dusk

Hey, don't go anywhere.

You've fooled me once already. What am I going to stay for?

Mr. Ruan might not be any giant of the ages, but it is his absolute, exact control of his brush's weight that makes him one of the most lauded out there.

This painting shows the study of Mr. Ruan's energy, and has attained three, perhaps four-tenths of it, but the strokes are crooked. The bodies fray from the form, and the form makes no attempt to adjoin. You have a sense of humor to tout this as a genuine work, don't you?

Just hold it, hold it, okay!

I didn't lay out the whole, unbearable truth because I knew you'd hate hearing it... but this really is a genuine article of his!

Unbearable truth? He lives in this city. He's a fellow man of yours. You would slander him like that?

Not to mention, no matter how unbearable things are, he wouldn't produce a work this shoddy.

His sight has gone.

I am absolutely not lying about this! The painting I possess here is a consequence of Mr. Ruan going blind!

Mr. Ruan was frequently ill in his youth, that I've heard.

But being so prideful in spirit, how could anything, even going blind, have him let this sort of thing out into the realm, to ruin his own fame?

Just... listen to me.

Mr. Ruan's eye disease kept getting worse and worse in recent years, to the point he could take ever so slightly small print, put it up against his face, and he couldn't make it out.

He'd rather have died than admit he can't see, precisely <i>because</i> of his pride.

There was a scoundrel who found out as such, played coy around him, tricked their way into his good favors, and then shoved some finely crafted contract before him and goaded him into signing.

And just like that, not only is Mr. Ruan in massive debt, even knowledge of his eye disease is getting out.

He's been ill for several months since then. Some say he's gone <i>completely</i> blind.

...Is the human soul truly that venomous?

So it goes.

Here, if that was as far as it went, and he'd simply fallen for some swindler's scheme, I wouldn't be throwing around the word 'unbearable.'

But he's been ruined ever since then, forced to the worst ends to meet his debt.

The worst ends?

His painting has lost all value since going blind. The experts won't give him a second look. He even started going by the 'blind painter' circus act, soliciting the wealthy here to watch him paint, in exchange for their charity.

To be fully honest, nothing he paints now goes for much of anything—not any more than what those socialites tip him, even. This painting I have here now was procured <i>from</i> one of those—

Eh? Where'd you go?

A colorful character you are, old Ruan, small enough you look amazingly like my grandson here! And this light ink on your head, it's not so far off the birthmark on my grandson's! Are you really blind, sir?

...I am.

I suppose as much. How would you miss even the big bold print on that contract if you weren't? Hahah.

...Hah.

Here's your painter's pay, and I do bid you accept. Farewell for now.

So the proprietor was not wrong. The state of Mr. Ruan truly is unbearable.

Who's that?!

A storyteller, no more.

A storyteller..?

I merely know that Mr. Ruan is a prideful one, who would pursue utmost realism in better years, who would fixate on scenery for days on end. Yet I didn't know he would resign himself now as a peacockerel within the cage, a sideshow of a beast.

If you're a sharer of the passion here to give me a wake-up call, I appreciate your kindness.

But ambitions are one's own. I'm blind in both eyes, unable to tell any longer what's fake and what's real. I'm simply struggling in my swansong. It beats falling dead on the roadside, that's all.

Ruan, old Ruan!

Who are you...?

I'm the one that came to see you for a painting a few days ago. Did you forget so fast?

Mr... Chu, I presume.

Yes, that's me!

What under Heaven is this 'Scene of Flower Plumage' you painted?

The fowlbeast's feet look like they're in pieces, and the coloring on these petals is turbid at best! You may well have flipped your palette straight onto the canvas!

I showed what you drew to some experts and asked them what technique this was, how your consciousness of form held, and can you guess what they said?

They said any 'form-conscious' part of you had long devolved into 'bone-obsequious!' Everything you paint wobbles and warps! When was the last time you laid a single firm line?!

Bone-obsequious?!

Mr. Chu, we agreed at the start that you'd pay as you saw fit, that any amount would be fine as long as you didn't regret it afterwards.

If I knew this was how you ended up, then forget painter's pay, you wouldn't pay <i>me</i> to take your works! If you don't refund me today, I'll go to the authorities and tell them you're passing off shoddy goods!

Mr. Chu, in light of the fact you <i>made</i> your agreement, the authorities would not pay mind.

Does this have anything to do with you?

If the mandarins won't listen, I have other ways. No matter what, this geriatric's going to cough up my money!

If you try your 'other ways,' <i>that</i> will be cause to trouble the authorities.

You—?!

Hmph. Fine, I'll swallow this loss.

The visitor lifts up the painting, asserts himself, and viciously begins to tear.

What are you doing?!

Throwing all his strength into his hands, he tears the painting into shreds in but a few short motions.

He tosses them up into the air, the scraps falling down like snow, all over Mr. Ruan.

Ruan, even beggars would be ashamed to act the way you do! They were right, you're bone-obsequious! Utterly depraved!

Me... obsequious? Depraved?

Said as such, no, I cannot refute him.

No, no!

'No?'

You keep on repeating how you're blind, but are you truly, fully sightless?

Playing the jester for coin is unbearable enough as is, but still you have to feign some for your comedic act. And you have the conscience to speak the word 'no?'

This... What do you mean?!

I need not mention the infant's birthmark. Further, you made a cry before that Chu fellow actually began to tear up your painting.

If my guess is correct, your sight is largely gone. The written word is a lost cause, and you can hardly even tell light shades from dark, hence the total suffering of your brushwork.

But full blindness? There sits a subtle lie.

Sir... you are observant.

Where are you going?

With even this final lie dead, what grants me any standing to cling to life?

I may as well find a quiet place... and be done with it all. It'll be clean!

Clean?

With your death, Mr. Ruan henceforth will be immortalized as the bone-obsequious, utterly depraved man. What of that do you call clean?

But what else ought I do? What else <i>can</i> I do?

Full sightlessness or not aside, even if you are blind, does that render you unable to paint?

Render me... unable to paint?

I can... perhaps I can...

—Forgive my dullness! I ask you impart your teachings upon this blinded painter's method!

That which I have heard is not as you have heard; which I have touched is not as you have touched; which I have tasted is not as you have tasted. To what end would I teach you?

Heard... touched... tasted?

Hm.

I am tired for today. Fare well by yourself.

Sir?

I must have misheard—

Do you refer to me?

I imagined we should have nothing left to talk about.

I'd be remiss! Your great grace will ever be engraved on my heart!

Hmph, interesting.

What grace have I done you?

You imparted upon me the painting style of sound, touch and taste, for which I was finally in these months able to paint a steadfast work.

Truth be told, I was planning to invite my fellow artists to judge my new work, but didn't expect to meet you here. Now I think of it, you should be the first to appraise my painting, sir.

That need not happen.

What I'd like to know is, what is it that you've heard, that you've touched, that you've tasted?

After you left that day, I pondered carefully at how the wealthy man jeered at me, how the merchant berated me, how you advised me...

I may not see clearly, but to put the forms and expressions that I hear onto paper, though it may not be so easy, was in the end a followable path.

Then how would I, as you hear me, appear within your painting?