Chapter 15: Are You Willing to Pursue Graduate Studies?

Even though he had been reborn and possessed the mental age of someone in their thirties, Lin Sicheng still found such matters highly entertaining. Especially when it involved someone from the same dormitory.

After all, hadn’t he heard about the four girls sharing a dorm, forming a group of fifteen?

With a face full of curiosity, he said, “Tell me all the details!”

Xiao Yuzhu glared at him.

“In sophomore year, she dated a boyfriend from the Fine Arts Department. He came from a well-off family and was quite handsome. But one day, we saw that guy holding hands with another girl while shopping, and after that, they broke up.

“Since then, He Wan stopped hanging out with us as much. No matter who in the dorm started dating, she would always make snide remarks.”

“Why?”

“How would I know?”

Lin Sicheng pondered for a long time but couldn’t figure it out.

“So where did the term ‘Phoenix Girl’ come from?”

“She’s from Foping County.”

A nationally recognized impoverished county, famed for medicinal herbs?

But calling her a ‘Phoenix Girl’ didn’t seem to fit.

She dressed with taste, was poised and elegant, and a good student.

Her personality didn’t match either: at the slightest disagreement, she would splash cola on someone’s face in public—how could she be a ‘Phoenix Girl’?

“Tsk, she’s quite fierce… You’re done for, at least until you graduate.”

“Pfft, afraid of that? There are no three-legged toads, but three-legged men are rare, aren’t they?”

“That’s true!”

Lin Sicheng nodded instinctively, then realized something was off.

Wait... Miss, your surname is Huang, right?

“That’s right, I have three legs too!”

Xiao Yuzhu poked him with a bottle. Lin Sicheng pulled out his phone. “What time does Senior Li finish work?”

“Usually six o’clock, almost there!”

“Send her a message!”

“Okay!”

After a while, Li Zhen replied: “Professor Shang is busy, it will take a little longer!”

...

Twilight seeped through the glass windows of the research office. Shang Yan’s fingertip paused on the mouse, her brow slightly raised.

Scrolling again, her pupils widened a bit, and she bit her lip.

“Li Zhen, come take a look!”

Li Zhen leaned sideways to glance at the computer screen: the 2003 class of the Cultural Heritage Department’s 2006-2007 academic year transcript.

As the cursor moved, three tables were combined:

Name: Lin Sicheng.

Craft and Arts: Failed. Retake: 60.

Basic Chinese Painting: Failed. Retake: 60.

Cultural Relics Drawing: Failed. Retake: 60.

Li Zhen finally understood why the mentor wore that expression: Lin Sicheng failed every subject, and they both knew exactly how those retake scores were achieved.

But recalling the drawings he made today, it was absolutely impossible that someone who initially failed and barely passed the retake could create that level of work.

Not to mention 60 points—90 points wouldn’t be enough.

Li Zhen thought for a moment. “Last time, he said Professor Lin tutored him over the summer.”

Shang Yan scoffed, “You really believe that?”

Art isn’t like other subjects; besides talent, it requires accumulation. In short: practice. There’s no such thing as ‘sudden enlightenment’ or ‘rapid leaps’ happening overnight.

Looking again at those three sketches, the foundation they displayed couldn’t have been built in a single summer, not even ten summers.

Moreover, those sketches’ style was completely different from Professor Lin’s. They didn’t resemble traditional cultural relic compositions, nor did they fit within ceramic art.

Shang Yan clicked a few more times, and a painting appeared on the screen: an elegant lady leaning against a dining table, with a blue-and-white porcelain teapot and cup set on it.

This was “The Noblewoman,” painted by the renowned 19th-century European painter and sculptor Yam. The artist was famous, and the work was a hallmark of the European Neoclassical school.

It was also a required piece for the Ceramic Craft and Arts course in domestic universities.

“Set aside the tone and colors, just compare the composition carefully!”

Li Zhen studied it carefully for several minutes.

“Teacher, I feel that the sketch’s use of sketching techniques, line and plane structure, spatial relationships, and treatment of light and shadow… well, it’s somewhat similar to this painting.”

“Exactly!” Shang Yan clicked again, and another painting appeared.

Also a porcelain teapot, but this time not blue-and-white, rather a gourd-shaped pot popular after the late Ming dynasty. But instead of an oil painting, it was a silk-based landscape.

Its characteristics were clear: meticulous brushwork with heavy colors, delicate strokes, simple and flowing lines.

Strangely, parts seemed to employ Western oil painting techniques of focal perspective, with very distinct anatomical structure and lighting effects, yet it blended seamlessly with the overall composition and poetic elegance.

