Chapter 122: The Revelation of Thomas's Painting

"A-level crisis has erupted in Luzhou City, Anhui Province; over two thousand people have died since. This is a new type of monster never seen before, which people have named the Long-Haired Beast. Physical attacks are ineffective against this creature; only field energy can harm it. The local government is actively organizing Awakened ones to fight back..."

The broadcast of international news from the Xia Kingdom ended, and its content weighed heavily on Yang Yi's heart.

How she wished she could fly back to stop all of it, but she was merely a Body Awakened who couldn't even be rated as Grade C, with her death approaching under the threat of the Evil God's fragment; even if she could return, what help could she possibly be?

Her heart felt heavy; sitting on the bed, her head grew dizzy, her thoughts drifted, and in a daze, the four walls of the bedroom seemed to press down on her, making it impossible to breathe.

One moment she thought of the distant Xia Kingdom, the next of the crisis within her body; she would rather be swallowed immediately by the Evil God's fragment than feel like she did now, with her entire heart suspended in mid-air, as if constantly falling yet never reaching the bottom.

"Beep-beep—" a reminder notification sounded.

Miranda had gone out to collect the mail; today she was responsible for cleaning Thomas's studio.

Yang Yi went to fetch the cleaning supplies while her mind still dwelt on that news report.

Arriving at the second-floor studio, Thomas sat before an easel, training his left hand to paint.

"Mr. Thomas, are you working? Miranda asked me to clean your studio before she left."

Thomas had been wearing a blue silk robe since early morning; after breakfast, he came straight to the studio to work without even changing clothes. Miranda had scolded him several times, saying it was improper, but he had turned a deaf ear.

Because his right hand was injured and immobile, he could not create art, and these past few days, his liver fire had been raging.

His train of thought interrupted, he instinctively prepared to lash out, but suddenly remembering who had come, he held back; without turning his head, he spoke in a cold voice, "Do as you please."

Yang Yi entered the studio carrying a bucket and a rag; this was her first time entering, and as soon as she stepped in, she was captivated by the paintings stacked against the walls and various oddly shaped sculptures.

The studio was vast, occupying more than half of the second floor, over a hundred square meters in size; four windows faced the front and back gardens, making the entire space bright and open. Yet, because it was crowded with paintings and unfinished sculptures, it appeared very cluttered.

For a moment, Yang Yi did not know where to begin.

Perhaps Mr. Thomas is that kind of avant-garde artist... Yang Yi thought.

These paintings and sculptures were all filled with surreal forms; Yang Yi truly could not understand them at first.

Most of the paintings appeared strange and bizarre; some clearly used realistic techniques, yet everything in them was absurd, defying reason and convention, with no trace of reality visible, only mystery, absurdity, and strangeness.

For instance, the painting Yang Yi was currently looking at divided the entire scene into two parts: one depicting the underground world, the other the surface world. The main subject was a dinosaur; its limbs were underground, appearing fossilized, while its body was above ground, its skin and flesh intact, with Xiong Xiong flames burning on its back.

For another, it depicted a strange face, as if peeled from someone's face, yet without blood or flesh. This face wore a grotesque smile, as if still alive, propped up by twisted branches and placed on a display stand.

There was yet another painting that, from a distance, looked like a woman's nude body, but up close, it was composed of several distorted women's faces stitched together; some of these faces smiled gently, some were expressionless, and others seemed to be crying.

Yang Yi admitted that although she didn't understand, she was deeply shocked.

At first, she could clean while looking, but later she simply forgot to clean and stood before the paintings in deep thought.

Somehow, ever since Yang Yi entered, Thomas could no longer calmly train his left hand to paint.

He observed Yang Yi's movements from the corner of his eye, especially her expression when she carefully examined his paintings.

He did not know why he was doing this.

When he saw Yang Yi's face full of confusion, he couldn't help but sneer inwardly. Most people could not understand surrealist paintings and avant-garde art; some even dismissed them as mere attention-seeking, so he was not surprised by the confusion on her face, though deep inside, he felt a touch of disappointment.

As for why he was disappointed, he deliberately ignored it.

When Yang Yi showed a thoughtful expression, he couldn't help but feel delighted again; the corners of his mouth unconsciously turned up, as if to say, "Well, you're not that bad after all."

Immersed in the bizarre world created by these paintings, Yang Yi experienced a strange sensation, as if these works were not painting anything real, but rather a dream, an irrational world, something beyond experience; through the surface, she saw something that was both real and unreal.

Overall, these paintings were full of metaphors and symbols, out of step with reality, yet possessing a certain eternal sense that transcended time and space.

Suddenly, one painting caught Yang Yi's attention.

The moment it came into view, her heart was struck hard, as if by a heavy hammer.

Once again, it was a magical and bizarre painting; the scene was actually very simple, just sky and forest. But the sky was circular; looking closely, the sky was actually the Earth, the blue sky was the ocean, and the white clouds were the land. Beneath the sky lay a black forest, radiating a gloomy and terrifying atmosphere. Inside the forest, a child crouched, a bonfire lit before him, gazing thoughtfully at the sky.

The strangest thing was that the bright blue sky and white clouds occupied most of the canvas, yet they seemed to press down heavily on the black forest and the little boy; although the black forest appeared so dark and terrifying, it surrounded the child in a protective posture.

Seeing this painting, Yang Yi felt as if she had grasped something and sank into deep contemplation.

Thomas saw that she had stayed before that painting for a long time and finally could not hold back; he condescended to walk over, tilted his neck, looked down on her, and asked, "What? Do you have any questions?"

Yang Yi's thoughts had not yet returned; she murmured, "What does this painting mean?"

"A thousand readers have a thousand Hamlets; whatever you think it means, that is what it means," Thomas replied indifferently.

Yang Yi finally came to her senses; she looked at Thomas and guessed, "Does the blue sky represent modern civilization? Does the black forest represent a primordial culture? Does the child represent us humans? Could it imply that we are suppressed by modern civilization, often feeling lonely and helpless, while in reality, primordial civilization is the source of our lives?"

Thomas remained noncommittal, neither agreeing nor refuting.

Thomas did not answer, and Yang Yi stopped paying attention to him; in fact, this was not her true thought.

She had gained a hint of revelation from this kind of painting, and this revelation concerned her current predicament.

In some mysterious way, she felt that she was about to undergo certain changes because of this revelation, but for now, this revelation was merely a grass seed falling into the soil; it might sprout under the nourishment of sun and rain, or it might simply suffocate and die.

To seize this faint and elusive realization, Yang Yi disregarded Thomas; while cleaning, she browsed through all the paintings. The entire afternoon, she stayed in Thomas's studio, staring at these paintings and pondering deeply, trying to fish a dropped sword from the depths of her own sea of thoughts.