Paintings of Terror

Chapter 154: Self Is Invisible

Chapter 154: Self Is Invisible

The weather turned cold, and after a few autumn rains, in the blink of an eye, it was time to wear sweaters.

Benxin Art Gallery was located in an old, third-tier city. It was rare that there was a street with a strong academic presence, and even more rare that the shops here were all privately owned.

Benxin Art Gallery was located between the Benxin Library and the Benxin Movie Theater. Judging from the name, the owner of all three should be the same person.

The boss seemed to be very capricious. The art gallery’s business hours were actually from 9pm to 9am the next morning, and the ticket was 30 yuan each.

This was also the first art gallery they’d been to that required an entrance fee.

Wei Dong glanced at the business hours posted on the door of the gallery and said, “I’ve learned something new. This is the first time I saw a nightclub-style art gallery.”

More people’s eyes were attracted by the eye-catching poster at the door: This weekend’s art exhibition theme: Late Autumn, Mature Love.

There was also another line of small print next to it: The art gallery’s late-night cafe will also be open at the same time.

Mu Yiran and Ke Xun, both wearing the same kind of pullover sweaters, stood together, as if they were pursuing the middle-class sentiment of lovers. They had already passed the tension of sounding their feelings out and were about to “talk about mature love.” The color of their sweaters also matched the late autumn, with Mu Yiran wearing a dark caramel color, and Ke Xun wearing a warm beige color.

“The weekend is the day when we enter the gallery,” Zhu Haowen said expressionlessly, hinting at the painting’s cunning. “That means we won’t be able to see the paintings in advance.”

“Unless we contact the owner of this art gallery in advance.” This suggestion came from Qin Ci.

“Actually, I have already contacted the owner, who is a young girl named Su Benxin.” Mu Yiran revealed the “research clues” that he’d gained in the past few days.

“What did the girl say?” This was the first time Ke Xun had heard about this.

Mu Yiran’s expression was a little helpless. “She said that everyone is welcome to offer their own painting for display. This art gallery is based on free creation, and as long as it feels appropriate, anyone can add their artwork to it and then price it as they see fit.”

“This would make the art exhibition more fluid, and it’s likely that new works may be hung up at any time during the exhibition.” Qin Ci wanted to frown, but when he looked up at the crescent moon in the sky, he could not help but bend his eyebrows. “Leave it up to fate, so be it.”

Dr. Qin’s rare sanguine optimism was infectious, and Ke Xun even proposed to go to the movie theater next door and take a look. Besides, they were just waiting, anyway.

Therefore, six men entered the small, simple movie theater next to the gallery. Luo Wei walked at the end of the group, silent.

The movie tickets were very cheap at 15 yuan each, and the food offered were not the usual coke and popcorn, but hot coffee, date cake, and small packets of sugared orange peels.

There were three movies in total, all of which were being played on a loop. These movies were: Baraka , Song of Exile, and Sissi

Wei Dong said frankly, “I just watched the last one. My mother loved this movie.”

“Me too.” Ke Xun looked at Mu Yiran. “This is the first time we’re watching a movie together, but I didn’t expect them to be so unconventional.”

“This is very good.” Mu Yiran’s smile was like the spring breeze in late autumn.

Ke Xun floated over to buy tickets, and from time to time, he would turn around and ask everyone, “There are homemade bean popsicles here. Does anyone want to eat them?”

So everyone walked into the theater with their own hot coffee, each choosing a seat according to their eyesight and preferences. Mu Yiran and Ke Xun sat in the penultimate row, Luo Wei sat in the front row closest to the door, and the other three sat in the middle of the middle row and rear row, where the viewing angles were the most comfortable.

They were the only people in the entire theater, and Wei Dong couldn’t help but criticize, “This feels like being inside a painting.”

“The number isn’t right,” Zhu Haowen said expressionlessly.

Qin Ci smiled silently and ate the sugared orange peels. The sugar had the taste of licorice, and the dried orange peel slowly softened in his mouth, like the taste of his childhood.

The theater lights dimmed, and the title of the film appeared on the big screen: Baraka.

“Isn’t this the wrong film? Isn’t the first film called The One Who Loves You?” Wei Dong was very puzzled.

Zhu Haowen said with a blank expression: “It’s Baraka.”

“That’s almost the same thing. This string of letters is too ridiculous. Although my English isn’t very good, this string of letters has nothing to do with The Colors of Heaven and Earth,” Wei Dong paused, took a long, silent look at the title on the screen, and still didn’t understand what was going on. “Yeah, it’s the wrong film.”

“That isn’t English. It’s an ancient Islamic language. Baraka means blessing.”

