Chapter 22: Chen Chong?
Chen Yifei?
He was truly a distinguished figure, with a younger brother named Chen Yiming—both masters of painting.
Unfortunately, due to their intense dedication, they passed away relatively early.
Chen Yifei’s works have even been listed on the “Post-1911 Deceased Masters’ Calligraphy and Painting Works Restricted from Export” list.
In the realm of oil painting, Chen Yifei is an unavoidable name. He was the first painter after the reform and opening-up to gain fame abroad.
An interesting anecdote involves one of his paintings, “Twin Bridges,” which was purchased by an American billionaire. Unexpectedly, during the billionaire’s visit to China, he returned the painting as a gift to a certain person in China.
Back in 1991, at the Taikoo Christie's Autumn Auction, his “Lingering Charm of Xunyang” fetched 1.37 million Hong Kong dollars, setting the highest price for contemporary Chinese oil paintings at the time.
However, the highest auction price was achieved by his “Spring Warmth in the Jade Hall,” which sold for nearly 150 million yuan at Jiade Auction House.
Though his later works received some criticism, the man before them was undeniably a great master.
If memory served, he was soon to fund his own studies abroad.
Upon meeting such a luminary, Zheng Fei remained humble, even slightly nervous. “Hello, Teacher Chen, my name is Zheng Fei.”
Chen Yifei appraised him briefly. “I know who you are. Teacher Meng has been praising you a lot these days, often saying that after all these years of learning, we still can’t match a young unemployed man like you.”
“I’ve only scratched the surface; there’s no way I can compare to the teachers.”
“Just as Teacher Meng said—humble, very humble.”
Zheng Fei: ...
In the room, a stylishly dressed young man approached and shook Zheng Fei’s hand.
“My name is Chen Chuan. I just graduated from university, a student of both Teacher Meng and Teacher Chen.”
He then pointed to a young woman on the sofa. “That one pretending to read a foreign magazine is my sister, Chen Chong.”
The young woman on the sofa frowned slightly. “Pretending? I’m majoring in foreign languages and can understand it just fine.”
“Then read a passage for us.”
“Hmph, as if.”
The resemblance to her name helped Zheng Fei finally place who she was—indeed, they looked quite alike.
Mentioning her always brought up the 1985 Spring Festival Gala, where due to inappropriate wording, a retired cadre published a critical article about her in a newspaper.
In truth, regardless of whether she had uttered the phrase “you Chinese,” it was irrelevant given her stance.
Her most controversial moment, of course, was the “Abandonment Gate,” which even Zheng Fei found hard to judge.
Surprisingly, after arriving in this era, he hadn’t met Gong Xue or Zhu Lin yet but encountered Chen Chong first. It seemed he was truly not fated to meet those two beauties.
---
Upon seeing Chen Chong, Zheng Fei’s face lit up with excitement and a touch of awkwardness. “Are you the Chen Chong who acted in ‘Little Flower’?”
“Exactly, I am Chen Chong.”
Chen Chong’s eyes brightened as she smiled at everyone. “See? Just mention my name, and they know I played Zhao Xiaohua.”
Seeing Zheng Fei’s admiring gaze, Chen Chong was delighted—finally, someone who appreciated her talent.
Zheng Fei glanced away with a meaningful smile. In front of such greats, it was better to stay low-key.
But sometimes, the more you try to be modest, the harder it gets. At this moment, Teacher Meng brought over an easel for him.
“Young comrade, do me a favor and show them your skills—so they stop accusing me of bragging.”
Zheng Fei was about to decline.
Unexpectedly, Chen Chong chimed in, “Yes, show them your talent so they realize there are always people better than them.”
If Chen Chong was the model, Zheng Fei was somewhat interested. Last year, the film “Little Flower,” starring her alongside Tang Guoqiang and Liu Xiaoqing, was released to great success.
By modern standards, Chen Chong was a well-known rising star.
But Zheng Fei’s deepest impression of her was her role as Wanrong in “The Last Emperor.”
If he had to judge, he found her a bit “complicated,” better to avoid unnecessary contact.
A poor boy from a slum suddenly standing in a villa in the JA district, with a famous actress as his model—if this story had reached Tanzhi Bay, no one would believe it, yet reality was stranger than fiction.
As Zheng Fei painted, everyone gathered around, their expressions turning increasingly astonished.
Chen Yifei commented, “The foundation in sketching is solid. Teacher Meng, you’ve really found a treasure this time.”
“The form is very well captured.”
Surrounded by so many masters, Zheng Fei could only present his best skill: hyperrealistic sketching.
Such work usually took dozens of hours, but time was limited now, so he had to create a simplified version.
The clock on the wall ticked steadily, while Chen Chong, lying on the sofa, grew impatient.
“Is it done yet?”
“My back is sore from lying down.”
Her brother Chen Chuan replied, “Hold on a bit longer; it’ll be finished soon. How can you be so impatient and be an actress?”
After more than three hours, Zheng Fei finally put down his brush. The portrait was relatively realistic.
Once he finished, Chen Yifei led the applause.
“Truly excellent. Both form and tone are handled superbly.”
---
Meng Guang looked at the painting before him and frowned ever so slightly. He glanced at Zheng Fei, sensing something was off.
He had the feeling that the young man was holding back.
Chen Chong, who had long since grown tired of lying down, came to the easel. Upon seeing the sketch, she immediately smiled broadly.
“So beautiful. Comrade Zheng Fei, since I’ve been lying on the sofa for so long, could you gift me this painting?”
Zheng Fei looked at Chen Chong with admiration, a true fan’s expression. “Of course. If I had a camera, I’d love to take a photo with you.”
Hearing this, Chen Chong’s already large eyes grew even wider.
“I do have a camera, wait a moment.”
She found a camera on the bookshelf, handed it to her brother, and then pulled Zheng Fei to stand before the easel.
They took a photo together.
Chen Chong was thrilled to receive the sketch. “I’ll get it framed right away.”
Her brother remarked, “We’ve made you so many paintings, and you don’t always want to frame them.”
“You don’t paint as well as he does.”
Zheng Fei twitched at the backhanded compliment. It was a subtle way to make enemies here—everyone present was or would become a master.
No, judging by current trends, he himself was destined to become a master cartoonist, possibly even more famous than them all.
At this thought, Zheng Fei straightened his posture and looked at the gathered masters with newfound confidence.
Just then, Teacher Meng said, “Young comrade, our school recently started a correspondence course. Would you be interested?”
A correspondence course?
Zheng Fei was indeed tempted. With only a junior high diploma, if he wanted to succeed within the system, formal credentials were crucial.
“But I don’t have a work unit to recommend me.”
Chen Yifei smiled. “Teacher Meng, you’re here, why worry about recommendations? Teacher Meng is the director of the Art Research Department at Jiaotong University.”
“Thank you, Teacher Meng.”
Getting into this circle was a good thing for Zheng Fei; making more friends was never a bad idea.
Yet, Chen Chong’s gaze upon him felt somewhat strange, as if she was quite pleased with him.