Chapter 15: Snow Memories of Jiangnan

Art has always been the ultimate goal that the foolish chase in vain.

Even the most diligent and dedicated artists often dare not claim that their works truly qualify as art.

Even veteran art teachers in schools wouldn’t boldly say their creations are worthy of being called art.

So who was Xia Hua to speak so shamelessly and confidently?

“Go ahead,” Ji Fan’s stubbornness flared up too.

He made a gesture of invitation and said, “Let me have a good look at Xia Hua’s art. I hope I won’t be disappointed.”

“Let’s hope so,” Xia Hua replied calmly.

What does it mean to be stained by society’s dye vat?

If she hadn’t endured the torment of clients, how would she have gained such confidence?

Xia Hua began sketching on her drawing tablet.

What is the impression of Jiangnan?

It’s arched bridges over flowing streams, a land rich in fish and rice, maples in the mist, and the glow of fishermen’s lanterns. But what about Jiangnan in winter?

On the screen, visible to others, she began to reveal green mountains and blue rivers.

Seeing this, Ji Fan shook his head in disappointment.

The theme was winter, and she was painting green mountains and water? Was this a joke?

“I remember in the South, even in January, we’d hardly see the sun,” Xia Hua said while drawing. “My blankets were often damp. I never liked winter…”

“Then you should paint a season you do like,” Ji Fan interrupted, growing more impatient.

“Is that so?” Xia Hua shrugged.

“Green mountains, blue water, dried grass—what are you even drawing?” Ji Fan couldn’t hold back.

“Oh-ho?” Xia Hua chuckled, then asked in return, “And in Ji Fan’s mind, what does a southern winter look like? If not green mountains, blue water, and withered grass, then what—endless snow, frozen rivers, and a lone fisherman on the icy riverbank? When have we ever had a proper snowfall in the South?”

“When have the leaves of our firs and pines ever turned yellow?”

“Art originates from reality.”

“It’s fine to like anime and fantasy worlds, Ji Fan.”

“But you shouldn’t forget your roots—basic common sense about the real world.”

Ji Fan’s face turned red. It was the first time he’d been rendered speechless in an art debate.

But upon reflection, everything Xia Hua said was absolutely right.

A southern winter—what else is it but green mountains, blue rivers, and dead grass?

Especially as her cursor moved, Xia Hua opened a menu and rendered the background in a muted, dusky tone.

“That’s it. This is the southern winter—eternally gloomy, never sunny.” Lin An, who had remained silent all along, finally exclaimed in awe.

The background now truly resembled the winter they experienced year after year.

“But it still feels like… something’s missing.”

“Life,” Xia Hua said.

“This painting—it’s lifeless.”

“There are usually two ways to make a painting feel alive. One is hyperrealism—depicting every single detail and texture down to the smallest element. But that requires enormous effort.”

“So I chose the second: the montage technique.”

Montage—typically a film editing technique that gives each shot a distinct meaning when juxtaposed.

Thanks to montage, even pretty-boy actors could now pull off intense action scenes.

Xia Hua zoomed in on her digital canvas and began carefully tweaking every visible tree to make them feel more lifelike.

Lin An couldn’t help but ask, “Didn’t you say you weren’t going to use hyperrealism?”

“This? This is nothing.” Xia Hua continued her brushwork and mouse strokes without pause. “True hyperrealism would mean drawing every single branch, every leaf, and every tree ring in detail.”

“What I’m doing is just some minor touch-ups.”

When Xia Hua had painstakingly refined the majority of the trees visible to the eye, she opened a menu, selected all the trees she’d worked on—

And applied a blur effect to them.

“What are you doing?!” Lin An cried out in confusion. “You spent so much time making them look good, and now you’re blurring them all? Was all that work for nothing?!”

“So what if it was?” Xia Hua said indifferently.

Explaining to outsiders was exhausting. Not worth it.

Only Ji Fan stood there, staring dazedly at that patch of green mountain.

A strange feeling washed over him. Those trees—blurred ever so slightly—no longer looked the same.

They now felt… real. Not “visibly real,” but mentally real. As if they existed vividly in his mind.

“Why is that?” Ji Fan asked. “That tree… it feels real to me. Like it’s truly there.”

“When you see a tree that gives you just enough of a real impression,” Xia Hua explained, “your mind starts to fill in the rest on its own. That’s how perception works.”

For someone like Ji Fan, who knew a thing or two about art, Xia Hua was willing to explain— though she did feel a bit sorry for her poor friend who had to listen to all this.

Very soon, under Xia Hua’s brush, the painting began to come alive.

Ripples appeared on the green water.

Underneath the withered yellow grass, she added water scallions and sweet flags— an absolute stroke of genius.

Water scallions and sweet flags are evergreen aquatic plants.

Set against the backdrop of dry, yellowed vegetation, they brought a breath of life into the scene.

Then came the snow, reflecting the painting’s theme—“Snowy Memories of Jiangnan.”

“In the South,” Xia Hua explained, “We never really get proper snow. Sometimes we don’t get any snow at all. But on rare occasions, in special years, we do get some.”

“So then, what is snow like in a southern winter?”

Xia Hua tilted her head slightly and smiled. “It’s always a mix—three parts snow, seven parts rain. Sleet, slush, rain with snow, or snow with rain… but always more rain than snow.”

And so, the rain and the snow—appeared in the painting.

It was yet another inspired flourish from Xia Hua, further refining her vision of a southern winter.

As the rain and snow took form on the canvas, the once-muted winter scene began to feel damp, humid—even the kind of cold you could almost smell through your nostrils, thick with moisture.

“Is it finished?” Ji Fan asked in a daze.

He knew he’d lost. He simply wasn’t capable of producing a work like this—not yet.

Especially not within such a short time.

But for Xia Hua, this wasn’t anything extraordinary.

Time is life.

After surviving the endless demands of clients, learning to produce hundreds—thousands—of satisfactory pieces under pressure, speed had become her basic survival skill.

“Almost,” Xia Hua replied.

She continued drawing—this time sketching an umbrella, and a person beneath it.

But just as she began outlining the figure—

Ding-ling-ling~~~ The school bell rang. Class was over.

Xia Hua stopped drawing.

Glancing in the direction of her classroom, she said, “Looks like this is all I can do for today. But with this tablet in my hands—I’d say it’s not going to waste, right?”

“It suits you perfectly,” Ji Fan said sincerely.

“Then I won’t be polite about it…”

After a brief exchange, Xia Hua unplugged the data cable from the drawing tablet.

She left behind the unfinished painting on the computer screen.

Just from the few strokes of the figure, it was obvious the subject was a beautiful woman but there was no time to ask who it was.

Xia Hua had already hurried off.

Only a few minutes later, a group of angry boys stormed into the room.

Someone had spotted Xia Hua here during class.

And Class One’s “wanted notice” for Xia Hua had already spread far and wide.

So the moment class ended, they came to catch her…