AVRL 46

Beside them, Song Chen watched the two of them whispering and laughing softly together. The light in his eyes dimmed for an instant. After a moment he suddenly opened his mouth and called “Mr. Meng”: “What do you think? Can these characters be considered works of art?”

“Hmm?” Meng Chi was slightly stunned. Meeting Song Chen’s rather deep gaze, he arched a brow and asked in return, “Does Mr. Song feel that Old Master Zhang cannot be considered an artist?”

“No,” Song Chen shook his head. “That’s not what I meant.”

Meng Chi smiled, half joking and half serious: “Since Old Master Zhang is an artist, his works naturally count as works of art as well.”

Song Chen looked at him silently for two seconds, then smiled gently and said calmly: “In the study of tea, Old Master Zhang can be considered a master of his generation. But if, because of his achievements in this field, one acknowledges that all of his works belong to the category of art, isn’t that a bit of generalization and exaggeration?

“Take this piece of calligraphy, for example. Whether from the perspective of brush-tip movement or spiritual charm and vitality, it cannot be considered an excellent work, let alone a work of art.”

Meng Chi’s brows lifted slightly: “Mr. Song has quite a bit of research into calligraphy.”

Song Chen laughed once and glanced at Tingzhi: “After being with Tingzhi for a long time, one has to understand a little.”

Meng Chi narrowed his eyes slightly and cast a sidelong glance at Yu Tingzhi out of the corner of his eye.

“People often say art has no boundaries, yet I believe art does have boundaries—or rather, a threshold is more appropriate.” Song Chen looked toward Yu Tingzhi and continued, “Someone once told me that art is a marvelous creation, a treasure created by artists only after they have experienced a series of painful processes such as hardship, reflection, and imagination. It is not like stones that can be found everywhere, discovered by some careless passerby.①

“Commonplace things are everywhere; refined elegance is rare.

“Art has a threshold, and appreciating art likewise has a threshold. To fully understand art and know how to appreciate it, one can only go through the same creative process that the artist experienced—to discover, sense, and experience with the heart. That requires mastering the corresponding knowledge, possessing sharp observational power, and having creative imagination.”

Chen Yan listened in a daze. He pulled Song Min aside and asked him softly: “Has your Ge gone crazy?”

Song Min gave a helpless “hai”: “He’s always like this. Back when he used to chat with Brother Tingzhi it was even more exaggerated—I couldn’t understand a single word.”

Chen Yan: “…”

Song Chen glanced at Meng Chi and added: “If the levels of thought cannot reach unity, one cannot appreciate the same beauty or understand the artist’s soul. Such distance easily produces contradictions. Even if it can be briefly drawn closer, it cannot be entirely avoided.”

Meng Chi listened with lowered brows. The smile on his face faded, revealing a thoughtful, solemn expression. After a moment he lifted his eyes and nodded rather approvingly: “What you said makes sense.”

Chen Yan inwardly felt things were going wrong. He thought to himself that if this turned into a cultural competition, the wild bottom truly held not the slightest advantage.

“Ahem,” he cleared his throat and proposed, “Aren’t you all hungry? Let’s go eat.”

Meng Chi had no intention of arguing with Song Chen, and Song Chen did not continue speaking either. Even though he had left Meng Chi speechless, he felt not the slightest pleasure in his heart—instead there was a stifled feeling as if he had punched a ball of cotton.

After finishing the visit to the Tea Culture Museum, Yu Tingzhi gathered the students together and handed them over to the teacher responsible for the afternoon activities, then went with Meng Chi and the others to have lunch.

Meng Chi was relatively more familiar with this place, so he found a restaurant with decent food. There were five of them in the group, so they called two taxis. After some considerate maneuvering by Chen Yan, he successfully left Meng Chi and Yu Tingzhi waiting for the second car.

Even after getting into the taxi, Meng Chi’s brows were still furrowed. Only when the vehicle started did Meng Chi suddenly open his mouth: “Teacher Yu, the person Song Chen mentioned—was that you?”

Yu Tingzhi was stunned for a moment before reacting to what he meant, then nodded and gave an “mm.”

“In university I participated in a debate competition once. The theme was ‘Does art have boundaries?’”

Meng Chi propped his hand and looked out the window. His gaze grew somewhat distant as he said softly: “Is that so?”

