Chapter Sixteen: What Is a Genius?

Qin Nuanyu accepted Yang Xiaofan’s painting, yet she ignored him for the entire class, which left him feeling rather frustrated. Wasn’t it said that taking the initiative was the key to winning a girl’s heart? Why did it seem he was failing so miserably? He was so handsome, so talented—why was life so difficult?

Just then, a message popped up on his WeChat. Yang Xiaofan glanced down; it was from Mu Shuyu.

“Are you there?”

“I’m here. What’s up?”

“I have a few friends who want to buy your paintings. I wonder if you have some time—would you be willing to meet them?”

“Of course.”

Yang Xiaofan agreed without hesitation.

He needed money badly! He’d just earned ten million, but after a spending spree, only a little over a million remained. There were still plenty of things in the mall he wanted to buy, all of which required money. Upgrading this golden finger of his was impossible without it.

“When are you available?”

“Lunch is fine.”

“Alright, I’ll have someone pick you up at noon.”

“Okay.”

With a new way to earn money, Yang Xiaofan’s mood lifted, and after school, he dashed out of the classroom at the first opportunity.

Qin Nuanyu happened to look up just in time to see Yang Xiaofan run off without so much as a backward glance. Furious, she clenched her little pink fists, biting her lip in anger.

“Why is he running off in such a hurry? I never want to speak to him again!”

Her anger had actually faded, and she’d planned to talk to Yang Xiaofan after class. Yet not only had he ignored her all day, but now he left without even looking at her—plainly leaving her out in the cold.

That infuriating boy! She swore never to speak to him again!

Completely preoccupied with making money, Yang Xiaofan had no inkling of Qin Nuanyu’s thoughts. As he reached the school gate, he spotted a Rolls-Royce parked outside. The car’s elegant, imposing silhouette exuded the scent of money in his eyes, and he couldn’t help but feel a pang of envy.

No wonder the rich lived differently—even the person sent to fetch him drove a Rolls-Royce!

The chauffeur invited him into the car with great courtesy and took him straight to the Mu Group headquarters in northern Jiangsu.

“So she’s with the Mu Group!” Yang Xiaofan finally understood why Mu Shuyu was so wealthy. The Mu Group was a renowned enterprise in the region, with a market value exceeding forty or fifty billion.

The driver led him upstairs to a reception room, where Mu Shuyu was waiting. Today, she wore a silver-gray professional outfit, her long legs sheathed in sheer stockings, her slender, elegant feet encased in matching high heels. Her entire appearance radiated an air of refined intelligence.

Yang Xiaofan couldn’t help but recall certain romantic scenes from movies.

“Mr. Yang, you’re here,” Mu Shuyu greeted, extending her delicate hand for a handshake—soft as ever.

“You said someone wanted to buy my paintings. Where are they?” he asked.

“They’re all here.”

Mu Shuyu called out, and several well-dressed men emerged from the rear of the room.

“Brother Yang, it’s you? What a coincidence!” To Yang Xiaofan’s surprise, one of them was Liu Hu.

“Mr. Liu, you’re here too.”

A flicker of surprise flashed in Mu Shuyu’s eyes. “Mr. Liu, do you know Mr. Yang?”

“Heh, we had a little misunderstanding last night. But now, we’ve settled our differences. Mr. Yang here is quite the character! What really amazes me is that you’re also a master painter!”

“I’m even more surprised that a roughneck like you appreciates art,” Yang Xiaofan retorted.

Liu Hu scratched his bald head and grinned. “Gotta keep up with the trends—buying paintings cultivates the soul, and they’ll make great heirlooms for my descendants. It’s an investment!”

Yang Xiaofan nodded. “And these gentlemen?”

Mu Shuyu quickly made introductions. “This is Mr. Chen of the Chen Group. This is Master Ma Dabao, a celebrated traditional painter famous throughout China. And this is Mr. Yu Chengli, an entrepreneur from out of town and an avid art collector.”

“I see. So, what kind of paintings are you looking for?”

Liu Hu bellowed, “Anything’s fine, I’m not picky. As long as it’s good art!”

Master Ma smiled amiably. “Before I purchase, I’d like to see your technique, Mr. Yang. Would you mind giving us a demonstration?”

“Not at all,” Yang Xiaofan replied. “But I’ll have to fetch my painting tools.”

“I have some here,” Mu Shuyu interjected, instructing her staff to bring out a complete set.

She herself was an art enthusiast and painted often, her skill not insignificant—though still far from Yang Xiaofan’s level.

Yang Xiaofan took up the brushes without much deliberation, dipped one into ink, and began to paint with brisk, confident strokes.

At the very first movement, Master Ma, Mu Shuyu, and Mr. Yu all drew sharp breaths. As artists themselves, they could instantly discern the depth of Yang Xiaofan’s ability—it was truly formidable!

Only Liu Hu, who knew nothing of art, couldn’t understand it at all; he merely felt that Yang Xiaofan’s brushwork was smooth and unhesitating. Wanting not to seem out of place, he too sucked in his breath for effect.

In just two minutes, an exquisite landscape of mountains and waterfalls appeared before their eyes.

In that instant, it was as if everyone present stood beneath the cascading falls of a towering mountain. Such was the magic of painting: with sufficient skill, a single sheet of paper could conjure an entire world.

While the others were still stunned, Liu Hu was the first to exclaim, “Incredible! You finished a painting in two minutes—Yang, you’re faster than a printer!”

“What!” The other three were once again shocked. Checking the time, they saw it had indeed only taken a little over two minutes.

“My heavens! Mr. Yang, you are truly the most gifted artist I have ever encountered!” Master Ma could not help but exclaim. “With skill like yours, there are but a handful in all of China who could compare!”

To reach the pinnacle of painting was already rare. To create such a flawless work in just two minutes—this was more than mere talent. It was as if the gods themselves had bestowed Yang Xiaofan with a golden bowl of fortune.

Even for him—a top painter in the country—it would take hours, even days, to complete a perfect piece. And yet, his own finished works still could not match the mastery of Yang Xiaofan’s painting.

The gap between them was simply unimaginable.