I am not Ximen Qing.

Poet, painter, and other titles—Henry's list of titles was quite colorful. He preferred the titles of poet and painter, and had a bit of the British hippie spirit, striving for a classical yet avant-garde style in his clothing. He also possessed the dashing charm of Louis XIV at heart, and his three favorite paintings were not "beauties," but rather oil paintings from Louis XIV, XV, and XVI—masterpieces of the Louvre. Now he was an art investor and collector, scouting young female artists in China, and he also had a white butler with very flamboyant taste.

Of course, the white Anthony was a born painter. He was unsuccessful in England, but finally met his destined king—not Caesar, but Henry, a fervent admirer of George Bernard Shaw. His wealth was shrouded in mystery, much like the unexpected treasure of the Count of Monte Cristo. This wasn't surprising at all; it could only be achieved through such understated elegance. If it weren't for his fluent English, one could mistake him for Japanese or Korean—not Southeast Asian, but clearly East Asian. He possessed a low-key, humble yet flamboyant artist's style. The arrogance of Anthony's butler added a touch of dark humor. Henry... To put it bluntly, Anthony is like an old woman, so petty. He treasures his oil paintings like precious gems, even when admiring them, he carefully maintains a certain distance from them. If a child appears, he immediately warns the mother and father to keep an eye on their child. Anthony has the right to be arrogant. To prove that he, like his ancestor Paris, can find Helen, the Helen of China, a divorced white-collar woman from China, met him in a bar in the Workers' Stadium area, igniting the flames of love. Since hooking up with and living with this 50-something-year-old Chinese white-collar woman, his inspiration has been bursting forth, creating a series of works such as "Youth"—what? "The Revelation of Sherlock Holmes," "A Dream of First Love Dedicated to the Season of Youth," and a pink-haired woman with her hands folded behind her head, displaying the instinctive beauty of her body.

Anthony excitedly announced that he had finally kept the eternal beauty of his first love in his dreams. Of course, to satisfy Anthony's extremely strong vanity, Henry created a 2000㎡ gallery of art. After all, Anthony's number of works was limited, whether it was just filling space or a hodgepodge. The theme "Youthful Tales" was surprisingly successful, and all of Anthony's works were sold out. Analyzing the reasons, it turned out that Anthony was good at big data, artificial intelligence, cloud computing, and algorithms. The reason was that many nouveau riche in China were just trying to attract attention and blindly worshipped foreign things. Chinese art was still in its budding and reserved stage and needed time to be cultivated. Henry immediately decided to invest in the Chinese art market. When all the art was in full bloom, it would be the season to reap the rewards of his investment. The theme was also very creative, "Apples". The apples of God, the apples of Paris, the apples of Steve Jobs, and the apples of Dionysus; the image of an apple cut open to reveal a woman's ovaries and buttocks; the apple is one of the most sensual images, inspiring and fueling the imagination of many artists. Anthony is adept at handling the blurring of boundaries between art and eroticism, the sublimation of beauty. Anthony is a very successful artist who understands commercialization because he is particularly afraid of the fate of Kafka's starving artists. Anthony loves Chinese poetry, and he often says, "Why did Tao Yuanming and Du Fu become the prototypes of artistically starving artists?"

It seems Kafka studied Chinese culture extensively and had a profound understanding of the Great Wall. I still prefer Li Bai and Su Dongpo; one is a celestial being, the other a gourmet connoisseur. For Anthony, the art exhibition was like a party. No one was as carefree as him. Anthony would always spend money on a huge amount of snacks and sit on the sofa with his Chinese wife, oblivious to everyone around them, their cloying affection almost nauseating. He'd be drinking Red Bull and eating bananas—his old habit of becoming impatient whenever he saw visitors with children viewing his sculptures and paintings. Anthony is incredibly perceptive. His wife diligently played along with his fluent London accent. Anthony would occasionally say he absolutely had to learn British English. Why? Because British English is more cultured than American English. Many painters easily become slaves to computers, becoming mere art designers for artificial intelligence, completely losing the possibility of becoming true artists.

