Chapter 162: It's Just a Casual Painting—Is There Any Need to Get So Worked Up?

Hearing Yang Xiaofan’s words, Old Chen couldn’t help but let out a bitter smile and said, “Xiaofan, I’m quite old now, so don’t tease me! Besides, don’t say I’m old now—even when I was young, she wouldn’t have looked at me. A woman like her, with talent, beauty, and wealth, would only be interested in a man extraordinary like you.”

Yang Xiaofan did not deny Old Chen’s words.

There was no way around it—fame is a burden, and men are even more troubled by handsomeness.

Everything was simply because he was too charming now.

Before long, many artists from various countries approached Yang Xiaofan to engage with him.

Most artists disliked flattering those in power. True masters of art, if they indulged in such behavior, would almost certainly ruin their art.

But Yang Xiaofan was different; in every aspect, he was flawless.

Artists, after all, were human, though their thoughts might soar above the ordinary.

Yet they remained human, and thus they had idols and could be admirers.

Usually, those around them worshipped these artists, but they seldom had anyone worthy of their own admiration.

Now that Yang Xiaofan had appeared, they couldn’t help but admire him.

Among them were many women, but just like the female artist before, Yang Xiaofan gently turned them all away.

Watching this, Old Chen standing nearby was filled with envy.

Youth is a blessing, but youth with talent is even better—women flocked to him, and he could choose or refuse at will.

What man wouldn’t envy and resent such a life?

After some brief exchanges, the organizer of the event took the stage to speak.

Old Chen whispered to Yang Xiaofan, “This man is Mr. Smith, a very famous artist from the United States. He is also a wealthy collector. He’s quite rich—one of the top figures in the country.”

Yang Xiaofan nodded.

The US dollar was indeed valuable; one dollar could exchange for several yuan.

Since he was well-known in the United States, his worth was certainly substantial.

“Welcome, all artists, to this art exchange gathering. This event brings together the greatest artists from around the world to unite and share their art. Our first activity is to invite one artist to create an artwork that showcases their country’s culture, which will then be open for everyone’s critique and discussion.”

“Next, we will draw lots to decide which artist will create the work.”

The drawing began quickly.

To everyone’s surprise, the first to be drawn was none other than Old Chen.

“Oh, Mr. Chen, a master of traditional Chinese painting from the East. Now, please welcome Mr. Chen to perform an Oriental painting creation for us.”

Old Chen glanced at Yang Xiaofan and smiled slightly.

“Unexpectedly, I was chosen. Looks like I’ll have to ask you to come up and help me show off.”

Yang Xiaofan was somewhat speechless.

“Why is your luck so bad? No one else got chosen, and you got picked immediately.”

Old Chen laughed bitterly.

“Isn’t it good that I was chosen? This is a chance to represent our country. Others would be jealous if they had the opportunity. Yet you complain when it’s given to us.”

Then he waved toward the stage.

“Mr. Smith, my skills in traditional Chinese painting don’t compare to this young man beside me, Yang Xiaofan. He is also a member of our National Painting Association. May I ask if he could go on stage instead and create the artwork?”

“Of course, my friend,” Smith replied.

After that live broadcast, it was well known that Yang Xiaofan’s skill in traditional painting was extraordinary. His premium prices reflected the level of his skill. If his ability were lacking, he wouldn’t command such prices.

That was why Smith agreed without hesitation.

Amid a round of applause, Yang Xiaofan stepped to the center. A staff member quickly brought over painting supplies.

Yang Xiaofan picked up his brush, and the crowd gathered around him, with people even on the second floor pressing close to the railing, all eyes fixed on him.

Some, with poor eyesight, even put on their glasses.

Staring at the blank canvas, Yang Xiaofan pondered briefly, took a deep breath, and began to paint.

Traditional Chinese painting mainly featured majestic landscapes—mountains and rivers, vast and naturally harmonious.

Of course, there were also portraits, animal paintings, and more, but the most representative and expressive form was landscape painting.

Yang Xiaofan chose to paint a landscape.

He depicted the river gorges on both banks with just a few strokes, sketching towering, steep mountains with rugged cliffs. Sturdy pines stood tall on the peaks, resilient and fierce. Below, the river surged wildly, the rushing water portrayed vividly and realistically.

As Yang Xiaofan painted, all eyes in the hall were drawn to him.

His art held a kind of magic.

A special magic—it felt as if the painting were alive.

Whether in atmosphere or visual effect, a single glance transported one to stand on the very banks of the real river gorge.

When Yang Xiaofan finished, the entire hall fell into a profound silence; not a single person spoke.

Everyone was immersed in the painting.

Eventually, Yang Xiaofan cleared his throat softly, pulling the crowd out of their trance.

In an instant, thunderous applause erupted throughout the hall.

Old Chen was moved to tears, his eyes reddening.

He stepped forward and grasped Yang Xiaofan’s hand tightly.

“Xiaofan, well done! Your work has truly brought honor to our traditional painting. I never expected your progress during this time to be so rapid. With this painting alone, you could establish your own school and become a master!”

Smith and the others couldn’t help but marvel.

“In your Eastern tradition, this is truly breathtaking! This painting is so powerful. Although I’m from the West and we mainly focus on oil painting, seeing your work, I must say it surpasses any oil painting in our history!”

“Mr. Smith, you flatter me,” Yang Xiaofan said politely, while Smith shook his head solemnly.

“No, I’m not exaggerating at all. This painting is far superior to those you sold at your auction.”

Yang Xiaofan was well aware that his work had improved tremendously.

Previously, he was merely at the Grandmaster level, but now he had reached the Saint tier. The leap in skill was far beyond minor progress.