The Great Artist // NINE PERCENT Chen Linong

20

○ Beautiful or not it can't be decided by Andy Warhol ○
○ The great artist should have their own sensibility ○

"Where are you going?" the artist asked as soon as she saw the guest room the writer was staying in all tidy and clean with a closed suitcase. "Well, I'm going back to Taiwan by either today or tomorrow, depends on when the WarJet will arrive" he said.

The artist would be lying if she said that she wouldn't miss his presence in her enormous mansion. The place was quiet, too quiet and she couldn't bear the thought of having sleepless nights without having someone to comfort her again. She hated the thought of having to go through the thunderstorms alone again.

She loathed the fact that he was just there for her help and to help her. "Well I don't know if you would be able to, but if you want to you can come along with me. My parents would be delighted to have you around. They have been a fan of your work for a while now" the writer said.

She was glad that he had offered her to do so. Ever since the break up, the artist has been seeking for some getaway so that she would have time to forget about him. The CEO also hasn't contacted her at all so it was a plus for her knowing that the mission would be easier without his presence or attempts of getting in contact.

But she has been struggling to find a destination or just someone or some time for the getaway. The writer was currently offering that chance for a short vacation to his hometown and why wouldn't she take the offer. "I'll go pack up now, I would need some clothes and things anyways" she said and went to her room.

But before she turned around she swore that she could see a soft smile on his face. But what made her question was why did she feel like smiling at him as well. It was a mere thought no one would notice wrong but she hasn't felt like this since the CEO and she was scared.

Scared of more betrayal, scared of more secrets, scared of the stupid truth and most of all scared of all the dumb lies. She couldn't afford being deceived like she was some dumb creature, being hit with the cruel reality harder than a bulldozer would hit a man.

But she gave less thought to all that and started with her work. She packed her things, told her maids what to do and what not to do. At this rate she didn't even know when she would come back to England. But all she knew was that she was going on this getaway she very much needs.

"We'll be leaving by sunset, London's time. We'll have dinner at the WarJet and we'll arrive when the moon is up at lowest rate of speed, 45 minutes at highest rate. Most likely be arriving in an hour though. Is that all clear?" he explained and she nodded. "Crystal" she said. "Great, so we'll have lunch after this, finalize your luggage and all that and we'll leave" he said.

And so they did. They ate lunch at a nearby restaurant although it was a 30 minute ride to the nearest diner for the fact that the mansion was in a forest. Both the artist and the writer checked all their luggage and belongings, making sure nothing was left behind and by sunset they left.

The WarJet was zooming through the orange-colored sky. It was a beautiful sight and the artist didn't even have time to panic about the flight and all that. She simply took a picture of the sky with a part of the sun for a memory, the first beautiful sight since her break up with the CEO.

Dinner was served on the way and they ate quickly as the pilot claimed that they would arrive in approximately 20 minutes from then. They landed soon after on a rooftop and the artist was confused. Whose rooftop would the WarJet land on when it's a secret?

They got off and a woman rushed straight to the writer and hugged him. "Ma..." he greeted. So it's either his parents' mansion or his, the artist thought. The two talked and caught up for a bit before the artist took his mother's interest. "And who might you be- wait... I know you" she said and inspected her face.

"Aren't you Michelle, the great artist?" she asked. "I wouldn't call myself the great artist for I have not found any type of art which would qualify in the requirements and standards in my mind but everyone calls me the great artist so yes, I am the great artist" she explained. His mother's eyes widened.

"My my, what fine young lady you are, come inside. Have a seat and have some tea, you too, Linong. The both of you must be tired" she said and brought the two inside. The furniture inside was definitely no joke, lavish interior, carpeted floors, crystal chandeliers, large sculptures and flower vases, perfect.

"Wait while I go and prepare some tea" she said and left to what seemed to be the kitchen. She was back not long after and served them some tea. "I don't know if my son has told anything about us to you but you must be pretty special that he could tell you about the Whispering Jade" his mother said.

"What do you think of the design? World class enough?" a male voice asked. She looked to the direction of the voice and saw a man who looked like he is in his early 50s. "Ba..." the writer greeted. "It's great to have you back Linong, even more with a special guest I see. Come, Michelle, we must show you something" he said.

The artist followed him with the other two and found herself standing in front of a huge painting. It was covered with a white silk cloth and the man uncovered. She gaped at it and stared at it as if it was the most peculiar thing she had ever seen.

It was one of her most famous paintings, an abstract one precisely. She painted it because of her mixed emotions at that time, it was when she broke her wrist and painted with her left one. She was frustrated and sad and when she was she always paints. She had no other choice but to paint with her left hand.

"I fell in love with this painting the moment I saw it. I felt like I could feel every single emotion you had been keeping all those times. I absolutely loved it, so did she and so did Linong" he said and looked at me. "Thank you" the artist said. She had never heard anyone compliment her paintings like that before.

After the little chat, she was taken to the guest room which is very luxurious for one. Her guest room was huge but the writer's was gigantic. It was nearly the size of her own bedroom in London. She put her things away and took a shower.

The moon was shining brightly when she laid down on the bed. She sighed and sat up and walked outside. Only then she could see how majestic the mansion was. There was a big swimming pool outside despite the mansion being in a beach.

She let her bare foot touch the sand as she walked along the shore. She stopped at a point and sat on the sand and looked at the moon. She sighed for the millionth time today and looked down to her feet instead. 

In a while, she felt a presence beside her and so she looked to the person. The writer was sitting beside her while looking at the moon and the gorgeous moonlight it shone out. "What were you thinking of?" he asked so suddenly.

"Just... I don't know. I felt like I've done my best to maintain the relationship I have with him. I thought that it would be beautiful, just as how Shakespeare would write Romeo and Juliet but I guess it was the same as the drama, ending really sadly" she said.

"Artist, whether the relationship is beautiful or not, it doesn't matter. What Shakespeare, Van Gogh or even damn DaVinci think doesn't matter. A love story has its own beautiful traits and bad sides" he said.

"You're the great artist, you need to have your own senses, your own standard of beautiful, your own love story"