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墨書 Inktalez
At five in the afternoon, Qiluo Ling and Mr. Jacques walked out of another museum. They had visited three medium-sized museums that afternoon. Due to time constraints, they could only browse roughly and could not appreciate each piece of artwork in detail within such a short time.
Qiluo Ling felt somewhat discouraged; none of the paintings were what she was looking for, and they did not provide her with any clues. The only consolation for her was that under Mr. Jacques' guidance, she gained a deeper understanding of painting art, as she could roughly distinguish the styles and characteristics of the artworks.
After leaving the last museum, they parted ways and headed home. Qiluo Ling walked to a nearby subway station, preparing to take the subway back to her residence. She descended the stairs to the subway entrance.
At the entrance, there was a long-haired Vagabond Singer holding a Guitar, passionately singing into a microphone. Despite the constant flow of people passing by without stopping to appreciate his singing, the Vagabond Singer wore a sorrowful expression, swaying slightly with the music; his weathered voice was beautiful.
Qiluo Ling paused in front of him, focusing on his song and nostalgically recalling many past moments in her life. After one song ended, she dropped some money into his hat. The Vagabond Singer bowed to her in gratitude.
As Qiluo Ling moved forward, she noticed a Young Artist sketching on a Sketchpad nearby. He was tall and thin, wearing a black coat, with thick eyebrows, deep-set blue eyes, and a face full of stubble.
Qiluo Ling stopped again.
"Excuse me, beautiful lady, may I draw your Portrait?" the young man said enthusiastically as Qiluo Ling approached.
She smiled and shook her head.
"That's alright; if you don't have time, you can take a look at my artwork. If you like any of them, I can sell them to you at a discount, beautiful lady," he said.
"Okay, I'll take a look first," Qiluo Ling nodded.
The young man retrieved a large art bag from behind him and took out a pile of works to display in front of Qiluo Ling.
She admired one piece after another; there were landscape paintings, figure sketches, and still lifes. There were pencil drawings, watercolors, and oil paintings. Overall, the painting techniques felt much more immature compared to those in private galleries and museums since most of his works were copies.
When the subway arrived at the station, passengers flooded onto the platform, overwhelming her with the crowd. Once the tide receded, her frail and solitary figure was revealed once again.
Until the last painting became clear before Qiluo Ling's eyes, her gaze lingered on this piece for a long time.
It was a portrait. A portrait of a young girl.
In the portrait, the girl wore a White Gauze Skirt, slightly leaning against the window, turning her head to smile at Qiluo Ling. The girl appeared to be around seventeen or eighteen years old, with long black hair styled in an updo, bright eyes that held an indescribable dreaminess, and a slender, delicate figure.
Qiluo Ling's heart raced violently; she could hardly believe her eyes. She closed them and after a moment, opened them again.
On the girl's slender, bare right upper arm was a unique birthmark—a colorful butterfly.
"Do you like any of these paintings?" the young man asked.
"Did you paint this one?" Qiluo Ling asked as she pulled out the painting from her bag.
The young man looked at the painting she pointed to, nodded, and said, "I painted this one. Do you like it?"
"Can I ask you about this painting?"
"Sure."
"Did you create this painting by yourself or is it a copy?"
The young man smiled and said, "You have a good eye; you're right. This painting is indeed a copy of another work."
"Where is the original painting?"
"This painting is a copy of a private collection belonging to a friend of my Korean friend. Three years ago, I attended a gathering hosted by his friend. I visited his friend's house and saw his private collection of paintings, which included that piece. At that time, the expression of the girl in the Portrait and the beautiful butterfly on her arm deeply moved me, so I took a photo with my phone and later copied that work. Of course, the original painting's colors and techniques are far more sophisticated and vibrant than my skills; my version is just a high imitation, not an original."
"Oh, can you tell me what your Korean friend's friend does? Where is he located? What is his name?"
"Are you really interested in this original piece?"
"Yes."
"I can't remember his exact name. I only know that their family business is a well-known group in Korea. Their corporate headquarters seems to be on Seoul South Street, you can find out easily."
"Okay, thank you very much."
"I have many other paintings; if you're interested, I can show you some more?"
"Thank you, but that's not necessary."
"Then do you still want this painting?"
"Of course, your painting is quite good; I would like to buy it."
Qiluo Ling promptly purchased the painting. She silently walked towards the subway entrance, took the subway, and returned to her residence.
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