Chapter 5: 4
Edited to change a detail.
"You paint?" Bai XiNian asked in surprised. "Don't tell me it's something that'll murder my eyes because I will strangle you if that happens."
Lin FenXiang scoffed lowly, "Who told you I've started painting?"
"QingLan, obviously. Now come on, show me your work. I'll be your judge."
Lin FenXiang sighed, rolling his shoulders, he motioned him to follow. Quickly striding up the stairs, he made his way to the room.
While opening the door, he looked over his shoulder, at Bai XiNian and joked. "Don't laugh at me if it's not what you'd expect."
Bai XiNian laughed, almost doubling back. "You just started I don't expect a masterpiece from you so soon. It takes years of tempering and hard work to produce one. Work hard, if you've got the talent your art will naturally reflect it."
Lin FenXiang curled his lips, trudged into the room and made way for Bai XiNian. Gesturing at the canvas covered with a cloth, he stated.
"There it is," drifting to the canvas, he grabbed the cloth and turned to his friend. "Ready?"
Nodding a little eagerly, Bai XiNian agreed.
Lin FenXiang hummed and slowly took off the cloth. Then, he probed Bai XiNian's face for his reaction at the side. To his credit, he started fiddling with his cuffs, seemingly uncaring.
Bai XiNian turned his eyes to the painting and then…
He froze, his breath hitching for a split second. Unwittingly, he found himself walking closer to the colourful canvas. His hand stretched out, reaching towards it.
The landscape seemed as if it had a life of its own. The greenery, the river, the view of the sun setting afar, all of it was realistic and soulful. The painting had a story of its own to tell. It seemed as though the sun was saying a goodbye to an old day, a farewell to old times, a reluctant parting with its beauty and to an old memory.
"This," Bai XiNian spat out a breath. "This, this… Did you really make it yourself?" Lin FenXiang nodded slowly.
"Hm."
"It has a story to tell, doesn't it?" Bai XiNian demanded tremblingly, took his hand back and nodded. "What is it?"
Lin FenXiang lowered his eyes and mumbled, "I can't tell you that."
Bai XiNian took a deep breath and nodded, "I understand. You, you really have the talent for art, FenXiang." Lin FenXiang grunted gently.
"It, it almost reminds me of another artist," Bai XiNian muttered. "But I don't dare think of it too deeply."
"I see." Lin FenXiang replied, not taking the matter to heart.
"Are you going to sell it?" Bai XiNian asked suddenly. "I mean, it's just, I want to buy it. If you're going to sell it, make sure to tell me, yeah."
"But it's not complete yet. I am probably going to make some changes and then varnish it. Only then will I think of selling it."
"But do make sure to tell me."
Lin FenXiang raised his eyes to him, "You are serious?" It wasn't daily that people became so eager to by his works.
Bai XiNian snorted, crossing his arms, he said. "Do I look like I'm joking?" A little reluctantly taking his eyes off the painting, he stepped back, preparing to head out.
"Oh, by the way," he stopped short, turning to look at Lin FenXiang he added. "If you're really interested in furthering your horizon in this field, I've something to give you."
Lin FenXiang raised an eyebrow, covering the painting again, he asked. "What is it?"
"I'm going for an exhibition in the Ashmolean Museum. If you want to come, it's going to be held in two weeks. I can get you a ticket." Bai XiNian offered uncertainly.
"Ashmolean Museum? Where's that?"
"Britain, you didn't know?"
Lin FenXiang fell silent, thinking for a moment, he slowly nodded. "Sounds good to me. I have a lot of free time to attend the exibition."
"Sure? Then I'll get you a ticket. But," Bai XiNian stuck out his index finger. "Before that you'll have some research to do."
Tilting his head to the side, Lin FenXiang asked. "About what?"
"About the artist who's works, we are going to exhibit this time," Bai XiNian had a passionate gleam in his eyes. "He's considered one of the best artist in the entire world and pride of the country. You don't know how much efforts the Great Britian has put in order to gather all the works of him. Even today not all of his paintings and have been recovered to the homeland, though."
Lin FenXiang pursed his lips, wondering who the person was. Important enough to make the country put so much efforts to collect everything of his.
"And who is the artist?" He asked in a low voice.
"Drystan, Drystan Meyer."
Lin FenXiang stilled, freezing almost imperceptibly, he looked at Bai XiNian somewhat unnaturally.
"Pardon?" He asked blankly. "I think I misheard you. Did you say Drystan?"
Bai XiNian frowned slightly, "Yeah, what's the matter with it?"
"No," Lin FenXiang stared, taking a breathe. He asked again. "No, did, did you say Drystan Meyer, the British painter Drystan Meyer."
"Yeah, why?" Bai XiNian asked tilting his head a little. "Didn't you know that?"
Lin FenXiang's hands dropped to his sides, a little stiffly he demanded. "Drystan Meyer, he is famous?"
