8. Masks

Collaborating with Yin Yan was something even Lu Zhengming found absurd.

Not to mention that their languages were from two completely different systems. Yin Yan was a classical realist, while he was an abstract expressionist. The materials they used for painting were also vastly different. For example, the factory-made canvases with a primed base that Lu Zhengming commonly used, Yin Yan wouldn’t even glance at, while the hand-layered and hand-polished canvas base that Yin Yan worked on, Lu Zhengming had no patience to make. After creating such a base, his passion would already have dissipated.

“The reason I’m collaborating with Zhengming,” Yin Yan said, “is to make some modern explorations within traditional figurative language. He has his own unique understanding of abstract language and material, and at the same time, I also want to continue exploring within classical painting, to find new possibilities…”

Lu Zhengming watched Yin Yan speak nonsense. While those two, who painted traditional Chinese painting, were deceiving others with their false pretenses, he silently played along while contemplating the stakes involved.

From his understanding, Yin Yan would never join any school of painting, even if it were a school founded by some authority figures from Beijing. While he was sociable, his works had a quality that defied any labels. Some of his paintings went beyond classical boundaries, even giving off an aura that didn’t resemble oil painting, but more like a casual ink-wash quality, with a sense of conceptualism.

Someone with such artistic pursuits was hard to imagine getting involved in a power struggle. The position of vice dean was certainly tempting, but was it worth sacrificing an artist’s independence and dignity just to join such a third-rate school of painting?

Lu Zhengming knew, though, that Yin Yan pulling him into this was just part of a game. Until everything settled, he could only side with Yin Yan and see what his plans were.

“Alright then,” Ma Pingchuan picked up the card Yin Yan had dealt and smiled with pleasure, “Zhengming might want to consider joining the Pingyuan School of Painting. While we start from realism, overall, we’re still inclusive. Style and subject matter aren’t a barrier.”

“Well, I’m honored.” Lu Zhengming rubbed the card with enthusiasm, “But I don’t have any notable achievements to show yet. Unlike Yin Yan, he’s at least been selected for the National Art Exhibition. If I don’t win an award this time, I’ll truly feel like I’ve let you down, Dean Ma.”

Lu Zhengming intentionally elevated Yin Yan’s “selection” to “award-winning.” He said it beautifully, but in reality, winning an award at the National Art Exhibition was far from guaranteed.

Achieving that wasn’t easy, and since he wasn’t part of this official circle, his words still amounted to a polite refusal.

Yin Yan fully understood his meaning and smiled without speaking. Naturally, Ma Pingchuan understood as well, but the card game remained lively and pleasant until it finally broke up.

Once they were out of sight of others, Yin Yan’s entire demeanor turned cold.

In front of Lu Zhengming, he instinctively dropped his pretense again. Lu Zhengming felt that same satisfying sense of being treated with openness and didn’t mind being used as a shield.

“Keys.” He walked ahead and reached for the car door on the left.

Yin Yan didn’t reject the gesture, letting him drive his car and take him home.

Lu Zhengming wasn’t used to driving such a small car like a Mini and was about to complain about the cramped space when he glanced over and saw Yin Yan curled up in the seat, fast asleep as if someone had flipped a switch. He remained asleep the entire way, not waking even when they reached their destination.

Lu Zhengming had thought about going upstairs with him, stepping into that familiar studio he hadn’t seen in a long time. But when he saw Yin Yan’s exhausted face, all those thoughts dissolved into a silent sigh.

He stretched out his hand toward Yin Yan’s face and, stopping a few millimeters away, made a motion as though gripping his chin. Then, with a subtle upward flick, it was like he was removing an invisible mask.

After doing that, he quietly got out of the car, smoked a cigarette on the side, and only then called a cab to leave.

With the setup for the graduation exhibition about to begin, every graduating student in the academy was busy, along with their instructors, who were working overtime to make final adjustments.

Usually, Lu Zhengming only had morning classes, but during this period, he spent all day in the senior classrooms, ready to help students solve problems at any moment.

