Unspoken Lessons

Chapter 2: Clash of Attitudes, part 1

Wang Yibo’s presence in the lecture hall immediately shifted the room’s energy. Xiao Zhan couldn’t help but notice how all the other students glanced at him—some curious, others amused. Yibo was known, but not in the way Xiao Zhan would have hoped for any of his students. Still, there he was, sitting in the back row with his legs stretched out, his posture a perfect display of casual indifference.

Xiao Zhan cleared his throat and tried to focus. He began the lecture, diving into the day’s topic—postmodern literature and its impact on contemporary art. Normally, he loved discussing this subject, drawing parallels between literature and the visual arts. It was a way to bridge gaps between students who came from different fields. He could see some of his students—especially those studying design and fine arts—perk up at the connection. Yet, out of the corner of his eye, he couldn’t stop tracking Wang Yibo’s reactions.

Yibo, for his part, looked utterly bored. His chin rested on his hand as he lazily doodled something in his notebook. Xiao Zhan’s patience wore thin with every passing minute. This was exactly the kind of behavior that frustrated him. But he couldn’t confront Yibo in the middle of the lecture. No, this would have to wait.

As the class wound down and Xiao Zhan began wrapping up the session, he glanced at his notes and made a mental decision. He would use this opportunity to provoke some sort of engagement from Yibo, anything that would force him to participate.

“Before we finish for today,” Xiao Zhan began, pacing slowly across the front of the room, “I want to pose a question. How do you think the fragmentation of postmodernist literature is reflected in contemporary visual art? Specifically, the way stories or images are often incomplete, challenging the audience to find their own interpretations?”

A few hands went up, mostly from the more enthusiastic students. Xiao Zhan looked around the room, his gaze finally resting on Wang Yibo. The younger man’s eyes were half-lidded, his attention seemingly elsewhere.

“Wang Yibo,” Xiao Zhan said suddenly, his voice sharp. “You’re an art student, aren’t you? What’s your perspective on this?”

Yibo’s head snapped up, and the rest of the class turned to look at him. The silence that followed was thick with anticipation, some students smirking, clearly entertained by the situation.

For a moment, Yibo didn’t respond. He looked at Xiao Zhan with a calm, measured expression that almost made Xiao Zhan regret calling on him. Then, with a small, amused smile tugging at his lips, Yibo finally spoke.

“I don’t think there’s any point in overanalyzing it,” Yibo said casually, leaning back in his chair. “Art, literature… it’s all subjective. People read too much into things. Sometimes, it just *is* what it is.”

The dismissiveness in Yibo’s tone was like a spark to Xiao Zhan’s patience. But he kept his voice calm as he responded, though his eyes narrowed slightly. “And you don’t think that interpretation, or the absence of a clear narrative, plays a role in how people experience art?”

Yibo shrugged, clearly unbothered. “Maybe. But if you spend too much time trying to dissect everything, you lose the point. Art is about feeling. It’s not a puzzle to be solved.”