Gu Tongxiang preferred to paint in the courtyard.

Gu’s Painting and Calligraphy Gallery is now a small art gallery decorated with classical music and finely decorated, like a little museum.

In fact, the main selling point is its elegant and exquisite appearance.

It’s designed for doing business with bourgeois customers.

Across modern galleries and luxury cafes in Yangon, the main target audience is foreign tourists and well-off urban middle class.

In the past, when times were tough, this was not even an option.

Going back thirty or forty years, back then in Myanmar, painting Chinese paintings was like performing crosstalk or folk theater, if you really held onto a literati’s airs, you’d starve to death.

One had to be grounded.

Every day people would carry folding tables and chairs, writing materials, and find a crowded place like an overpass or park to set up a stall and paint on the spot.

Paint, then shout, shout, then paint again.

By the end of the day, they could earn a little something from the onlookers to support their families.

When Mr. Gu made his fortune back in the day, he met the Chinese-Myanmar mixed-race gentleman, who traded ancient paintings for "small yellow fish," among the crowd in the park.

In recent years, income has been better than before, and Gu Tongxiang has aged.

Only then did Master Gu finally feel at ease sitting in the gallery, rather than running around in the sun and rain.

Old habits die hard,

He still didn’t like to use the family’s professional studio, preferring to set up a long table in the courtyard and paint outdoors according to old habits.

It had just rained yesterday, and the air was fresh.

Gu Tongxiang felt as if it was like a new rain on an empty mountain; in the morning, he wiped the table dry, took the rice paper and paints, spread them on the long table, and painted for a while as morning exercise.

Old Wu was sharp-eyed.

He glanced at the half-painted peony on the rice paper, then saw the paint on the long table and immediately guessed accurately.

"Come on, Old Gu, you’re asking for trouble."

"If you want to be at peace in mind, don’t worry about all things," Old Wu said, quoting a wellness rhyme with a snicker.

"At your age, do you really still think an old tree can bloom anew? Why are you holding onto Lang Shining and not letting go? If you don’t have the ability, you should accept it."

Old Wu’s words were meant well.

As a long-time neighbor,

He knew Gu Tongxiang once had plans to imitate Lang Shining and was tenacious about it for a while.

Later after repeated failed attempts, he quieted down.

He never thought this obsession would be stirred up again.

Old Wu felt, why is this guy so hard on himself?

As people age, they can’t fight fate.

Making an exhausting effort and seeing no hope, not to mention being tormented by unfulfilled aspirations and living fewer years, really isn’t worth it.

"Well, it’s not so bad. In ancient times, Huang Gongwang learned to paint at 52, painted Dwelling in the Fuchun Mountains at 84. More recently, Picasso painted until he was almost ninety, Old Sir Cao Xuan and Yayoi Kusama never put down their brushes."

After receiving guidance from Gu Weijing, Gu Tongxiang began to find some sense of fusion painting.

These past few days, Gu Tongxiang could clearly feel his progress compared to before.

He is enjoying learning and is somewhat unwilling to admit aging.

Mr. Gu smoothed his nearly bald forehead with his hand, raised his chin, "I feel young compared to them. I still have a few years left to paint at this age."

"Damn, I spit!"

Equally having gained a reputation in the society, Old Wu rudely cursed.

He was amused by Old Gu’s overconfident air.

"Do you think you’re on par with those figures? Saying it out loud, others would laugh themselves to death. You’ve met Master Cao Xuan a few times by the Great Golden Pagoda this year, and now you really think of yourself as someone significant."

"Let me tell you, even usually, if you met one of Master Cao’s apprentice’s students, you’d still have to bow respectfully and call them teacher even if they’re not willing to acknowledge you. Xiaogu, don’t you think I’m right?"

Old Wu took a puff of his cigar, glanced at Gu Weijing beside him.

Gu Weijing scratched his head, said nothing.

"Xiaogu, you’d better advise your grandpa often, he wasn’t usually this out of touch. Don’t think about these frivolous things, I’d still like to play a few more years of chess with him and win a few more packs of cigarettes."

"Just with your lousy chess skills?" Gu Tongxiang retorted.

Gu Weijing saw the two elders in the courtyard teasing and bantering, and shook his head.

He could only smile and softly said, "I think it’s good for the old man to have a hobby, my grandpa is making great progress in learning this painting technique now."

"Humph, it’s just me being sentimental! You just go on indulging your grandpa, when he can draw nothing significant and falls ill due to pent up frustrations, you’ll be happy then."

Old Wu was even more displeased hearing this.

He gently slapped Gu Weijing’s back as he poured tea for him and stood up from the stool, leaned close to Gu Tongxiang, intending to persuade him further.

"No need, I appreciate the good intentions."

Mr. Gu waved his hand, proudly gesturing with his chin towards the pile of rice paper on the long table: "Go take a good look at what it means to have changed in three days."

"No... are you serious?"

Now Old Wu was really a bit puzzled.

Seeing Gu Tongxiang’s proud look, has he really figured something out?

Old Wu still found it a bit hard to believe.

"Don’t say I look down on you. Those with real skills in the National Art Association bigwigs, Lang Shining isn’t something you can imitate just like that. Even Vice President Miao probably doesn’t have that ability, right?"

The Myanmar National Art Association, upper management of the Yangon Calligraphy and Painting Association.

Directly under the Ministry of Culture, it is the highest official recognition the community of artists on this land can achieve, considered a national treasure type.