Chapter 293 - 227: Thank You for Your Compliment

The show Ni Guangli had appeared on was pre-recorded, not live. As a result, Ni Bingyan had no idea her dad was stirring up trouble behind her back again. She was still happily attending a mystery-themed reading salon hosted by Victor Modiano.

Fifteen minutes before the appointed time, the two arrived at the venue. As soon as they stepped inside, Alan came up to greet them.

The three had just exchanged a few words when Victor approached, holding two books.

He gave one to Wei Shuojie and another to Ni Bingyan.

"My two elegant ladies, this is my newly published collection of short stories. It’s a gift for you. Oh, and by the way, tonight’s theme is based on one of the stories inside!"

For a salon themed around reading, there naturally had to be reading material. It was perfectly fitting for Victor to present his newly published collection of short stories.

After all, he went to the trouble of hosting this event not just to have fun and connect with friends, but also to expand his own influence.

Otherwise, what would a novelist and screenwriter like him be doing at Fashion Week?

Ni Bingyan took the book and saw it was the French edition, knowing it would be hard to find back in China. When she opened it to the title page and saw Mr. Modiano’s signature and a personal inscription, she looked up at him, her eyes wide with delight.

"Mr. Modiano, I’m absolutely thrilled! I love this gift so much!"

Wei Shuojie didn’t speak French, and since she was a guest Ni Bingyan had brought along, she didn’t know anyone. She simply offered a greeting in English and stood aside with a smile.

Victor exchanged a few polite pleasantries with her before his gaze returned to Ni Bingyan.

"The honor is all mine, Miss Ni!"

For any writer in their right mind, when a die-hard fan is standing right in front of them, their attention shouldn’t wander elsewhere.

He was very tall—at least six-foot-three by the looks of it—with an intimidating build. Yet, his smile was remarkably kind and approachable.

Ni Bingyan clutched the book to her chest, her fingers tracing its spine. She was itching to find a place to sit and dive right in.

Victor was very pleased with her reaction and nodded with a smile.

"I hope you have a wonderful evening!"

Seeing more guests arriving, Victor was about to excuse himself when he noticed Ni Bingyan taking a long, rectangular box from her handbag.

"It’s a little something I painted myself. I hope you’ll accept it."

In any country, bringing a small gift when invited to a party is proper etiquette.

Since Wei Shuojie had come along with her, she didn’t need to prepare a separate gift.

The French usually bring flowers or wine for the host. Standing out from the crowd and leaving a lasting impression on such influential figures was no easy task.

Victor was a bit surprised by such a unique gift, but he accepted it.

It’s customary for the French to open gifts upon receiving them. As a gentleman, no matter how eager he was to greet his other guests, he would open the gift before moving on.

He opened the box and untied the ribbon. With Ni Bingyan’s help, Victor gently unrolled the scroll, revealing an exceptionally beautiful painting.

The painting wasn’t large. It depicted the corner of a courtyard filled with blooming roses, where a little puppy was pouncing at a butterfly.

"Wow!"

Tonight’s reading salon was an intimate affair, held in a small meeting room in the hotel.

The room was only a few dozen square meters, resembling a comfortable living room furnished with several sets of plush sofas.

A few guests had already arrived before Ni Bingyan and were chatting in small groups. When they heard Victor’s gasp of surprise, they immediately gathered around.

Most French people appreciate gifts that are artistic, yet also romantic and whimsical.

On Sang Yuan’s advice, Ni Bingyan had brought several of her own paintings with her when she went abroad, just for occasions like this.

Seeing his genuine delight, she explained with a radiant smile:

"This is my dog. His name is Wangcai. Back in May, he was just a tiny thing, and he was just so, so, so cute! I saw him pouncing at a butterfly near my window, thought the scene was particularly charming, and decided to paint it."

Ni Bingyan spoke French with remarkable fluency. It was the first time Wei Shuojie had seen her converse with foreigners, and she watched from the side, completely stunned.

She didn’t let it show, however. She just kept smiling, looking as if everything was perfectly under control.

"Wangcai?"

Victor’s pronunciation of the Chinese name was far from standard, but the confusion on his face was plain to see.

While the others were still carefully passing the painting around, Ni Bingyan gave a bashful smile. Then, with a touch of shameless confidence, she explained, "It means ’Treasure.’"

"Oh! A cute little thing like that is a treasure indeed! You must absolutely adore him!"

"I do. I’ve done a lot of paintings of him. Someone happened to see the paintings, and I ended up having to publish an art book. It’s supposedly a bestseller, but I’m not really business-savvy in that regard, unfortunately."

"Is that so? Perhaps you could send me a set. I’ll ask my international publisher about it. If they can get it published in other countries, then even more people will be able to admire your paintings."

"Of course! I’ll contact a friend shortly to have a copy sent over. What address should I use?"

Victor wanted a set, Alan wanted a set, and as for the others...

