Amelia Wright seemed somewhat like she wanted to flee.
Watching her, Robert Reed furrowed his brow, "Why are you panicking? Did that guy bully you?"
Amelia Wright shook her head without speaking; this matter was hard to explain to others.
She calmed her emotions and said, "Teacher, you head back first. I’ll grab a few of my paintings and meet you at Ink Manor."
Robert Reed’s eyes turned angry as he suspiciously questioned, "You’re not going to do like last time, saying you’ll come in a couple of days and then just forget about it, are you?"
Robert Reed had a hard time finding a student he liked, yet this student wasn’t motivated at all.
Others would wait eagerly for a couple of pointers from him.
Yet this student, he offers to teach her, but she pushes him away as if she dislikes it.
Amelia Wright explained, half joking, half serious, "No, I’ll be there in at most an hour."
"Where are you going to get them? I’ll go with you."
This teacher, isn’t it too obvious he doesn’t trust her?
Amelia Wright had no choice but to take Robert Reed along to the old neighborhood.
Most of her previous paintings at the Wright family were almost entirely burnt in a fire; now there are only a few pieces at number 32 of the old neighborhood, and some art books she brought back from school to the Shaw family home.
She didn’t want to return to the Shaw family for now, so she could only go to the old neighborhood.
The two quickly arrived at the old neighborhood. This place was too chaotic, Amelia Wright worried about the elder’s safety, instructed, "Teacher, you wait for me in the car, I’ll go home to get my paintings and come right out."
Amelia Wright finished speaking, not waiting for Robert Reed to refuse, opened the car door, and dashed out.
Robert Reed gazed at this rundown street, furrowing his brow—go home to get them? Is this girl’s home here?
Isn’t she the adopted child of the Wright family and married to that guy from the Shaw family? How could this old, rundown house be her home?
Robert Reed didn’t ponder for long, Amelia Wright ran back with an art book and had also changed out of her dress.
Robert Reed took the art book, thought of that Red Plum Blossom Painting, and had some expectations for his student’s work.
Then, as he flipped open the art book, the smile on his face gradually disappeared, his brows furrowing into a deep line.
These paintings, slightly raw in their strokes, whether vibrant or muted in colors, seemed to express an emotion—loneliness, helplessness, despair.
What had his student been through?
Actually, to the present Amelia Wright, these paintings didn’t pose much issue because there was still a semblance of vitality.
Like a pitiful child leading a tragic life, she still believed the world was beautiful, that the future held hope.
Robert Reed closed the art book, not saying much, taking Amelia Wright to Ink Manor.
Jade and Gold Pavilion and Ink Manor were the two unique places in Riverwood City.
Jade and Gold Pavilion was the hub for auctions, filled with gowns, jewelry, sparkling in fine brilliance.
Ink Manor specialized in books and artworks; rare editions, genuine pieces from masters, could all be found here.
Ink Manor was founded single-handedly by Robert Reed. As he led Amelia Wright inside, many craned their necks to sneak a peek.
Until Robert Reed took Amelia Wright to the third floor.
The third floor of Ink Manor was Robert Reed’s private studio—no one else had been up there, everyone in the circle knew that Old Mr. Reed had taken on a student.
Today, seeing Old Mr. Reed bring this young student to his private studio at Ink Manor, it was clear the importance he placed on her.
A super large studio, walls, floors, corners filled with paintings.
Seeing these full colors and majestic, flowing lines, Amelia Wright’s heart slowly settled.
After taking Amelia on a tour, Robert Reed spoke, "How is it? Being my student isn’t bad, right? If you like any paintings here, take them as you please, no need to let that guy from the Shaw family spend money buying them."
Amelia Wright nodded; it truly wasn’t bad.
These paintings, if auctioned off, could surely create a tycoon.
But her teacher probably wasn’t lacking in money.
Otherwise, how could he be so generous with this student?
As Robert Reed spoke, he had already brought out paints, prepared blank papers, and then told Amelia Wright,
"Nothing to do anyway, let’s have you take a test today. Take divinity as the theme and make a painting. I’ll take a look at your skill and figure out the direction for your teaching."
Amelia Wright hesitated slightly; her current painting style was too eerie and dark to reveal casually.
But the teacher before her was someone she willingly apprenticed under, and since she did, one day he’d discover the issues with her works.
Amelia Wright nodded in agreement.
Amelia Wright closed her eyes slightly; naturally, in her mind, came forth an image of the painting she envisioned.
The brush fell onto the paper.
Broad swathes of ink spread out.
Robert Reed sat nearby, slowly observing, full of patience.
They say handwriting reveals character, painting reveals the person.
Watching someone paint might reveal a thing or two.
Robert Reed wanted to understand what had happened to this little student of his to create such an art book.
Amelia Wright remained immersed in her painting, as if nothing existed but those contrasts in colors.
Robert Reed’s expression grew more solemn.
After some unknown time, Amelia Wright laid down her brush.
She seemed overly fatigued, her energy drained, her small face appeared even paler.
On the paper, broad swathes of dark hues, a divine figure with a detached face, walked the earth in a white robe.
But beneath his feet, the vivid red mixed with dark mud, countless sinister hands stretched from the earth grabbing at the divine figure, one even clutched his foot.
The white garment contrasted starkly with the blood-stained mud.
Amelia Wright slightly bowed her head.
In this world, there are no gods; if there were, why didn’t they save her in her past life?
The so-called divine figure is merely an illusory comfort; let’s all be dragged into this hell.
The darkness and madness in her heart couldn’t be concealed in her paintings.
After Amelia Wright stopped painting for a while, Robert Reed came back to his senses.
He seemed utterly stunned; he thought that the Red Plum Blossom Painting and the art book he had seen before already embodied some repression and despair.
But having witnessed this painting up close today, he realized his imaginations fell far short.
What did she go through to become this way?
Robert Reed solemnly said, "Amelia, this world isn’t only made of darkness and despair."
Robert Reed had always addressed Amelia Wright as his young student; this was the first time he seriously and sternly called her by name.
Amelia Wright still bowed her head, her voice slightly hoarse as she said, "But I... can only see the dark."
Robert Reed’s heart trembled.
It reminded him of his youth, the child’s accident, the passing of his wife, important people leaving one by one, despair overwhelmed him like a tide, even after thirty years, he couldn’t forget that pain.
He hadn’t remarried, remained bad-tempered, close to no one.
Until he saw the Red Plum Blossom Painting, the pain in the painting had a resonance with him, birthing a desire to take on a student.
But the pain and despair experienced through multiple farewells, what could have possibly happened to this young student for her to feel even more intense agony?
Robert Reed suddenly reached out and gently ruffled Amelia Wright’s head, saying softly, "Don’t be afraid, you have a teacher now."