Rebirth with a Space to Counterattack and Abuse the Scumbag

I took a deep breath and stepped into the gallery.

The high heels clicked crisply on the marble floor, their sound particularly clear in the spacious yet somewhat deserted room.

The air around me seemed to freeze, and I could feel scrutinizing gazes, like fine needles, pricking my skin and making it tingle slightly.

The crisp clinking of champagne and the low murmurs of conversation—these originally elegant sounds now echoed in my ears like mocking whispers.

I tried my best to keep smiling and walk forward with my head held high, but my palms were sweating involuntarily. I gripped Gong Lin's hand tightly, as if I had grasped a lifeline.

"Hey, Mr. Miao, what a rare guest! What brings you here?" A greasy voice broke the suffocating atmosphere.

Qian Sanqiang, the gallery owner, with a protruding belly and a fake smile plastered on his face, walked towards me.

He looked me up and down, his eyes filled with disdain, as if he were examining a piece of merchandise.

"Mr. Qian, I've heard so much about you." I replied politely, trying hard to suppress my displeasure.

His tone and his eyes made me uncomfortable, as if I were an intruder, an outsider who didn't belong.

I caught a glint of light in his eyes and realized that his so-called "long-standing admiration" probably only referred to my wealth, not my artistic achievements.

"It's quite surprising that President Miao is venturing into the art field," Qian Sanqiang said with a forced smile, his tone carrying a hint of sarcasm. "Art is not something you can just play around with; it requires vision and depth."

I smiled faintly, said nothing, and simply looked around, admiring the paintings hanging on the wall.

My silence seemed to make him even more uncomfortable. He coughed twice and then said, "Mr. Miao, if you're really interested in art, I have quite a few good things here..."

“Mr. Qian,” I interrupted him, my gaze falling on an abstract painting, “this painting…”

“This painting uses bold colors and unrestrained brushstrokes; it’s very expressive,” I said, pointing to the abstract painting with its vibrant colors, trying to get the conversation flowing.

I could sense that Qian Sanqiang's smile froze for a moment before returning to its hypocritical fawning.

"Mr. Miao has a good eye! This is an early work by Master Shi Yunshen!" He said with a hint of pride, as if to say, "Look, I have the real thing here. What do you, an outsider, know?"

I ignored his boasting and turned to look at Moody, who was standing not far away.

This art connoisseur is said to have a sharp eye, but he has an aloof and unapproachable demeanor.

I took a deep breath and slowly walked over.

"Mr. Mu, hello. I have some questions about this painting. May I ask you for your advice?" I tried to keep my tone calm, with a hint of seeking guidance.

Moody glanced at me sideways, his eyes filled with undisguised disdain, as if he were looking at an ignorant child. "Oh? You? A businessman like you knows about art?" His tone was contemptuous, with an air of superior arrogance.

I could feel my cheeks burning slightly, and a surge of anger rushed to my head.

But years of business experience have taught me to be patient. I took a deep breath and tried to calm myself down.

“Mr. Mu, art has no distinction of high or low status, and everyone has the right to appreciate it. I just want to understand the creative concept behind this painting.”

He sneered, pointing to the edge of the painting with disdain, "Creative concept? People like you only know how to look at colors, what do you know about creative concepts? The beauty of this painting lies in its unconventionality, its spontaneity. Can you even see that?" His tone was full of provocation.

I clenched my fists so tightly that my nails dug deep into my palms.

The atmosphere around me seemed to freeze, and I could feel the gazes directed at me with a sense of anticipation.

A wave of humiliation washed over me. I felt my face turn bright red, and a huge rock seemed to be pressing on my chest, making it hard to breathe.

I felt like a clown, utterly ignorant in front of these self-righteous people.

Instead of storming off, I looked up and met Moody's eyes with a hint of stubbornness and defiance. "Mr. Moody, you're right, I'm not a professional. But I feel this painting isn't entirely random. Although the colors are intense, they possess a unique sense of order, like a force born from chaos. The brushstrokes seem unrestrained, but each one carries the artist's emotions, attempting to find balance amidst the chaos..." I began to speak eloquently, sharing my unique insights into the painting.

My words, like a gentle breeze, dispelled the stagnant atmosphere in the noisy gallery.

The young artists around them, who had initially been nonchalant, began to focus, their eyes filled with curiosity and surprise.

I could feel something new slowly growing in the air, a novel atmosphere quietly spreading in a corner of the gallery, and the glimmer of hope in my heart, like a flame, began to slowly burn.

"you……"

Moody seemed taken aback by my sudden outburst of words. He opened his mouth but was speechless for a moment, and a hint of panic flashed in his eyes behind his glasses.

The whispers that had been mingling with anticipation gradually faded away, replaced by a breathless silence.

Just then, a few young artists walked over, their eyes sparkling with excitement.

"Madam, your understanding of this painting is truly unique! How come I never thought of that before?" a long-haired girl exclaimed excitedly, her voice clear and melodious, like a spring flowing through my heart.

“Yes, your understanding of color and brushstrokes is truly inspiring!” another boy wearing glasses chimed in.