What was even stranger was that the line and plane structure, and the contrast of light and shadow were more similar to Lin Sicheng’s sketches—more so than Yam’s “Noblewoman.”

“This painting is called ‘Antique Collection,’ created by Lang Shining, the chief court painter during the Kang-Qian period of the Qing dynasty and an Italian missionary, now preserved in the Palace Museum.

Before coming to China to preach, Lang Shining lived during the dawn of European Neoclassicism, so his oil painting style was closely related to Yam’s…”

Shang Yan clicked again. “Look at this one!”

It was still a paper-based landscape painting, by another Kang-Qian era court painter, Jiao Bingzhen. The subject was also “Antique Collection,” featuring a porcelain teapot, painted meticulously with heavy colors.

Compared to the previous one, this painting was more three-dimensional overall, with more realistic spatial use of perspective and chiaroscuro.

Yet looking broadly, the uniquely Chinese “freehand” style was more abundant here than in the previous painting.

Importantly, the painting’s foundational composition had many layers, as if over ten layers of rendering were applied.

Instinctively, Li Zhen recalled Lin Sicheng’s three sketches: not exactly the same, but at least eighty percent similar.

Not in form or surface detail, but in concept, structure, and pre-compositional design.

“Isn’t this more similar?”

Li Zhen nodded vigorously.

“Jiao Bingzhen was a disciple of Lang Shining, also a court painter. His understanding and sensitivity toward Chinese painting were deeper. He was also an official in the Imperial Astronomical Bureau, familiar with math and science.

So, from the perspective of East-West artistic fusion, his skill level surpassed that of Lang Shining.”

Li Zhen suddenly understood. “So the characteristics and style reflected in Lin Sicheng’s sketches are those of Jiao Bingzhen?”

“Not only that. He must have systematically studied Western oil painting techniques, including Lang Shining’s style. Otherwise, it wouldn’t feel so ‘similar’… then look at this!”

Shang Yan first applied a perspective effect to the image, then brought up a photo of a calligraphy sample in the Banqiao style from somewhere, stacking it on top.

Li Zhen’s pupils contracted, and she leaned back: weren’t these the exact three sketches Lin Sicheng had drawn?

This time it wasn’t just about concept and structure, but the overall layout and artistic style.

“Do you see it now?”

Li Zhen moved her lips but only nodded dumbly.

Chinese painting, craft arts, and Western oil painting are compulsory courses in ceramic restoration. Li Zhen couldn’t paint as well, but it didn’t stop her from understanding:

Lin Sicheng’s grasp and application of Chinese painting and craft arts was far superior to hers. Moreover, he could innovate by integrating Chinese calligraphy into it.

So those three sketches were his own design; the claim that Professor Lin taught him was just an excuse.

Recalling the transcript she saw earlier, it felt utterly absurd: someone who failed last semester couldn’t possibly produce such sketches.

No, it was beyond imagination.

Startled, Li Zhen suddenly realized: “He plans to assemble the pot using Han dynasty tiles, not reshape it from scratch?”

“Yes, otherwise he wouldn’t have to painstakingly redesign and compose. But there’s a technical challenge: bonding tile material and ceramic clay. A second firing causes shrinkage and expansion. If unresolved, the pot either burns out or deforms.”

“Is it hard to solve?”

“Of course. If it were easy, he could immediately apply for a national patent. Maybe not a national-level award, but a ministry-level scientific innovation prize would be a breeze.

“So I guess he won’t refire it but use chemical adhesives to join the parts. Still, designing it alone is impressive: based on those three sketches, he could easily apply for a ‘Lin-style Han Tile Pot’ design patent.”

Apply for a patent? Ministry-level awards?

Instinctively, Li Zhen recalled that transcript again: failed, failed, failed?

The disconnect was too strong; she genuinely couldn’t connect the two versions of Lin Sicheng.

“Don’t be surprised. Everyone familiar with Professor Lin knows: he has a precious grandson who stubbornly refused to attend Xi University and started arguing with him since freshman year…

“So I suspect Lin Sicheng deliberately did poorly on exams. Just like those three subjects we looked at: without systematic, sustained study and practice, he couldn’t have designed or even copied those sketches.

“Besides, if he were truly hopeless, could he have scored 685 on the college entrance exam?”

“That high?” Li Zhen was shocked. “That’s enough for Peking University?”

“That year the cutoff was higher. Peking University was four points short, Tsinghua just made the cut, so you can’t blame him entirely… But never mind, the point is, he’s very capable of learning. So…”

Shang Yan paused, choosing her words carefully, “Find a chance to ask him if he’s willing to study as my graduate student.”

“Ah?”