Bai XiNian stared at him as though had two heads. He exclaimed incredulously, "Famous?! Famous? Are you kidding me? You don't think that an artist like him is famous?? Are you serious?"
He paced back to the frozen Lin FenXiang and jabbed a finger at him furiously, "You," he gritted out. "You are an idiot. Give me you damn phone." Snatching the phone from Lin FenXiang's pocket. He clicked at the screen swiftly and almost harshly.
"Look!" Shoving the phone screen to Lin FenXiang's face, Bai XiNian pointed at the screen which displayed a Baidu page. "He. Is. One. Of. The. Most. Renowned. Artists. From. The. Georgian. Era." Enunciating every word, he handed the phone to him.
"Now freaking research!" And left without even a goodbye whilst stomping.
Lin FenXiang stared at the phone in his hand. His face was pallid and horrified. He looked at the closed door and staggered weakly.
Hyperventilating as he made his way to the laptop, Lin FenXiang's teeth clattered, feeling bone deep chill, he bit his lips, took a deep breath and gulped. Opening the laptop with shaking hands, he tremblingly placed his hands on the keyboard and typed.
He typed the same thing several times, only to get it wrong over and over again. Sucking in air harshly, he typed correctly at last and clicked the search button.
"Drystan Meyer"
The Baidu page's link loaded at the top instantly, leaving him blank for a moment. Taking short and quick huffs of breathe, Lin FenXiang slowly clicked on the link and entered the page.
When the page was loading, Lin FenXiang could see his anxious and pale face reflecting on the white display.
How, how did he become like this? Why was he se perturbed by this knowledge. Was is because he felt that he didn't deserve it? Was it because looking back at his past was an inevitable reminder of Adrastus to him?
Or was it because he knew the ineluctable distortion of their history the modern times would bring?
Nevertheless, he'd have to face it. Lin FenXiang touched the mouse pad and tried to scroll.
『Drystan Meyer (1786-1830)
Was a British painter and sculptor from Georgian Era. Like Michael Angelo, he too was considered 'Maestro of a different time'.
Born in Southern Wales, the painter was quite well to do in comparison to the other artists of that time. He was from the family of declining Marquess Meyer from Wales. However, despite his Welsh identity, the painter spent most part of his life in London and later, Yorkshire.
Under unfortunate circumstances, the family was massacred in their home, leaving a young child to struggle alone.
However, the greater the struggles, the brighter some people shine. Drystan Meyer is an example of it.
Some of his most well-known paintings include 'Fall of Icarus', 'Noble Lady', 'London Night', 'Apotelesma' and 'Desperation'.
And one of the most mysterious collections of the world, 'Avoidless Choix' by Drystan Meyer, recorded his brilliance in history forever. Regrettably, the collection with, Duke of Yorkshire[1] wasn't yet complete when the young artist faced his untimely death. (c. 1815)...』
『…See. Sculptures by Drystan Meyer (page 4)
See. [1] Duke of Yorkshire→ 』
Lin FenXiang's sight became blurry. Reading the most of his life as Drystan Meyer lying bare in front of him made him shudder.
His shoulders shook as he gritted his teeth, his lungs burnt as if he lacked air and then, he fell apart.
Falling to his knees, Lin FenXiang panted for air despite trying his hardest, he couldn't call down.
All the memories, the paranoia, all of it came rushing to him like a torrent. He coughed, choking as though someone was strangling him. He wanted nothing more than to curl up in himself and sob.
His past, his life, the one he made for himself to show to the world lay bare for anyone and everyone to see. He felt…
He felt bare, he felt exposed and vulnerable.
Wanting nothing more than to find the comfort of his lover's arms. But… he couldn't get that could he?
A sick laugh, wet and borderline insane, bubbled from his throat as he touched his face with trembling hands.
"Not, not good," he gasped out hoarsely and then laughed. "I'm spiralling back to it, haha–" muffling his mouth using his hands, he hurriedly tried to stand up.
"I can't," he muttered erratically. "I can't fall back to this. I can't… I can't–" he walked to his bed and grabbed a box of tissues and stuffed them in his mouth frantically. His hands trembled as he did so.
Had Lin FenXiang seen himself in the mirror he would have realised that he looked no different from a person who teetered on the edge of insanity.
An extremely familiar helplessness and resentment rose within him as he lay down on the bed, drenched in cold sweat as his body shook intermittently.
Muffled sobs filled the room as black spots appeared in front of Lin FenXiang's eyes. As he slowly lost consciousness, he seemed to hear a ghost of whisper in his ears.
A cold voice he was extremely familiar with.
'You are insane, but you can't let it conquer you, your mind, your rationale, Meyer.'
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Author has something to say:
Author: I changed the year of Drystan's death from 1815 to 1830 so that the story I have in mind can be told. I understand that it's a big change but please bear with it. Haha.
Just to clarify, Drystan didn't die in 1815 AD, as was stated in the previous version, instead, he died in 1830 AD, much older than that.
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