Chapter 6

The VCR finished playing, and the host began asking questions.

"Susan Winters, could you share with us what your greatest feeling was when creating this piece, 'First Light'?"

Susan picked up the microphone, her face glowing with an almost sacred light.

"My greatest feeling was being moved. Life, no matter how small, deserves our reverence when it struggles to bloom."

What beautiful words.

If I weren't the original creator, I might have believed her myself.

The audience erupted in applause again.

My parents were so excited their eyes were red with tears.

I saw my mother take out her phone, apparently recording.

The host asked a few more harmless questions, then announced they were moving to the judges' questioning segment.

Several judges praised Susan's work highly.

When it was the head judge's turn, he didn't hide his admiration at all.

"Susan's work is full of humanistic care and philosophical thinking. While her technique is still somewhat immature, this kind of natural talent is priceless. I have high hopes for you."

This was practically a clear signal.

The championship belonged to her, without question.

The host smiled and said, "It seems our chairman is very impressed with Susan. Now, let's see if our special guest critic, Mr. Lewis Hart, has any questions for Susan?"

Here it comes.

I straightened up in my seat.

All eyes in the venue focused on the front row.

Lewis calmly picked up his microphone.

He didn't look at Susan, but at the image of "First Light" on the big screen.

"Miss Susan Winters, hello."

"Hello, Mr. Hart."

Susan's smile remained sweet.

"I have a small question about your work."

Lewis's voice wasn't loud, but it carried clearly through the sound system to every corner of the venue.

"Your painting features a butterfly emerging from its cocoon as the main subject, with a bright, sunny morning as the background. But the colors you used—like that touch of dark blue-green in the background and the deep brown beneath the main subject—carry very strong feelings of oppression and struggle. This seems to contradict the 'joy of rebirth' you're trying to express. Could you explain your creative approach?"

This question was very professional.

And very pointed.

Susan's smile froze for an instant.

I saw her instinctively glance at the head judge.

The chairman gave her a reassuring look.

Susan steadied herself and picked up the microphone again.

"Artistic expression is multi-dimensional. I believe that rebirth inevitably comes with the pain of struggle. Without the baptism of pain, one cannot truly appreciate the joy of new life. So I used contrasting colors to express this complex emotion."

This answer was very smooth.

And quite sophisticated.

It seemed she had expert guidance behind her.

Scattered applause rose from the audience.

Lewis smiled.

"Very well said. Then let me ask one more question."

He paused, finally moving his gaze from the big screen to Susan's face.

"In the bottom right corner of this painting, there's a very inconspicuous signature abbreviation: 'J.M.W.' This should be the creator's habit. May I ask what these three letters represent? It couldn't be 'Jade Moon,' could it?"

'Jade Moon' was the pen name I gave myself in college.

It came from the poetic line "The bright moon rises over the sea."

And 'J.M.W.' was my signature habit.

I watched Susan's face drain of all color in an instant.

Her hand holding the microphone was trembling slightly.

The entire venue fell silent.