So Anthony greatly admired and respected Henry's foresight. Anthony could freely express himself, but Henry still preferred Nana's "Masked Goddess" series, which consisted of three of Nana's most avant-garde oil paintings. These works hung on three walls of his office—a private office for him alone, of course. Anthony had his own studio and a shared office for meetings, arranging daily work, and receiving guests. Anthony suggested to Henry that, to promote the gallery's artists' work, they should hold regular salon events. Whether it was a masquerade ball or a Midsummer Night's Dream fantasy, it would promote artistic exchange and exhibitions. However, due to the booming mainland market economy, the art market was exceptionally good, which was not Henry's original intention. His art pursued the beauty of relativism—what is a dream? What is the essence of a dream? Henry has always been obsessed with "The Beauty of Nirvana," "The Beauty of Wang Wei," and "The Beauty of the Great Perfection of Wisdom." Anthony and Henry are more passionate about Beijing than anyone else. The meaning of oil painting is the dream of love, desire, and imagination. Although the most beautiful dream is in words and calligraphy, in the form of symbolism and meaning, oil painting is at least an abstract form of love arts, capable of concealing the beauty of desire. This is precisely the most important form of expression. Appreciating oil paintings requires the release and bursting of imaginative tension. Su Dongpo's "Ode to the Red Cliff" and "Record of Stone Bell Mountain" belong to the highest forms of expression in painting.

Zhang Sheng knew that love and romance were that damned, addictive thing; once he left her, he would soon need her love and romance again.

"I'm so afraid I'll never be able to escape your love again,"

"I have to go back,"

"Go far, far away, never to meet again,"

"It's a cat,"

"What cat?"

"A cat that understands love,"

"Damn beast,"

"A cat that can chant the Heart Sutra,"

"Please don't mention cats in front of me, okay? It's too painful. Are you a cat slave?"

That's not what I meant; you've misunderstood.

"That's not what I meant, please, don't talk to me about cats, okay? I don't care if you can recite the Diamond Sutra or the Heart Sutra with your cat. You might as well send the cat to a mountain temple so it can be reborn as a human in its next life. Of course, a cat that can become a human will have an unfinished love affair with its human, a promiscuous cat."

This is a classic case of love turning into hate; is this even love? Bai Hua's jealousy of everything triggered her sensitive "Being," and the cat she loved connected her to Nana and Tingting—a violent reaction of "love me, love my dog." Bai Hua is a girl brimming with romantic energy; he comforted her for a while, but as soon as he left, he regretted it. Why did he leave her? He should have stayed with her longer. Zhang Sheng still wanted to continue his passionate, electrifying relationship with Bai Hua. He regretted it so much; why did he leave her? Actually, it wasn't because of the cat's existence.

As they left, they liked to play pranks, creating mischievous memories. This wasn't a continuation of love, but rather a skillful means of controlling minds and wills—thus, a cat with a keen understanding of human nature was born! The most realistic and materialistic cat in the world, not one that would sacrifice itself for righteousness or value friendship over lust. Thankfully, Zhang Sheng wasn't blinded by greed and considered them kindred spirits. If he played the zither, the cat would listen with deep emotion. Zhang Sheng suddenly realized that a cat with such a keen understanding of human nature was terrifying. Whether it was Tingting or Nana, at least they gave Zhang Sheng more masculine dignity than the poet Jane Eyre, rather than a personal insult. One-sided love is destined to be a tragedy. At least the poetess would dress up as Xue Baochai, applying a few amusing smiles and makeup. In fact, the poetess's tragedy began from the start; she fell into the love trap of a brooding, repressed man. The poetess would eventually awaken to love at some point, but it wasn't love. It's a pity the poetess's love was wasted.

