Chapter 48: The Stars Art Exhibition

After crossing this hill, Liu Rulong requested to switch places, and he would ride instead.

Wei Ming thought about it and agreed; Beijing’s northwest was higher than its southeast, and they had come from the northwest, so most of the way was downhill, and he had ridden for two hours and was indeed tired.

“Alright.”

After switching positions, Wei Ming asked curiously, “What business does Uncle do in Hong Kong?”

“I don’t know. He often writes letters to my mom, rarely to me—I even suspect he has another son over there.” By now, they hadn’t seen each other in four years.

“That’s unlikely—you could write to him too.”

“I did write, but not letters—mostly drawings.” Speaking of this, Liu Rulong felt a little shy.

He expressed his longing for his father and his daily life through comics, which felt less sentimental.

Speaking of comics, “By the way, do you know who taught us yesterday?”

“Who?”

“Fang Cheng!”

Wei Ming had heard this name before—Fang Cheng was one of the Three Elders of Chinese comics, alongside Hua Junwu and Ding Cong.

Then Liu Rulong described in detail Fang Lao’s teaching process and his current focus—ink-wash comics.

Liu Rulong knew Wei Ming also enjoyed comics and serial illustrations, so he deliberately chose topics he’d find interesting.

Wei Ming mentioned the recent film he’d watched, “Nezha Conquers the Sea.”

“I saw it too—it was truly breathtaking. If someday I could be lucky enough to join a work like this, even as just a tiny screw, I’d be happy.”

Then he added sadly, “Too bad our animated films have produced only two great features in decades—‘The Monkey King: Uproar in Heaven’ and ‘Nezha Conquers the Sea’—and we don’t know when the next one will come.”

For the next twenty-plus years, domestic films would struggle, and domestic animation would struggle even more; domestic films began reviving with “Hero,” but animation wouldn’t gain widespread market recognition until “Monkey King: Hero Is Back.”

Throughout the ride, the two mostly talked about films and animation; Liu Rulong carefully avoided touching on Wei Ming’s sensitive areas, like how he was doing at Peking University.

You could guess—how could working a job ever be comfortable?

When they reached Nanluoguxiang, it was nearly noon, so they decided to grab a bite and eat some authentic fried soybean paste noodles.

Liu Rulong generously said, “I’ll treat you this time; you can treat me when I come to visit you.”

“Alright~” Wei Ming didn’t refuse—he’d often eaten at Liu Rulong’s home during school days, and to win favor with Liu Rulong’s mother, Teacher Yang, he studied hardest in her Chinese and English classes.

As for Chinese, no need to mention it; he scored 95 out of 100 on the English college entrance exam—the same as Yu Minhong’s score next year—but the score was only counted at 10%.

At this time, Nanluoguxiang was very different from its future status as a popular online destination, but still a bustling street with many shops; nearby were not only the Central Academy of Drama but also “Four Courtyards Full of Affection.”

After eating, they followed the street behind the Art Museum and soon arrived at the China Art Museum—the building’s design itself was highly artistic.

Liu Rulong sighed regretfully, “So beautiful—if I’d known, I’d have bought a camera first!”

Wei Ming was envious—having overseas connections and foreign exchange really did let you do whatever you wanted.

But who didn’t have overseas connections! Wei Ming’s heart suddenly burned hot~

As they passed the park outside the museum, they saw oil paintings, ink paintings, woodcuts, and wooden sculptures hanging unevenly along the park’s iron fence.

Their artistic sensitivity made them both stop their bikes in unison.

These strange works also drew in passersby and visitors planning to enter the museum.

Liu Rulong wondered, “Why is there an exhibition outside too?”

Wei Ming: “Interesting—let’s take a look.”

“Alright!”

As they walked and looked, they occasionally stopped to guess the artists’ intentions. Many works were abstract and avant-garde—not immediately understandable, but not so extreme that a single line on a cloth sold for ten million.

After walking a few steps, Liu Rulong suddenly pointed at a sign: “Look, this exhibition has a name—it’s called the Stars Art Exhibition.”

Wei Ming saw it too—there was also a suggestion box nearby—he realized, so this was the Stars Art Exhibition!

In the 1970s and 1980s, this was a major cultural event; many in the art world never forgot the “Stars.”

But when Wei Ming came to Beijing the second time, it was already the 1990s, and the “Stars” had died out after one generation; another exhibition was held next year, then vanished, leaving only a legend.

Honestly, Wei Ming had seen too many domestic and international art exhibitions in his future life—he thought these works were childish—but for Liu Rulong, who had always painted conventionally, and for ordinary people who had never encountered avant-garde art, the impact was enormous.

Standing before a wooden sculpture titled “Silence,” Liu Rulong regretted again not buying a camera first.

Along the forty-meter-long iron fence, these avant-garde artworks were densely packed—over a hundred pieces in total.

Liu Rulong sighed, “I feel like we won’t make it into the museum today.”

Someone nearby chimed in: “I just came out from inside—it’s boring, all outdated stuff. These outside works are better. I don’t understand them, but I’m deeply shaken.”

Inside and outside, old and new—like two ideological currents colliding. Wei Ming found it fascinating, and now he was even more curious about what lay inside.

!

But when he saw the next piece, his lips twitched involuntarily.

It was an abstract oil painting titled “Hope.”

In this painting, the artist placed four symbolic objects—stone, fire, lamp, and road—on a land just before dawn.

This puzzled Liu Rulong: “How is this hope?”

A young female college student nearby said, “Because ideals are stone, striking sparks; ideals are fire, lighting extinguished lamps!”

Liu Rulong was even more confused—what?

Seeing that Liu Rulong had never heard this poem, wildly popular across Beijing’s universities, the girl clearly thought he was uneducated and ignored him.

“There’s the artist’s name on it—he’s right here—go ask him yourself,” said another girl with her.

Below each artwork, there were paper slips with the artist’s name, and sometimes a brief explanation.

The artist of this painting was Zhong Acheng, who had written: This work was inspired by the poem “Ideal” by poet Wei Ming.

Liu Rulong suddenly laughed: “Ah Ming, there’s a poet here with your name!”

Wei Ming had never planned to hide it from his brother—he just hadn’t asked about Wei Ming’s situation, so now was the perfect moment to confess.

“That Wei Ming is me,” he said.

Liu Rulong: “...”

Liu Rulong had been waiting for Wei Ming to burst out laughing, but he didn’t—he remained serious.

“So… this is real?!”

Wei Ming nodded.

Well, for Liu Rulong, nothing was too hard to accept—after all, it was just two lines of poetry. Back in class, Wei Ming’s essays were often read aloud as models; so a short modern poem was nothing.

“Of course gold shines wherever it’s placed—you’re a poet on the side while working at Peking University, right!” Liu Rulong slapped Wei Ming’s shoulder.

Wei Ming: “Er… I’m not just a poet…”

He was about to say more when someone stepped up to him, stared at his face intently, then exclaimed in delight: “You—you’re Wei Ming? The Wei Ming who wrote ‘Ideal’ in seven steps?!”

(End of Chapter)