Unlike other studios, where artworks were confined to canvas, the Contemporary Art Studio allowed Lu Zhengming’s students to create with a variety of materials, and their subject matter varied widely. This meant that he had to constantly switch his mindset as he moved between different pieces.

When it came to grading graduation projects and awarding exhibition prizes, this time of year always saw hidden rivalries between the studios. Additionally, the quality of past graduates directly influenced which studio incoming freshmen chose to join.

Under such mounting pressure, Lu Zhengming had no mood to paint.

His collaboration with Yin Yan was tossed to the back of his mind, and that giant red painting was flipped over and propped against the wall. The new piece he had just begun to make progress on had to be shelved for the time being.

He was already planning to request a reduced teaching load, or no classes at all from the department next semester so he could focus solely on his artwork when he received bad news from his agent.

The transition between spring and summer wasn’t just graduation season for the academy; it was also the time when the spring auctions at major auction houses wrapped up.

For artists, this marked a critical market test. Whether they belonged to the academy system or were independent, all artists paid close attention to their auction results. Art may be priceless, but artworks and artists certainly have a market value, and an artwork’s final selling price often reflected its creator’s standing.

Lu Zhengming’s work had always performed well in the market, but at this spring auction, several of his new paintings failed to sell.

Although his agent carefully chose her words, Lu Zhengming could still detect her disappointment with his recent works over the past two years. The paintings that didn’t sell were already the tail end of his Light series.

As he faced this defeat, Yin Yan’s older works were hitting new highs, with one piece setting a personal record. That piece had been his graduate project, which had not only been selected for the National Art Exhibition but had also earned him a teaching position at the academy.

Seeing the seven-figure sale price, Lu Zhengming couldn’t help but feel a subtle pang of bitterness.

He had never experienced a setback like this before.

Although Lu Zhengming hadn’t fared particularly well within the academy, outside the system, he had always been a market darling. Back when he was still a student, he had dabbled in realistic painting. A solid, photorealistic style, no less, but it didn’t take long before he completely broke free and threw himself into the embrace of abstract expressionism.

His timing coincided with a growing trend in contemporary art circles, where abstract painting had surged in popularity. Before he even had time for self-reflection, he was swept up in the frenzy, carried along by the current.

When creating based on the subconscious, it was inevitable that one’s personal circumstances would exert an influence. After Yan Yan’s incident, Lu Zhengming could no longer approach the Light series with the same ease as before. This spring auction’s failure marked the definitive end of that series.

And yet, he still had no clue where to go from there.

When anxiety and pent-up frustration reach a certain threshold, people instinctively seek an outlet. Lu Zhengming’s outlet became poring over materials related to Yin Yan’s peculiar preferences.

Every experience he’d had with Yin Yan thus far had been rushed, leaving behind all sorts of lingering regrets. He longed to have a complete and intoxicating encounter with him, the kind he had only read about in novels.

Although Lu Zhengming himself wasn’t particularly enthusiastic about this path, he was willing to fulfill Yin Yan’s desires. Because it was only in the throes of such release that he could catch glimpses of Yin Yan’s most genuine self.

He ordered many of the props mentioned in the books online, studied them one by one, and designed several scenarios, only to discard them all in turn.

Perhaps it was the instinct of an artist to resist treading the same old paths as others, but Lu Zhengming felt that the usual, clichéd approaches he disdained wouldn’t satisfy Yin Yan either. This dilemma troubled him for a long time, as he struggled to come up with something that truly suited the two of them.

It wasn’t until one day, after class, when he happened to walk past a poster advertising Yin Yan’s upcoming lecture.

“From Saintly Prayers: A Brief Analysis of Medieval Painting”

Lu Zhengming scoured his entire bookshelf but couldn’t find a single art book predating the Renaissance. He couldn’t help but laugh at how deep-rooted his disdain for classicism truly was.

Fortunately, he still had a few Baroque references, and among them were several with religious themes. One painting immediately caught his eye. Guido Reni’s The Martyrdom of Saint Sebastian. Not only had it served as the catalyst for Yukio Mishima’s awakening to his sexual orientation, but it was also one of the rare religious works imbued with subtle homoerotic undertones.

As he closed the book, a striking image took shape in his mind.