Wei Dong stared blankly at the confusing scene in front of him. He thought hard but was still confused. “An old Islamic language? I don’t get it. Haowen’er, do you understand this? But what does Blessing have to do with The Colors of Heaven and Earth?”

“I don’t know the language, but I read about it from a film review. Once you’ve finished watching the whole film, you’ll find that the translation, The Colors of Heaven and Earth, is actually quite appropriate.”

Wei Dong watched for a while in ignorance. “I really can’t understand this kind of silent film. This makes it more like a documentary.”

“This is a documentary.”

“…Right.” Wei Dong still had many questions, such as why this documentary had no narration, but he swallowed it back. There were many confusing things in this world, such as the paintings. Could there be anything more confusing than the paintings?

Wei Dong didn’t pay too much attention to the movie, feeling that it was dry and dull. The things expressed in the movie could not be silently conveyed. Perhaps, it could only be experienced more deeply by going in and out of the paintings.

Life and death are impermanent, and reincarnation is wise and just.

In the second half of the film, Zhu Haowen stood up and quietly left. He opened the side door and discovered that the wind was cold. He covered his head with the hood of his windbreaker, tucked his hands into his pockets, and gently closed the door with one foot.

The lobby was small and shabby. Zhu Haowen simply walked to the entrance of the theater, lit a cigarette in the night breeze, and looked at the night sky calmly, still expressionless.

After a while, another figure came out of the theater. It was Luo Wei.

“What do you think the painting will have in store for us this time?” Unexpectedly, Luo Wei was the first to speak.

Zhu Haowen looked at the cold star in the night sky. “None of us can figure out its intentions.”

“I thought you would be the one most willing to take a guess.”

“When faced with this calamitous game, each of us will not hesitate to fight back. We do our best because each of us cherishes our lives.”

“You cherish your life, but you also enjoy this game.”

Zhu Haowen smiled. “Perhaps.”

“Because of this, your opinions may be different from the others.” In Luo Wei’s calm eyes, there was a desire to win that transcended his nature. This unlucky “passive calamity” could be interpreted as “active revenge.”

Zhu Haowen gave Luo Wei a serious look. However, he knew in his heart that all the warnings right now would not be heard by the person in front of him. He turned his head and took a few puffs of the cigarette. Changing the subject, he said in what seemed to be in a joking tone, “Do you know about Yohji Yamamoto?”

Luo Wei clearly didn’t expect the other party to suddenly veer off topic. He thought about it and said, “Is it a Japanese person? He writes speculative novels?”

“He’s a Japanese designer, whose style is called the anti-fashion style.” Zhu Haowen felt a little nonsensical every time he thought of this “anti-fashion style,” the “anti-fashion style” that is talked about by the fashion industry.

As a top academic student, Luo Wei didn’t know much about designers and similar fields, and he wasn’t interested in it. At this moment, he said in a straightforward manner, “What are you trying to say? Will knowing about this Japanese person help us in our next painting?”

“Maybe it might not be helpful, or maybe it might be very helpful.” Zhu Haowen wanted the other party to think about it himself, so he wasn’t in a hurry to reveal the answer.

Luo Wei was clearly in a bad mood, which had begun the moment his girlfriend had died in the painting. The painting they’ll be entering was in the art gallery. If they really wanted to, there were hundreds of ways to enter right now! There was no need to wait until 9pm.

Zhu Haowen wasn’t in a hurry. He looked at Luo Wei and said, “I think we still have to talk about Yohji Yamamoto.”

Luo Wei clenched his fists. “How would this Japanese help us?”

“He helped us recognize ourselves.” Zhu Haowen’s tone was still calm, but his gaze was fixed on Luo Wei as he continued, “I never thought that we’re entering the paintings for other people, not anyone else.”

Luo Wei’s frown did not loosen, but his tone did soften a little. “For myself, this scope is too broad. Sometimes, this definition can include others, and sometimes even the whole world.”

Zhu Haowen smiled slightly but didn’t follow the topic. Instead, he calmly said, “Let’s go back to Yohji Yamamoto. This person once said, ‘Self is invisible. Only when knocking into something powerful and bouncing back will the concept of ‘self’ be understood. So, in colliding with something strong, something terrible, and something high-level, will one know what ‘self’ is.’”

For a long time, Luo Wei didn’t say anything, and neither did Zhu Haowen.

In the dark of night, two men stood at the entrance of the old movie theater in an old city, like a sketch that had been shelved for a long time, causing the dark ink to grow sallow with age. Like darkness stained with tea, unerasable. Like a brand pressed under glass, preserved for many years to come.

The night devoured everything, but Zhu Haowen still heard the other person say, “Thank you.”