Chapter 33: Mendeleev’s Epiphany (Part 1)

Mendeleev hailed from Russia and was one of the most famous contemporary painters in the world.

He had lived through the fires of war and experienced the hardships of a displaced life, which allowed him to depict the common man with meticulous detail. In his earlier years, he advocated for a style rooted in critique, baring the fangs of capitalism, exposing the friction between the people and their leaders, and revealing the insidious cruelty of the wealthy. His most famous works, such as The Moneylender and The Megacorporation, were all internationally renowned masterpieces.

As he grew older and began to enjoy the pleasures brought by fame and fortune, Mendeleev turned his obsession toward a free-spirited romanticism, filled with a renewed passion for life.

After that shift, however, he found himself constrained by the reality of the world. He felt as though he had lost his soul. Every time he picked up his brush to paint, he could never recapture that original feeling.

But…

That didn’t affect his fame in the slightest.

No matter what he painted, someone was willing to pay for it. No matter what he produced, people would heap praise upon it.

He was constantly surrounded by a sea of flattery.

At some point, without him even realizing it, the capitalism he had once loathed and detested began to seem… acceptable?

One successful exhibition followed another. He could close his eyes and scribble something random, and it would become a painting worth millions, sometimes even tens of millions. Even if there were obvious flaws, critics would analyze them as a different kind of subtle, intentional use of negative space. Looking back later, it would seem as if those flaws actually made a bit of sense.

Art, after all…

As a Huaxia saying goes, “A masterpiece is a gift from heaven, captured by a lucky hand¹.”

In those moments, he began to feel a dazed sense that he had reached mastery, perhaps even the realm described in Huaxia as “having no technique is the ultimate technique².”

For years, he held an exhibition every year to showcase his new work.

There were those “paintings” that were reserved for collections before they were even finished, and countless fanatical admirers who looked at him like he was a god.

Standing under the camera lens, bathed in the spotlight of public attention.

Sometimes he would think about hundreds of years in the future, when he was written into the history books. He wondered if the word “Great” would be his epitaph.

This time…

He had come to Huaxia again to hold an exhibition.

He brought several of his recent works, along with his previous award-winning paintings.

Even before he arrived in Huaxia!

Major news outlets had already dominated the headlines of the art world. Many Huaxia artists, hearing the news, nearly broke down his agent’s door.

They brought vast sums of money, competing desperately just for the chance to purchase a single painting.

Today.

At the exhibition.

People flowed in and out like a tide.

Mendeleev, wearing his usual small cap, slipped into the crowd and entered the venue unnoticed.

He quite enjoyed doing this.

He heard waves of praise and gasps of wonder.

He saw fans everywhere, snapping photos with their cameras.

His agent was surrounded by people in the distance, every one of them eager to buy a painting to keep as a treasure.

Just as he walked up to the painting Spring, he heard a commotion!

“A failure? What did you say?”

“You said so much earlier that I thought you were a professional, but I didn’t expect you to understand nothing about Mendeleev at all!”

“Don’t you know what kind of figure Mendeleev is? He is a witness to the changing of an era. Every one of his paintings has a different hidden meaning. Buddy, you need to go study art properly.”

“Buddy, let me ask you, do you know how many techniques Mendeleev used in this painting? Every single stroke is a stroke of genius. Professor Zhang from our Academy of Fine Arts talks about it every day; he dreams of owning one of these paintings. It’s become an obsession for him.”

“Buddy, what school did you graduate from?”

“There are way too many people like you every year, okay?”

“…”

“…”

“…”

He saw a group of people surrounding a young man with a buzz cut.

It seemed the young man had said something negative about the painting?

Mendeleev’s interest was suddenly piqued, and he instinctively moved closer.

For years, he had been flattered and held up on a pedestal. He had never heard anyone criticize his work.

Squeezing through the crowd slightly…

He saw that the young man, despite being the target of everyone’s glares, remained unhurried. A calm expression rested on his face.

“I don’t deny that Mr. Mendeleev’s technique has reached its peak.”

“I certainly don’t deny that in the eyes of most people, this is indeed a painting worth collecting. Even the content of this painting expresses the themes you all are looking for.”

“However, starting from this Spring, while Spring truly has a soul, filled with the freedom and longing of romanticism… this painting here has no ‘heart.’ Look at the brushwork here at the finish; you can clearly feel a sense of haste.”

“After Spring, moving on to this Street Lamp… I know what you want to say. Street Lamp is meant to express the gloom before the dawn. But the lines here are clearly starting to mimic Spring. Moreover, I can’t see the soul in this painting. It’s as if… it has become a walking corpse.”