Just as Yu Tingzhi was about to open his mouth to say something more, Meng Chi suddenly turned his head again: “Do you also feel that art should be lofty and refined, highbrow and sparsely appreciated, rather than reaching every household and being enjoyed by both the refined and the common?”

Meng Chi’s expression was as usual, only the bit of melancholy that had appeared between his brows while looking out the window earlier had not fully dissipated and was caught by Yu Tingzhi.

He suddenly recalled that night of the life drawing, when Meng Chi had spoken to him about his master’s pursuit and views on tea art. The expression then had been somewhat similar to now.

“Are you referring to tea art?” After looking at him for two or three seconds, Yu Tingzhi opened his mouth to ask.

A moment of blankness appeared on Meng Chi’s face, then he laughed: “Teacher Yu, are you a worm in my belly?”

Perhaps because he could already be certain of Yu Tingzhi’s feelings, Meng Chi had not taken those words of Song Chen’s much to heart.

Instead, those words had led him to associate them with the differences in thought between himself and Yang Zhengfeng. If Yang Zhengfeng hoped tea art would be lofty and refined, highbrow and sparsely appreciated, then Meng Chi hoped it would be enjoyed by both the refined and the common, with a hundred flowers blooming together.

That was why he had fallen into thought. He just hadn’t expected Yu Tingzhi to know what he was thinking.

Yu Tingzhi: “Yesterday She Shan mentioned to me that you told him not to consider the promotional video for the time being—to push that matter back a bit. I guessed you were probably worried your master would get angry over this again.”

Meng Chi’s heart stirred slightly. He turned his head to look at Yu Tingzhi.

Honestly speaking, Meng Chi did not like this feeling of being seen through. Yet when he gazed into Yu Tingzhi’s calm eyes, there was only a warm, comforting sense of being understood—a subtle stirring of the heart.

“You clearly know your master will get angry over these things, yet you still try little by little.” Yu Tingzhi spoke slowly. “You tacitly allow Yang Zile to use the internet for promotion, accept the negative impact the internet brings you, and also bear the anger of your master’s lack of understanding—only because you have your own persistence.

“You want tea-art culture to be seen by the masses, you also want You Ran Tea House to increase its profits because of it, and you still want to protect—or rather, not affect—your master’s pursuit.”

As Yu Tingzhi spoke his guesses word by word, the smile on Meng Chi’s face gradually receded. His originally somewhat scattered gaze slowly gathered and focused, staring at the Yu Tingzhi before him as if staring at the self deep in his heart.

After Yu Tingzhi finished speaking, Meng Chi remained silent for a long time. Only after a good while did he give a low laugh: “Teacher Yu, how do you know everything?”

The corners of Yu Tingzhi’s mouth lifted slightly. He smiled faintly and said: “I just keep looking at you.”

If Yu Tingzhi’s earlier analysis had been like a sharp sword tearing open Meng Chi’s inner heart, then this sentence was perhaps a warm current that flowed little by little, brushing past the soft places in his heart.

“Art has never had distinctions of high or low status. Whether elegant or popular, in essence it is merely each person’s understanding of life—there is no way to judge who is right or wrong.” Yu Tingzhi said. “This is actually a philosophical question.”

Meng Chi immediately recalled that besides teaching art history, Yu Tingzhi also taught philosophy.

Not only an artist, but also a philosopher.

Yu Tingzhi looked at him: “With the development of society, there is actually nothing that remains unchanged forever. Just as in the transmission and teaching of the history of Chinese painting, although there are traditions such as ‘copying, tracing, imitating, and modeling,’ what is more important is that painters can, on this foundation, carry forward an innovative spirit, adapt to the changes of the times, and thereby evolve various schools and factions. Tea art should be the same.”

Meng Chi nodded slightly: “You’re right.”

Yu Tingzhi raised a brow without speaking. He inexplicably felt these four words did not sound so pleasant—rather like the words Meng Chi had used earlier to perfunctorily deal with Song Chen.

Meng Chi laughed once, then said: “Actually at the very beginning I didn’t think that much. Whatever Master told me to do, I did. Every day I thought that once I learned well I could start earning money sooner. Later, one day I suddenly realized that fewer and fewer people were following Master to learn tea, Master was getting older and older, and there were no young faces left in the shop.”

