When words don't match, half a sentence is too much.

  The woman, after scolding someone, turned to ask me again: "How much is this painting? It's rare that I like it." After a brief pause, I quoted the price in a soft voice. The woman's eyes widened: "Are you robbing me? This sloppy piece of work costs so much?"

  The young man burst out laughing again: "Finally, you've exposed your stingy nature. What's with the nonsense about splashing ink? That's called art. A single painting by Picasso is worth hundreds of millions."

  The woman's eyes widened even more: "Has he gone mad? Spending 100 million to buy a piece of paper? That buyer must be crazy."

  My eyes twitched involuntarily, I've met customers who complained about the price before, but this kind...I don't even know how to respond. I vaguely sensed that this couple might not be here to buy paintings, were they here to pick a fight? But judging from their appearance, it didn't seem like it, and earlier when they came in, wasn't the man talking to Gao Cheng?

  As soon as I entered the door, my gaze shifted to that corner for the first time. The remaining anger from this morning was still there, and if it weren't for the little kid not being around, I really didn't want to bother with him. But seeing him slightly lowering his eyes, his line of sight still on the laptop screen on his legs, as if everything happening around him hadn't entered his ears or eyes.

  He coughed heavily and finally caught his attention. He stared at me for two seconds before turning away, opening his mouth lazily: "Have you made your choice?"

  The young man immediately stood up, walked towards me with big strides, pointed at the oil painting on the wall: "This one, boss lady, help pack it up." His hand had already taken out his wallet from his pocket and unhesitatingly pulled out five hundred-dollar bills. A gasp was heard from beside, "Fell..." The woman had just made a sound, but was stared at by the young man, and she swallowed back her words, looking at me with painful eyes as I accepted the five hundred-dollar bills.

  After I sealed the painting with a membrane, the woman took it and held it in front of her chest with both hands like she was holding a treasure. The man laughed and scolded: "Look at you, can't you give me some face?" She shook her head: "Your face is none of my business, I'll put this painting on my bedside when I get back."

  The man ignored her, smiled at me and said: "Boss, I forgot to introduce myself. My name is Luo Jinghan, she's Qu Xinhua. Here's my number, keep it for next time when you come over to discuss your art insights."

  A note was passed over, with a phone number scribbled on it. As the two of them walked out the door one after the other, I turned my head again and cast my gaze at Gao Cheng, staring at his profile for a while before suddenly asking: "Who are they?"

  He didn't even raise his head and asked: "Are you talking to me?"

  I had the urge to roll my eyes, gritting my teeth and saying: "Is there anyone else here besides you?" He raised his head and looked over at me coolly: "This question has been discussed more than once, you often see third-class creatures." He was still using this morning's sarcasm, really every word was a knife to the heart, talking to him could be infuriating.

  After sitting down at the worktable, he said in a straightforward tone: "I hope that when you're here, you won't bring any inexplicable people. Although this small gallery is usually quiet, it doesn't need your roundabout way of helping out, and my paintings are only sold to those who understand art."

  The silence was deafening, and the atmosphere suddenly became heavy.

  Actually, I didn't plan to ease the atmosphere with him either, so I just made a scene and left. That way, my ears are finally free from disturbance. This person has seriously disrupted my sleep quality and daily routine.

  "Has your brain been squeezed? The door is wide open, and you're walking in with feet on someone else's body. The painting was taken down and carried away, did it pass through my hands? And I'm still helping this poor guy, thinking too much indeed. Moreover, you opened an art gallery, does every buyer understand art? Who are you fooling? If everyone were like you, your gallery would have closed long ago. In this world, those who follow the trend of elegance will always outnumber true artists."

  A calm and collected tone, a cool and composed demeanor, a disdainful gaze, the standard high-castle mode of cold ridicule.

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