“…”

Mendeleev froze.

He understood Chinese.

After that war ended, he had lived in Huaxia for a period and had interacted with many Huaxia people.

Initially, when he heard this fellow critiquing his work, a sense of discomfort rose in his heart.

You think you can comment on my work? Do you even understand art?

But after watching for a long while…

He stared intently at the painting Street Lamp!

His pupils constricted.

For some reason, he felt as if he were waking from a dream. His mouth hung open slightly.

Then, he stared fixedly at the painting.

Not long after…

The young man was met with various rebuttals and was then “escorted” out by security.

The security guards were used to it.

In truth, there were far too many people at these exhibitions who tried to use such methods to make a name for themselves or seek attention.

But…

The words “walking corpse³” had pierced straight through Mendeleev’s heart.

In this moment, it was as if he had finally woken from a long dream. He instantly looked back at every moment of his life from the day he became famous until now.

He had once lived at the bottom of society. He had once felt the world was unfair, and his creative desire had been powerful to the extreme, leading him to paint many classic works.

Then, he became famous.

He became intoxicated by the flattery. He felt he had reached the summit.

When he painted Street Lamp, he really had finished it in ten minutes.

He hadn’t given a single thought to the theme.

He didn’t need to, because there would always be someone to invent a theme for him. His lines were incredibly crude, a level of sloppiness that the man he used to be would have found utterly unacceptable, but…

Perhaps it was a form of “imperfect beauty”?

A new school of art belonging to Mendeleev himself!

In short, there would always be art scholars to help cover for him, and it wouldn’t affect his fame in the slightest.

But…

At this very moment!

It felt as if his heart had been violently squeezed.

I betrayed my faith. I became drunk on the operations of capital, enjoying the fame and fortune it brought…

I am like a walking corpse without a soul!

“What are you doing?”

“…”

Under the shocked gazes of everyone present…

He pushed through the crowd and rushed toward Street Lamp. With a sudden movement, he tore the painting to shreds.

Just as the security guards were panicking and others were rushing toward him, he tossed his hat aside and ran out of the exhibition like a madman.

…

“Whew!”

Zhang Yang didn’t feel embarrassed about being kicked out.

He simply straightened his clothes and took one last look at the art exhibition.

His understanding of art was admittedly superficial, but in his original world, as long as he had the money, he would attend a concert or an art gallery every week.

Many people said that being immersed in art could make a person’s temperament more refined.

Zhang Yang had initially gone for that exact purpose – to make himself appear a bit more elegant. A refined temperament made it easy to gain people’s favor, especially when negotiating major business deals.

After coming to this world, that son-of-a-bitch fate had dropped him into hell mode. He didn’t have the money for cultural immersion; he could only think about filling his stomach first.

Later, after Desert Bicycle made money, Zhang Yang figured his company needed an elegant, representative painting. At the same time, he also needed a professional logo.

But…

Truly famous paintings cost millions or even tens of millions!

How could he afford that?

By chance, he had seen news about Mendeleev…

A sudden thought had popped into his head.

If Mendeleev could paint a piece for him for free…

Outside the exhibition…

People were coming and going.

Zhang Yang recalled Mendeleev’s life story in his mind, pondering the man’s personality and psychology, carefully analyzing the mental shifts of every period of his life up to the present.

He felt certain that Mendeleev would be hiding in the crowd, enjoying the various praises heaped upon him by his followers.

After all, based on the several exhibitions he’d researched online, that was exactly what Mendeleev always did!

But now!

Zhang Yang was a bit lost.

Did I guess wrong?

Mendeleev wasn’t in the crowd?

He didn’t have that kind of artist’s psychology?

That…

That shouldn’t be right. From his early works, Zhang Yang felt that Mendeleev should be someone who pursued the pinnacle of art, only to be blinded later by vanity and capital, becoming self-righteous.

By attacking from the opposite direction, he might be able to wake the man up, and then…

My analysis was fine!

Why didn’t it go the way I thought?

Forget it, I’m going back…

It’s normal for an analysis to be wrong.

Just as Zhang Yang shook his head and prepared to leave…

Suddenly…

“Wait! Hello…”

He suddenly heard a voice from behind.

He was instantly delighted, a smile nearly bursting across his face!

But when he turned around, his expression was full of deep emotion and despair, as if he were witnessing the end of art itself, carrying the loneliness of one who is never understood.

“What is it? You are… Mr. Mendeleev⁴?”

(End of Chapter)

Translator’s Notes