“When I was following Grandmaster to learn handmade tea, Grandmaster said it had already been many years since anyone managed to complete learning his tea-making craft. In the five years before and after, I was the only child who persisted to the end. Probably because of that, Grandmaster favored me a bit more.”

At this, Meng Chi laughed once, then continued slowly: “Later I watched a documentary that quoted a line from Director Shan of the Palace Museum. He said, ‘If we do not express history in the ways of young people, then we will lose the young people, and the young people will also lose history.’ Only then did I have that little bit of an idea—after all, young people are the largest consumer group.”

Hearing that last sentence, Yu Tingzhi laughed softly and replied: “You’re right.”

Meng Chi clicked his tongue and shook his head with a sigh that was half joking and half serious: “Money is really hard to earn.”

“That’s right!” The taxi driver who had been silent the whole way suddenly interjected. He met the eyes of the two people in the back seat who turned at the sound through the rearview mirror, and said in a rough voice, “You two chatted the whole way and I didn’t understand a single word—except this one. You’re absolutely right. Money is hard to earn～”

Yu Tingzhi and Meng Chi couldn’t help laughing. They exchanged a glance and both laughed lowly, and the heavy atmosphere inside the car lightened.

The driver still wanted to chat, but the destination was already before their eyes. He could only pull over to the side and let them get out, hoping the next passenger would be someone he could talk with for a while.

—

Although the restaurant had been booked by Meng Chi, he was not able to stay long. Jiang Hong called him, saying there was an urgent matter she needed his help with. Meng Chi ate a little casually and then left the restaurant.

After the meal, Chen Yan did not linger either and planned to go find his own fun. Song Min looked at his older brother, then at Yu Tingzhi, and finally decided to let Chen Yan take him along.

Chen Yan was originally unwilling, but later, for some reason he thought of something, and took Song Min with him.

The homestay Song Chen had booked was near Jiang Hong’s villa, so he went back together with Yu Tingzhi.

“Tingzhi, when did you and Meng Chi meet?” Song Chen asked.

Yu Tingzhi thought for a moment: “Two months ago.”

Song Chen seemed not to have expected the time to be so short. A flash of astonishment passed through his eyes. After thinking he asked again: “Because She Shan found him to be a model?”

Yu Tingzhi shook his head: “Because of a rear-end collision. He hit my car.”

Song Chen tugged at the corners of his mouth: “Is that so?”

“Mm.” Yu Tingzhi nodded.

Song Chen said nothing more. The two walked forward in silence.

After Song Chen went abroad, although Yu Tingzhi had not dated anyone else, he also had not kept much contact with Song Chen. Yet after all they had known each other for many years, and the two families’ relationship was very good. During festivals and holidays, when Song Chen returned to the country he would still have some contact with Yu Tingzhi. Meeting again this time after returning, there was no particular awkwardness or distance between them. They interacted like ordinary friends and still had common topics to talk about.

Originally Song Chen had not felt there was any problem—until he saw Meng Chi, until he saw the brows and eyes he had seen years ago on certain pieces of drawing paper.

Facing the way Yu Tingzhi and Meng Chi interacted, he suddenly began to feel uneasy and even found it difficult to maintain his own cultivation, his words becoming extreme.

“Meng Chi—is he the person you used to draw?” After a long while, Song Chen finally mustered the courage to ask this question. “In university.”

Yu Tingzhi turned his eyes and glanced at him, then nodded: “It’s him.”

This answer was not the least bit surprising, yet Song Chen still had the feeling of a suspended blade finally falling. The breath stuck in his throat was finally forced out with difficulty.

Song Chen forced out a calm smile: “Then the two of you now…”

Yu Tingzhi turned his head and glanced at him. From his expression he guessed what he wanted to ask, so he answered frankly: “We’re not together yet.”

“Is that so?” A faint light flashed in Song Chen’s eyes, but very quickly he noticed that Yu Tingzhi had used the words “not yet”—which meant he had such an intention.

“He doesn’t like men?” Song Chen’s hope flickered back to life. He knew what kind of person Yu Tingzhi was and hoped that Yu Tingzhi’s desire for Meng Chi was not yet enough to make him break his principles and drag someone of a different orientation into the water.

“No. It’s that he’s a bit hard to pursue,” the corners of Yu Tingzhi’s mouth curved upward. Smiles floated at the corners of his eyes and brows as he added, “But it should be fine now.”