Chapter 1056

Xie Fusheng's heart beat violently. After two days of fermentation, public opinion had been stirred up by them, and it was developing in the direction they hoped for.

Many people began to criticize and denounce Zhou Andong. Although there were also those who supported Zhou Andong, they were in the minority.

And they believed that as time went on, this advantage would become greater and greater. They would definitely win this war, completely drive Zhou Andong underground, and make it so he could never turn his life around.

However, early in the morning, this phone call from Yan Qidong gave Xie Fusheng a very bad feeling.

"I don't subscribe to the Beijing Evening News."

Yan Qidong said: "You go buy a copy and take a look."

Xie Fusheng asked hesitantly: "Is someone cursing me?"

Cursing? Yan Qidong looked at the painting in the newspaper again. This kind of visual humiliation could not be expressed by any vocabulary or linguistic description.

The visual impact was too strong. Putting himself in the other person's shoes, if the protagonist of this painting were him, he would probably be so angry he'd vomit blood.

So what about Xie Fusheng? His heart was much smaller than his own; after seeing it, would he be unable to catch his breath?

"You go buy a copy and take a look, and you'll know."

He somewhat regretted making this phone call, thinking about whether he should call an ambulance in advance to wait at Xie Fusheng's door.

Xie Fusheng put down the phone and just happened to see his son swaying as he came out of the bedroom.

"Guangyu, go out and buy me a copy of the Beijing Evening News."

"Not going!" Xie Guangyu sat on the sofa, picked up the remote control, and turned on the TV; it was the morning news.

"Zhou Andong?" Xie Guangyu looked at the TV screen and fell into deep thought, "I think I've seen him before."

Seeing Zhou Andong on the news again, Xie Fusheng was envious, jealous, and hateful.

"My life, Zhou Andong's, cannot be called a winner, but I have never lost once on the issue of national righteousness. I was not born during the prosperity of ancient times, nor did I experience the hardships of the past. To the peace and glory of the present, I have pledged my deep affection. Born in the right time, I will not fail this era; in this life, I wish to entrust my heart to China and gift my years to its mountains and rivers."

"Well said!"

Hearing Zhou Andong's impassioned words on TV, Xie Guangyu came back to his senses, slapped his thigh, and shouted.

This sudden shout startled his father, Xie Fusheng, so much he shivered.

"You little brat, what are you shouting for?"

Xie Guangyu pointed at the TV and said excitedly: "Zhou Andong, Dad, that's Zhou Andong. To be a man, you have to be like Zhou Andong—not failing righteousness, not failing the nation, not failing the country, not failing yourself, and moving forward toward your ideals with passion."

Although this kid had just been muddling through his studies, no matter what, he was Xie Fusheng's son and still had some ink in his belly.

"Bullshit!" Xie Fusheng's chest felt like it had been pierced by a thorn, and he scolded his son: "What do you know? Zhou Andong is just a hypocrite. You believe what he says? Can't you use your brain?"

Xie Guangyu was scolded into a daze. He just praised Zhou Andong, so why was his old man reacting so strongly?

Xie Fusheng took the remote control and turned off the TV. Seeing Zhou Andong made his heart feel congested.

But seeing his son scolded into a daze, his heart softened.

"Even if what Zhou Andong said came from the heart, don't you understand the principle that a sharp blade is easily broken? He is so sharp and exposed, not knowing how to hide, that sooner or later he will be broken."

Xie Guangyu rubbed his nose. It's not for nothing that people say this kid is incompetent. He never reads his father's literary works, including commentary articles in journals and newspapers.

Or rather, except for martial arts novels, he never reads journals, newspapers, or magazines, so until now, he didn't know his father had become the vanguard of the anti-Zhou movement.

"Oh!" Xie Guangyu suddenly shouted again: "I remember now. That day at the public phone booth, Zhou Andong and a very beautiful woman were standing behind me waiting to make a call, and I even talked to him."

Xie Guangyu looked regretful: "Why didn't I recognize him at the time?"

Xie Fusheng was so angry he wanted to give his mentally challenged son two slaps, but he couldn't bear to. He got up and walked out; he'd better go buy the newspaper himself.

He went out, went downstairs, and bought a copy of the Beijing Evening News at a newsstand at the intersection not far from the residential complex. He couldn't wait to get home and impatiently flipped it open.

He saw Gu Zengquan's article at a glance, and after reading it, he curled his lips in disdain.

That the Central Academy of Fine Arts supported Zhou Andong was within his expectations; after all, Zhou Andong had donated 20 million U. S. dollars to the Central Academy of Fine Arts.

If Zhou Andong gave him 20 million U. S. dollars—no, two million—he could sing praises for Zhou Andong every day.

Just then, his eyes suddenly widened, staring fixedly at a painting in the newspaper.

The name of the painting was "Foreign Slave," and the clown kneeling there—wasn't that him?

"Unreasonable!"

Xie Fusheng roared, and then he felt his chest tighten. Darkness suddenly fell before his eyes, his brain felt dizzy, and he fell to the ground with a thud, knowing nothing more.

When he woke up, everything was snow-white, and his wife's voice came to his ears.

"Yang Yisheng, is my Old Xie alright?"

Yang Yisheng's voice entered Xie Fusheng's ears: "He's fine, it's just that he was overcome by sudden anger. He should wake up in a moment."

"That's good, that's good." Cao Huizhi muttered, and then she saw Xie Fusheng open his eyes: "Old Xie, you're awake!"

Xie Fusheng felt his chest was still a bit tight: "How long was I unconscious?"

"More than two hours, you scared me to death." Cao Huizhi had a lingering fear on her face: "Your health has always been very good, how did you suddenly faint?"

"Where is the Beijing Evening News?" Xie Fusheng asked.

No matter what, this old man was a celebrity, and the place where he fainted was at his own doorstep. A neighbor happened to run into him, sent him to the hospital, and notified Cao Huizhi. As for that Beijing Evening News, no one knew where the wind had blown it.

Cao Huizhi said with annoyance: "You're like this, why are you still looking at newspapers?"

Xie Fusheng thought about the painting in the newspaper, and his heart began to ache faintly again. His hatred for the author of that painting exceeded his hatred for Zhou Andong.

The visual impact of that painting was simply too great, and the humiliation it caused him was from the inside out.

And since it was published in the newspaper, history would remember him. This kind of humiliation would follow him for a lifetime, and it was even possible for people to dig it up and whip his corpse after he died.

But no matter how much he hated the author of that painting, he was helpless.

At this time, there was no such thing as portrait rights; even if he wanted to sue, there was nowhere to do it.

Moreover, that painting used exaggerated techniques. Even if everyone could see that the clown kneeling in the painting was him, if the author didn't admit it, there was nothing anyone could do.

At this time, Zhou Andong also saw the painting and couldn't help but laugh out loud. Then he opened Jian Qiu's bag, found paper and a pen inside, and wrote two doggerel poems.

"Wife, contact the Yangcheng Evening News and send these two poems to them."