Today's Yangon, neither rain nor clouds.
The sunlight brought strong ultraviolet rays from the sky, casting a layer of Buddhist light on the towering golden pagoda, while adding a touch of summer-like heat to the air.
Near the continuous temples, monks rang the dining bell.
Tanaka Masakazu put down his brush and stretched lazily with a sense of relief. He returned the brush and paints to the staff, as his stomach growled loudly.
"I want to have Thai food for lunch today... I heard there's a place providing fresh seafood at an old house on Wadan Street."
Every day from 11:00 a.m. to 2:00 p.m. is the standard lunch break.
Whether painters or staff, as long as they're part of the mural restoration project team, they can go to the monks' dining hall with their work IDs when they're hungry.
There, porridge, pickled dishes, and donated food are always available, along with Myanmar's specialty, sour noodles made with vinegar, and fried noodles.
The food is quite exquisite, and changing the taste occasionally is a good choice; many professors in the arts have the same feeling.
But if you can't accept the food here, you're not forced to dine in the temple.
Yangon is a tourist city, with plenty of restaurants in various styles; one just needs to show respect for the local precepts in the relevant venues.
Tanaka Masakazu had already reserved a table at the restaurant via his smartphone in advance.
He saw Gu Weijing still picking through the piles of paint, his eyes staring at the draft spread out on the table, as if considering something.
"Aren't you going to eat?"
He rubbed his shoulder and asked Gu Weijing.
"Hmm."
Gu Weijing didn't want to eat; he was selecting the appropriate vermillion from the table.
Practice is the only standard for testing truth. He wanted to quietly test during the noon if what was said in "Mojie's Handwriting" made sense.
To maintain consistency with other walls, the collaborative project had not used any modern synthetic chemical paints throughout, striving to restore the craftsmanship of painters from hundreds or even thousands of years ago.
Among the long table's paint supplies, there were ready-made vermillion ink sticks.
The artists pursuing authenticity were very discerning, and the locally provided paints here were all top-grade.
There were exquisite paints handcrafted by local artisans, and some interesting gadgets brought by various artists' studios.
Gu Weijing picked up a yellowish-looking paper box, recognizing from the opened seal it was an old vermillion ore produced by the Dongxia State-owned Xiang Province Chenzhou Ink Factory.
Since the Han Dynasty, Chenzhou has produced the highest quality cinnabar, and in his mind's notes, Wang Wei referred to cinnabar as "cinnabar" for this reason.
In modern times, with environmental requirements and the exhaustion of mineral veins, many of the best quality natural veins have been closed to mining, replaced with synthetic products.
He saw on the box's steel seal the production date of this batch of vermillion ink, mostly from the fifties and sixties, and even one marked from the 27th year of the Republic, nearly a century-old ink.
These ink sticks are almost half antiques, though not yet to the point of being featured in auction miscellaneous item specials, but swapping a few aged sticks for the latest Apple smartphone isn't hard at all.
Being a painter is really a very costly profession.
"Haven't you colored enough yet?"
"Hmm hmm."
"Tsk..."
Tanaka Masakazu instinctively wanted to retort.
But as if recalling something, his neck tensed, and after glancing around to confirm the absence of Uncle Sakai's round figure, he relaxed.
Tanaka Masakazu tossed his hair back and said coolly,
"A true artist looks down on doing the work of a painter."
"Hmm hmm."
"What's with all the hmming?"
"Hmm hmm."
Without raising his head, Gu Weijing took a fist-sized chunk of red cinnabar from inside the box with his hand.
Cinnabar ore... hmm... it's not rare to use it for red paint, but in murals... it precipitates too easily, making control difficult... Can it achieve the excellent effect described in Wang Wei's notes?
Gu Weijing was already immersed in the newly acquired notes, repeatedly studying the paint formulas emerging in his mind, with a plethora of information flooding through his mind every second.
He had no desire to speak, hardly even noticing what that heap of words from Tanaka Masakazu was about.
"Pretentious."
Tanaka Masakazu felt insulted and muttered softly.
"Let me tell you something."