I smiled and talked with them, sharing my understanding of art, as well as my experiences and insights from the business world.

I felt like a traveler who had been parched for a long time finally found an oasis, and a sense of joy at being recognized spread through my heart.

Our small group seemed to be isolated from the indifference and ridicule around us, forming a unique and warm space.

The sweet aroma of champagne and the cheerful chatter blended together to create a beautiful melody that lingered in my ears.

I felt an unprecedented sense of ease and joy, as if I were in a sun-drenched garden, every cell of my body brimming with vitality.

Suddenly, a cold snort shattered the harmonious atmosphere.

I looked up and saw a man in a black suit standing not far away. He was tall, with a cold face and a hint of disdain in his eyes.

He is the artist of this painting—Shi Yunshen.

"Hmph, just trying to attract attention." His tone was icy, like a bucket of cold water extinguishing the enthusiasm in my heart.

Standing beside him was an elegantly dressed woman with bright red lipstick and a mocking smile on her face.

"That's right, she doesn't even know who she is, daring to show off her limited skills here." This woman's name is Miao Jiajia, Shi Yunshen's assistant and his most loyal supporter.

I felt a chill rise from the soles of my feet, and the surrounding air seemed to freeze again. The relaxed atmosphere vanished instantly, replaced by a tense and oppressive feeling.

I gripped the wine glass tightly, my knuckles turning slightly white.

“Mr. Shi, the understanding of art is inherently diverse. I am merely expressing my own opinion.” I tried to remain calm, but my voice trembled slightly.

Shi Yun Shen ignored me, only giving me a cold glance before turning and leaving. Miao Jia Jia smiled contemptuously and followed him away.

I took a deep breath, trying to calm the turmoil in my heart.

Qian Sanqiang walked over, his face plastered with a fake smile. "President Miao, you see, the art world isn't so easy to navigate..." he said meaningfully.

I put down my glass and looked at him with a determined gaze. "Mr. Qian, this is just the beginning..."

I tried to calm my breathing, maintaining a polite smile, but my hand holding the wine glass tightened unconsciously.

Shi Yunshen's arrogance and Miao Jiajia's mockery were like two thorns, piercing my heart and causing a dull ache.

The previously enthusiastic young artists around them fell silent, their eyes flickering with embarrassment and unease, as if they were worried about being affected by Shi Yunshen's intimidating presence.

I looked around, and every painting and sculpture in the gallery seemed to be mocking my overestimation of my abilities.

The sweetness of the champagne now tasted bitter, as if mocking my naivety.

I felt dizzy, as if the whole world was spinning.

Just when I was about to give up, a clear voice rang in my ears: "Miss Miao, don't be discouraged. Shi Yunshen has always been like this. He looks down on all artists who are not formally trained." The speaker was the long-haired girl from before. Her name was Lin Xiao, and she was a very talented young painter.

I looked at her gratefully; her encouragement was like a ray of warm sunshine, illuminating the gloom in my heart.

"Thank you, Lin Xiao."

“Actually, although Shi Yunshen is arrogant, he is indeed very talented,” Lin Xiao said in a low voice, mysteriously. “I heard that he is currently creating a large oil painting, the theme of which is…” She paused, leaned close to my ear, and whispered a word.

My heart suddenly raced; this was the topic I had been searching for!

"Really?" I asked in a low voice, trying to suppress my excitement.

“Absolutely true!” Lin Xiao nodded firmly. “He’s been searching everywhere for a suitable model, but hasn’t found one yet…”

A thought flashed through my mind, and a bold plan began to take shape in my heart.

"Thank you, Lin Xiao, you've helped me a lot," I said sincerely.

“Also,” Lin Xiao added, “I heard that there’s an art village on the outskirts of the city where many talented artists live. They’re not recognized by the mainstream art world, but their works are really spiritual. You can go and take a look; you might make some new discoveries.”

I held Lin Xiao's hand tightly, my gratitude overflowing.

"Thank you, Lin Xiao, you are truly my benefactor!"

After saying goodbye to Lin Xiao, I took a deep breath and felt full of energy.

Shi Yunshen's sarcasm, Qian Sanqiang's hypocritical smile, and Moody's arrogance and disdain could not stop me from moving forward.

I took out my phone and dialed a number. "Help me check, the suburban art village..." My voice was firm and strong, as if I saw a direction to move forward in the field of art, and an atmosphere of hope rose in my heart.

Just then, Gong Lin walked over, gently took my hand, and asked with concern, "Are you alright?"

I looked up and met his deep gaze, a confident smile playing on my lips. "I'm fine, let's go."

"Where to?" Gong Lin asked, puzzled.

“Let’s go somewhere…that might change everything.” I smiled mysteriously, took his hand, and strode out of the gallery, leaving behind a series of crisp high heel sounds that echoed in the empty exhibition hall.

A black sedan pulled up to the side of the road. The door opened, and a man in a black suit got out. He said to me respectfully, "Miss Miao, everything is ready."

I nodded slightly and got into the car. The car started and headed towards the outskirts of the city.

“Contact Professor Zhao,” I said into the phone. “Just tell him I would like him to appraise a… unusual piece of art.”