing, while the left hand represents deception and fall.”
Then, the screen behind them suddenly enlarged the black butterfly patterns and crosses on the sleeves of the priests and nuns.
He pointed to the details and sighed:
“The inverted cross represents going to hell; it’s a prop used in evil rituals. In different cultures, black butterflies represent different meanings, but they usually signal an impending disaster or death. The butterflies on these people’s sleeves are flying toward the youth, indicating that the youth, after praying, is about to die.”
“True redemption doesn’t come from a vague God, but from the courage and strength within the heart.”
Shen Chuyan turned back and smiled—a smile as brilliant as fireworks. He bowed deeply. “This is the beauty I depicted for this art competition. Thank you everyone and the judges!”
The next moment, thunderous applause rang out from the audience. The green lights of the judges’ approval lit up in unison.
“As expected of a professor from the Yaocheng Art Academy! This is so profound!” someone exclaimed.
“Never mind that the painting is beautiful, the person is so optimistic and lovely! Ahhh, I love him!” another person cried out.
In the audience, Shen Yunheng remained silent with his arms crossed. His brows were tightly furrowed in disbelief.
Based on his years of knowing his younger brother, the other’s artistic level had always been average. Yet the work displayed today showed extraordinary talent.
Wasn’t this progress a bit too fast?
Furthermore, the more he looked at that oil painting, the more he felt the style looked like it came from Jian An’s hand.
Is it an illusion…?
Ji Songting gazed at the youth on the stage, who was as bright as a star. His heart was also deeply moved by that pure smile and the peerless work.
He quietly gave Shen Chuyan a thumbs-up, and the other man saw it, curling the corners of his mouth.
He almost never accepted invitations from investors, but today he specifically came to be a judge for Shen Chuyan.
At this time, one of the judges asked:
“Professor Shen, can you tell us about your inspiration for this creation? Why did you name it Utopia’s Redemption? Is it because the youth in the painting lives in an illusion created by others, or is it that the Professor himself yearns for true love and redemption in his heart?”
As this interlocking question was posed, Ji Songting immediately cast his gaze on the person in the center of the stage.
Was his love over these years not enough?
Why would the other person yearn for redemption?
He wanted to hear Shen Chuyan’s accurate answer.
“Of course… I can certainly explain.”
Shen Chuyan lost some of his previous confidence when answering this question and began to grow nervous.
He was currently facing the world’s top masters of art research. They weren’t as easy to fool as the audience.
The oil painting wasn’t his own work; how could he possibly explain it?!
Moreover, there was Ji Songting, who would also doubt his need for something like love and redemption.
The air suddenly went quiet, and the atmosphere froze.
Shen Chuyan immediately adjusted his disordered breathing, secretly thankful he had prepared his wording before the competition.
“The inspiration came while I was volunteering at an orphanage. Most of the children there are abandoned, lonely, and lacking love. They thought the orphanage could be a home, but they were beaten and abused by a director with manic depression!”
He bit his lip, his eyes full of heartache and suppressed anger. He then spoke with a sob:
“To gain social attention and donations, the director created an illusion of sheltering the orphans from wind and rain. In reality, he embezzled the money and starved the children to death.”
At these words, the people below whispered to one another, all indignant at the director’s actions.
The impact of his words was significant. Shen Chuyan slightly curled his lips in satisfaction and continued:
“That’s why I was moved to draw this painting, combined with the tragic love of the Middle Ages Greek youth.”
This answer was flawless. It both promoted his charitable image of caring for orphans and successfully resolved the conflict between his inspiration and Ji Songting.
“Professor Shen! What happened to that director in the end?” an audience member suddenly shouted.
Shen Chuyan replied patiently with a smile: “The director is naturally receiving formal treatment in a mental hospital. I believe that in the near future, he can become a new person.”
“Professor Shen is truly beautiful and kind-hearted!”
“The championship must belong to Professor Shen!”
The surroundings were filled with endless admiration and praise, yet Shen Yunheng felt it was strange.
Shen Chuyan volunteered at an orphanage? How did he, as the brother, not know about this at all?
The host looked at the list in his hand. “Alright. Professor Shen, please go to the rest area and wait. Next, let’s welcome our next contestant, contestant number 9849, Jian An!”
But no one came onto the stage.
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