"Let me tell you the truth. This afternoon, my father's old painters are going to follow Elder Cao to the Zodiac Buddha Shrine (a Buddhist feature in Myanmar) to perform the traditional water-splashing wish ceremony. They won't be back until at least three or four o'clock, so no one will see you no matter how hard you work here."
"Hmm?"
Gu Weijing raised his head, and finally, there was a change in his tone.
"Oh, if that's the case, do me a favor and get me another task card. I estimate wall No. 9 will be finished in half an hour."
"Suit yourself."
Yakai Gangchang muttered a little.
He turned around, the morning sun had baked him like a crispy salted fish, and he dived into the sea water, happily moving towards the Thai restaurant he had booked on Google Maps.
In fact, despite his strong words, deep down Yakai Gangchang still had some reluctant admiration.
He just couldn't understand why someone would be willing to stand in front of a painting for an entire day. Just like he couldn't understand why his sister had always been more favored by the old painters than he was.
Tanaka Masakazu, who had been quietly observing from a distance, took in everything that was happening here.
The bet he made with Gu Weijing was that the winner stays, and the loser gets lost.
But after the competition was over, he pretended to casually forget what he had said before.
With thick skin, Tanaka Masakazu continued to stay in the project as a staff member.
Even though he hadn't suffered any substantial losses, in recent days, Tanaka noticed that even his classmates from Tama Art University sometimes looked at him with undisguised mockery.
After all, painters speak through their work.
People at school weren't completely unaware of what kind of person Tanaka Masakazu was.
He might look impressive on the outside, but being crushed in a competition by an unknown young artist he challenged himself, there were plenty who would take the chance to kick him while he's down.
He now hated Gu Weijing to the core, and the Sakai siblings involved as well.
"Switch the name tag." — Tanaka Masakazu planned to teach this slightly talented local boy from Yangon a lesson, and this was his idea.
A cold smile appeared at the corners of his mouth.
At the staff's place, the murals were divided into three levels—Special, First, and Second Grades, corresponding to the difficulty of painting.
The more influential and valuable the mural project, the higher the grade, often requiring experienced veteran painters.
All the murals allocated to young painters were the simplest Second Grade.
He noticed that every time Yakai Gangchang came to pick up a task, he wouldn't even check his number, just signing off carelessly.
He planned to quietly switch the murals assigned to Gu Weijing and Yakai Gangchang from Second Grade to the Special Grade at wall seventeen.
"If he wants to show off, here you go—" Tanaka decided to give them more chances to perform as a good-hearted person.
This wasn't giving them a chance to perform, this move was a deadly trap disguised as an opportunity.
Put yourself in that position, a young art dog painting a veteran painter's mural on his own—if messed up, they'd be labeled an overconfident fool, just another joke in the circle.
There's no way they'll surpass them, and if by luck, they draw even remotely close to the veteran painter's level.
Do you think the veteran artists are all saints and will be shocked by your work, proclaiming your boundless future and whatnot?
Don't be naive, my friend.
The more likely scenario is—what the hell are you trying to do, kid? Trying to outshine us or step on us to get famous?
Even if by dumb luck, your work wasn't too bad compared to experienced artists, you'd still make enemies.
Inspiration.
Oh, my friend, Tanaka Masakazu is the true master of inspiration.
This isn't Takehara Hanzo's wisdom, this is... the wisdom of extremism.
Tanaka Masakazu recalled being inspired by a drinking session with his father, Mr. Tanaka, and a leader from that infamous group with ties to Tokyo TV Station.
Even the girls accompanying at the table were fresh recruits for idol groups.
The leader bragged how in the Japanese entertainment industry, there were effective tactics for dealing with rebellious newcomers.
No need for threats or bribery.
Like arranging for newbies to perform songs with higher notes than veterans on variety shows, or tricking clueless newcomers into the makeup rooms reserved for big shots, then telling the big shots that the newbie is acting high and mighty... it's just similar methods.
Animosity formed, one side is the newcomer, the other is the veteran, as long as the singing skills aren't outrageously different, it's obvious who might fail to impress.
That extreme group leader could even play the role of a caring good brother on the side.
Pull such a stunt, then the opponent either cries and begs you to mediate, or gets lost.
What Tanaka heard at that dinner made him break out in a cold sweat.