Chapter 111: The Painting

“Indeed, you already have at least three or four years of foundation. Since my junior brother said to teach you the real technique, it must have been a test of your temperament. How about this: one month from now, after I return from handling some matters, I will spend some time at the ancient temple on Ox Horn Mountain. You can come find me then to truly learn the authentic Five Animal Frolics style,” the old Taoist master said, lowering his head in thought before speaking.

“Thank you, Senior Uncle,” Zhang Ye replied, his face bright with joy. Although it felt strange and somewhat awkward to suddenly be regarded as his junior nephew—especially if his junior brother came back and asked about it—he quickly pushed such thoughts aside, eager to learn genuine skills.

However, Zhang Ye was puzzled by the master’s mention of three or four years of practice. He clearly remembered that he had only been practicing the Five Animal Frolics for about a month. Though he had indeed made noticeable progress and felt much better than before, it was hardly to such an exaggerated degree.

Could it be because he had been reborn? After much consideration, Zhang Ye could only attribute it to this.

“Senior Uncle, you understand medicine, don’t you?” Zhang Ye suddenly asked.

He had not forgotten about Li Qianqian’s father falling ill. Since there was no cure for the time being, Zhang Ye pondered and decided to consult this legendary expert.

After all, people with special abilities often possessed secret methods unknown to outsiders.

……

Today, there was going to be an unannounced assessment. Because it was sudden, seating was not specially arranged; only two teachers were assigned to patrol and supervise to prevent cheating.

The exam schedule was tight: two sessions in the morning and three in the afternoon. The first session was Chinese. Having spoken Chinese all his life, Zhang Ye found that, although he did not deeply understand many complex topics, the current Chinese test was not too difficult—mostly pinyin recognition and comprehension questions. Even without systematically reading textbooks, he could answer most of them. The only slightly challenging part was the dictation of some poetry, which he finished in half an hour.

The composition was based on a fable about a snail, prompting reflection on the story. Zhang Ye spent half an hour writing nearly a thousand words in a flowing style, then put down his pen with satisfaction and swaggered out of the classroom.

Next came mathematics. Looking at the problems, Zhang Ye was surprised that things were not as bad as he had imagined. Although he could not recall the exact formulas taught in high school, having attended university meant that, despite forgetting much knowledge, he could still use higher mathematics and calculus methods to solve problems. At least, when it came to fill-in-the-blank and multiple-choice questions, he was quite comfortable.

In the afternoon were English, physics, and chemistry. Zhang Ye felt confident about English since he had frequently used it in business in his previous life. As for physics and chemistry, he was a bit lost.

“Zhang Ye, how did you do on the exam today?” Zhao Haidong jogged over, his belly protruding slightly as he asked.

“Just okay,” Zhang Ye replied. “By the way, while we have some time, come with me to a place.”

……

Fan Cuiyun was a shrewd woman to the core. In recent years, rumors spread that she had made money by collecting scrap. Although she worked as a factory floor inspector and lived comfortably, she had taken up scrap collecting as a side hustle.

Whenever time and opportunity allowed, she roamed the streets and alleys, calling out to neighbors, always a familiar figure.

Surprisingly, after a year or two, her rather spacious home had nearly become a receiving station, and she had indeed earned a considerable amount, significantly improving her quality of life.

Recently, she had heard about a craze for antiques. For items of some age, she had become more attentive. Whenever she sensed something might be an antique, even if the price was a bit high, she considered buying it, hoping to resell it for a good profit.

Today, after work, she intended to push her cart to a farther place to collect some items but unexpectedly met two children right at her doorstep.

“Do you want to buy my stuff?” Fan Cuiyun asked, surprised to see the two boys. She recognized one as Zhao Ruxiang’s child, who lived opposite her. The other seemed familiar—a face she had seen once or twice.

“No, it’s him. His grandfather’s birthday is coming up. I heard you have some strange and rare items here, so we came to see if we could buy something,” Zhao Haidong quickly explained, pointing at Zhang Ye with a smile.

This story had, of course, been arranged beforehand by Zhang Ye. Abruptly saying they wanted to buy antiques would certainly draw attention. Mentioning his grandfather’s birthday at least helped put Fan Cuiyun at ease.

In Zhang Ye’s memory, Fan Cuiyun had already acquired that painting. From a casual conversation with Zhao Haidong in the other world, Zhang Ye learned that she had received it years before selling it and kept it carefully hidden. This time, Zhang Ye mainly wanted to test his luck.

“My grandfather’s sixtieth birthday is in three days. I want to prepare a special gift for him,” Zhang Ye said with an innocent expression that was rather disarming.

Frowning slightly as she looked at Zhang Ye and Zhao Haidong, Fan Cuiyun thought for a moment, then nodded in agreement. She invited them inside and brought out her collection.

Fan Cuiyun’s home had effectively become a scrap depot. The room was cluttered with all sorts of scrap metal, discarded books, comic books, reels of plastic, and abandoned wires, filling the living room.

Without lingering in the living room, Fan Cuiyun led them into a small room. Compared to the living room, this space was much cleaner and indeed contained some antiques—mostly porcelain bowls and ceramics, and some rusty iron items. Even with Zhang Ye’s outsider’s eye, he could tell most of these were not valuable.

Yet it was clear Fan Cuiyun took good care of these items, having cleaned each one so their surfaces shone.

“This is some of my collection. If anything catches your eye, just let me know. I’ll give you the lowest price!” she said, feigning generosity.

Upon hearing this, Zhang Ye did not hesitate and began examining the items one by one. Of course, he did not buy anything; he could not discern whether these were genuine antiques, so he naturally refrained from choosing. What truly interested him was only the painting from his memory.

In this small room, there were a few paintings resembling ancient works. Zhang Ye opened each with some excitement, only to be disappointed. He prided himself on being able to recognize art to some extent, and these paintings’ quality was inferior—even to him.

“Do you have more paintings? My grandfather loves paintings the most. These aren’t very good,” Zhang Ye said after thoroughly inspecting what was displayed, turning to Fan Cuiyun.