Ni Bingyan glanced around the room. Now that she had met everyone, it would be impolite not to offer them one as well. ’Might as well be generous!’ she thought.

’But mailing them out individually would seem too calculating. It’s better to just send some extra copies to Victor and have him distribute them.’

Victor took out a piece of paper and wrote down his address for her.

After a little more discussion, the painting was returned to Victor’s hands.

He was a man of refined artistic taste and quite knowledgeable in the appreciation of oil painting, but he knew little about traditional Chinese painting. Fascinated, he began to ask questions.

"Ni, what tool do you use to create such beautiful lines?"

Ni Bingyan opened the photo album on her phone and showed him a picture.

"This is an ink brush. It’s a traditional writing tool from China, an incredible work of craftsmanship. It’s made from animal hair and bamboo through a complex, multi-step process."

After learning about the ink brush, Victor’s curiosity was piqued even further when he saw the photos of the exquisite brush washer, inkstone, and other implements. He naturally had to ask about each one.

Ni Bingyan enthusiastically explained everything to him and his friends.

She was, after all, promoting her traditional culture; the sense of responsibility practically encoded in the DNA of a Descendant of the Dragon immediately took over.

More than ten minutes later, Victor was gazing at her, his eyes sparkling. "Ni! You’re a true genius! To be able to master something so difficult... this is true art!"

Humility isn’t the prevailing fashion abroad, so Ni Bingyan adapted to the local custom. She let out a little laugh and nodded without the slightest bit of bashfulness.

"I am quite talented in this respect, but on top of my talent, I’m also incredibly diligent. I started learning how to produce a good painting day in and day out when I was just a little girl."

"Wow, what an incredible hidden gem of a girl!"

The person who spoke was a fashion designer from the Netherlands who also enjoyed painting as a hobby. Upon seeing Ni Bingyan’s work, she couldn’t help but exclaim in her native Dutch.

Technique aside, the vibrant spirit captured in the painting was something most artists would be unable to replicate.

Hearing the praise, Ni Bingyan turned her head, gave the woman a small smile, and thanked her in Dutch:

"Thank you for your praise, madam. I’m very honored."

"Wow! Sweetie, you even speak Dutch?"

The designer worked in New York and usually had to communicate in English, so she was thrilled to meet someone who could speak her native language.

Ni Bingyan waved her hand dismissively. "My apologies, madam. I only picked up a little while studying German, so I’m not fluent. If you were to email me in Dutch, I’d probably need a dictionary to read it."

"Hahaha!"

The woman immediately pulled out her phone to get her contact information. "In that case, I’ll be sure to use simple vocabulary when I get in touch with you."

After adding a Dutch contact to her phone, a German director popped up, eager to see if she could really speak German.

Their excitement was just like when someone meets a person from a different region and pesters them to say a few words in their local dialect.

Ni Bingyan was very excited.

’How could listening to radio broadcasts at home to practice my speaking skills ever compare to having real, live conversation partners?’

The others were very excited too.

’Who would have thought a young woman from the East would be so talented!’

’We have to get to know her!’

Victor’s friends continued to arrive. After a simple meal of steak and salad, someone had the wild idea to procure a full set of ink brushes, ink, paper, and an inkstone. They laid out a sheet of Xuan paper for Ni Bingyan and eagerly waited on her to start painting.

Unlike her usual reserved and low-key self back in China, being abroad felt like a seal had been broken for Ni Bingyan. If she could display her abilities to their full extent, she wouldn’t hold back and show only eighty percent.

’If it weren’t for the ring on Ni Bingyan’s finger clearly signaling she was taken,’ Wei Shuojie mused, ’those two bachelors and that woman of questionable sexual orientation would probably confess their feelings right here and now.’

Ni Bingyan hadn’t wanted to paint initially. After all, Mr. Victor was the one who had organized the reading salon, and it wouldn’t be right to steal the host’s thunder.

As it turned out, however, Victor was even more excited than the rest. He kept urging her to paint, suggesting she capture the very gathering they were at.

He was fascinated by the magical Eastern painting technique that could vividly capture a person’s essence on paper with just a few simple strokes.

Though abstract, anyone with a discerning eye could immediately tell who was who.

It was simply incredible!

A crowd of foreigners milled around Ni Bingyan excitedly, each one afraid they might not be included in her painting. They had completely forgotten the original theme of the night.

The incessant chattering gave Ni Bingyan a splitting headache.

’When da Vinci painted *The Last Supper*, I bet his subjects weren’t chattering in his ear the whole time. How I envy him!’

Wei Shuojie took a deep breath, had another sip of the author’s prized wine, and rubbed her cheeks to force her smile back into place.

Her face had gone numb from smiling all evening.

’My artist is so damn good,’ she thought, ’I could probably retire early.’

Just as she was thinking this, her phone rang.

A call request from back in China, spanning across time zones, flashed on the screen.