Ah, this feline is even more fragile in matters of love than Zhang Sheng. It's been completely listless these past few days. But isn't seeing familiar things a sign of a feline's longing? Zhang Sheng recalled his childhood's big orange cat, a golden cat the size of a relic, his favorite childhood companion, a cute cat that would sneak into his bed with a mouse in the middle of the night. Zhang Sheng never disliked that big orange cat; everything about it was perfect. He didn't want to recall those painful moments! Was the feline missing Nana and Tingting? Tormented by love, because humans are so sentimental, and so are cats—it's too painful. This is a sentimental cat, this snow-white cat with blue eyes. Please don't make a sound; it's too painful.

Zhang Sheng had pinned some hopes on the vet at the pet hospital, only now realizing that his feelings for his feline companion seemed to surpass everything else. Even if the cat recovered, he couldn't bear this cycle of childhood recollections. For the cat's sake, he wanted to find another beautiful female owner! Whether it was escaping or finding liberation from the cat's emotional world, whether it was Nana's shadow or ghost, the saying that cats are born with the nature to devour souls was now natural; he no longer harbored any illusions about love.

Love and romance are the most perfect interactive experience between dreams and reality, and one always wonders if these wonderful things really happened, or if they were all just imagination. What Zhang Sheng finds even more unacceptable is that the cat in question is indeed suffering from relationship depression. Every time Zhang Sheng goes to the Pop Mart pet hospital, it's a cat tormented by love, a cat with mental and emotional problems.

"Become a monk; it's the only way."

"Can any kind of cat become a monk?"

"Why not? Sometimes, animals have more Buddha-nature than humans."

"It's a cat, not an animal,"

"For a cat troubled by love,"

"Where will you be getting married?"

"The temple on the mountain,"

"and then?"

"This is the best way for me to start anew in the future."

"I don't know if this love-struck cat can peacefully cultivate itself and escape the sea of ​​love."

"If a wild boar can do it, what about a love cat?"

Zhang Sheng was somewhat confused. This absurd world—cats, monks, what wonderful ideas! Unresolved karmic ties from past lives—was this some kind of mythological novel? After Tingting, Nana, and Zizi left, this cat actually saw through the illusions of the world and became a cat monk, giving birth to the "Cat Monk's Record." Dreams of endless girldreams, insomnia—was this some kind of Buddhist karma? Are love and romance the karma of thousands of years past lives? Ah, the difference between knowing a doctor and not knowing a doctor is quite significant. He didn't know why, perhaps because of the cats, but not being able to sleep was terrifying; he couldn't find the reason. Drinking more foreign liquor to help him sleep finally allowed him to sleep undisturbed. What was it about them that tempted him? Anyway, as soon as he closed his eyes, it seemed like a ghostly figure was there. Zhang Sheng had a strong urge to escape. So much love and romance had unfolded in this room; he even felt the cat monk was happier than him, at least being a cat listening to sutras and praying to Buddha in a mountain temple beneath the white clouds, enjoying the incense offerings of the mortal world alongside Buddha. He couldn't forget her, and longed to meet her again—this was Zhang Sheng's fantasy in his dreams. She was his Beatrice, his Gan Leiqing, a somewhat ethereal and fleeting sense. He even thought Miss Shi was quite a charming girl, yet they remained as if they were complete strangers. Miss Shi's Prince Charming, on the other hand, seemed to have adapted to local customs, still maintaining his artist style.

"Do you want to get married?"

"Uncle, you can't think like that,"

"I've decided on a name."

"What's your name, Uncle?"

"How about Warm Love? Warm Love?"

"Does this mean that if an older man finds love, he doesn't need to get married?"

"I don't know. Let me tell you how I feel. Every night, I don't even know what I'm looking for, and it's always been like this. You see right through me. Whether I'm pretending to love Nana, still loving Nana, or will love Nana in the future, I don't know what it is. I've done so many absurd things lately. I don't know if Nana is pretending not to know, or if she wants me to stay this way."

"And she doesn't care if you mess around with the girls around her,"

"Yeah, what's the big deal?"

“She’s using you,”