Chapter 496 The fake Master of Clouds In the state of Georgia.
In a certain village in a small southern town.
After the worship, Aliceâs eyes were still a little red and swollen.
More than 20 years had passed, and it was not easy to find her hometown.
Fortunately, the old village head of this remote mountain village had a kind heart. He had been helping to clean the ancestral hall all these years, otherwise, this place would have turned into a wasteland long ago.
It was the old village head who helped her set the memorial tablet.
After the worship, Alice went to thank the old village head for a while. Then the two of them set foot on the way back to the State of New York.
When they passed by a small town, they suddenly heard a noise. After asking, they knew that it was Master of Clouds who had appeared in this small town and painted for everyone on the spot.
Master of Clouds was a well-known figure in the painting and calligraphy world.
His appearance naturally caused a commotion.
Alice clenched her fists and snorted, âWhat a great Master of Clouds. Iâd like to see who he is!â
She had just finished worshiping her parents and was extremely depressed. She didnât expect that she would run into a fake Master of Clouds. She had to catch him to vent her anger.
Alice knew that John was the Master of Clouds, so the so-called Master of Clouds was undoubtedly a fake.
John caught the hot-tempered girl and said with a smile, âLetâs go and have a look first!â
He wore a black peaked cap to cover the shiny bald head, and a pair of sunglasses and mask on his face, which perfectly concealed his identity.
This was a public figureâs trouble.
It would be troublesome if he was recognized as the King of Horizon.
John really missed the days when he swaggered along the busy streets in the past, but no one knew that he was the King of Horizon. He could act like a hoodlum as he wanted.
He couldnât do it now.
How could a dignified the King of Horizon act like a hooligan?
No way!
The two of them followed the crowd to a painting stall. In the middle of the stall sat a slovenly man.
He was about forty or fifty years old.
His hair was in a mess.
His beard was covered with stubble, and his hair was connected to his temples.
If there was a broken bowl in front of him, it would not be strange to say that he was a beggar on the street But in front of him was not a broken bowl, but a painting stall.
This was amazing.
His slovenly appearance was not sloppy, it was personality, bohemian, and a proper artistic atmosphere.
On the contrary, it was more convincing that he was the Master of Clouds.
Behind the slovenly man stood a row of men and women respectfully.
One of the men walked out and said, âEveryone, donât be surprised. Our Master of Clouds has always been so uniqueâ
He explained the hairstyle of the slovenly man.
The onlookers cheered and praised.
Artists were artists, and their realms were high. They didnât stick to their appearances for a long time.
They pursued a higher level of thought.
They should be admired!
Hearing the praise of the people around him, the man with short spiky hair showed a satisfied smile and continued, âThis time, when our Master of Clouds came to the state of Georgia to pick up the painting, he was suddenly in high spirits and his creation was full of criticism, so he decided to give you a lot of benefits and painted two paintings on the spot.â
As soon as the man with short spiky hair finished speaking, the crowd immediately cheered.
The man was quite satisfied. He bent down and respectfully asked the slovenly man, âMaster, shall we start now?â
The slovenly man didnât say anything but nodded slightly So, the man with short spiky hair said to the men and women behind him, âThe master said he wanted to paint now. Unfold the paper.â
âYes, sir!â
Several people worked together to tear apart a pale picture scroll that was 5 feet high and nearly 10 feet long, keeping the surface of the scroll flat.
The man with short hair handed the brush to the sloppy man and said, âMaster, please!â
âNo need.â
However, the slovenly man pushed the brush away and gulped down a mouthful of spirits. Then he suddenly stood up and directly infused his palm into the ink soup He turned around and looked at the huge pale scroll.
He held his breath and concentrated.
It was so magnificent.
Then âWhoa!â
The slovenly man suddenly let out a loud roar, which lifted everyoneâs spirit in the surroundings in an instant, and he himself seemed to have been injected with a stimulant suddenly.
He went crazy in an instant.
He used his hand to touch the ink and quickly jumped on the pale scroll.
After a while.
The slovenly man stopped and shouted, âOver!â
The madness disappeared in an instant.
The slovenly man sat back in the middle of the painting stall, looking indifferent. He didnât even look up at the surrounding crowd.
However The onlookers were all stunned.
It was not because the sloppy man was good at painting, but because they couldnât understand his âmasterpieceâ at all!
In other words, even if a child went there and got wet, the shape he drew was better than his It was called the scrawly handwriting!
âIs he really the Master of Clouds?â
Everyone couldnât help but doubt.
At this time, the man with short spiky hair said again. He smiled unfathomably and said, âEveryone, I know you are all confused now, but it doesnât matter. I will explain to you.â
âIn fact, our Master of Clouds has been trying new styles of painting. This painting in front of us is a new style of painting that he has recently comprehended.â
âWe all know that the work of the Master of Clouds pays more attention to the intent realm than the shape. This work is the extension of the masterâs consciousness stream, directly removing the âshapeâ, leaving only the âintentâ in it. It is a higher level of painting.â
Mafia don and his 7 sisters novel pdf ï¤Chapter 495 We are not getting remarried show yourself out (Elisa and Gareth)
ï¤Chapter 2078 The man explained.
The onlookers around looked at each other.
Of course, they all knew that the Master of Clouds had chosen the style of consciousness, but this consciousness was too much, right?
âYou can ask him yourself. Can he understand what he is drawing?â
âEven if I carry a pig over, it can still draw like this.â
âDonât you see us as idiots? The onlookers thought to themselves.