Out of Control

Chapter 6

She struggled to squeeze through the thicket of oleanders, their branches as hard as swords, their slender leaves a dark green... This patch of oleanders was not the one outside her grandmother's house.

At the edge of the woods, a steep mountain could be seen. This place was so unfamiliar; it was a place she had never been before. In the distance, she heard the mournful meows of a cat. A wild beast was chasing the cat, its greedy, ferocious growls audible…

Suddenly, the cat leaped past her with a howl. Startled, she sat down on the ground. She saw, hidden in the oleander thicket, a large wild beast—whether wolf or rabid dog, she couldn't tell—coming from afar and stopping to search for its prey. She could see its red, anxious eyes, like two flames in the darkness…

Terrified, she scrambled to her feet and ran for her life. Just then, a blue figure darted past her not far in front of her. She saw a girl—about her age, a little over ten, with short hair, big eyes, wearing a blue top and skirt—running past in a panic. In a moment of desperation, she quickly followed her, and soon they were out of the woods…

But there was a river in front of her. Standing on the riverbank, she was at a loss, and then she realized the girl had run quite a distance along the other side of the river. The wild beast was about to catch up, and in a panic, she jumped into the river and swam with all her might towards the other side…

But she fell into the river and became entangled in the weeds. Hearing wild beasts roaring at her from the riverbank, she had no choice but to dive into the water. She dared not look up, fearing it was waiting for her above. Even underwater, she could still hear the beasts chasing the girl, followed by her piercing screams…

She didn't know how much time had passed when she crawled out and stood on the riverbank again. She saw a horrifying scene—blood everywhere, along with scattered bones and pieces of torn flesh.

A pair of blue shorts, torn into strips, was wrapped in a clump of thorns, stained with blood...

Terrified, she burst into tears and ran outside. Just then, she felt the branches of a tree not far away moving.

Through the gaps in the intertwined branches, she saw the white figure of the woman, moving slowly alongside her… Clearly, the woman had been following her all along and had witnessed everything that had just happened…

Because of a nightmare, Wu Bingbing felt very tired when she woke up the next morning, and her eyes were also dark.

She had planned to visit the art exhibition at the museum this morning before going to bed. But as she was about to leave after breakfast, she received a call from a strange man who said he was Wei Pan's son, that her mother was sick and in the hospital, and that her mother wanted to see her. He asked if she could come to the hospital.

"Is Aunt Wei sick? Which hospital is she in?"

"Railway Workers' Hospital. When can you come?"

"I'm going right now." Bingbing hung up the phone and took a car to the hospital.

Aunt Wei Pan is in the emergency room. She was brought in early this morning and has been undergoing emergency treatment for two hours.

Her son, Mingliang, said, "When we woke her up this morning, she was still lying there, her face was bluish-purple, her mouth was open, she could only move her hands and her eyes, but she couldn't move her body. When we carried her to the hospital, she looked at me with her eyes open, trying to say something but unable to, and kept staring at the pillow with her neck twisted. I found this note under her pillow, with the address and phone number you left for her. I wondered if she had something to say to you."

Wu Bingbing wanted to go in to see Aunt Wei, but the nurse wouldn't let her in. Through the frosted glass door of the emergency room, she could vaguely see that Aunt Wei had an oxygen tube inserted into her face, and the doctor was busy using a pacemaker.

Wu Bingbing worriedly wondered, could what she saw in her dream have actually become reality?

Half an hour later, the doctor came out and said, "It's no use, we did our best."

Grandma Wei's daughter, son, and daughter-in-law all started crying. Bingbing followed them to the emergency room and saw Grandma Wei covered with a white sheet, being pressed down by her family members. Bingbing didn't have the courage to go any further. She regretted not being able to say a final word to Grandma Wei, and she was certain that Grandma Wei had something to say to her.

Sitting on a bench in the hospital corridor, Wu Bingbing felt waves of cold running through her body.

“She hasn’t had a heart attack in years,” Mingliang said painfully. “Nobody expected it to be so serious when it did. What happened?” He wiped his tears and snot from his nose as he spoke.

After a while, Wu Bingbing asked softly, "Was there anything unusual about her health yesterday?"

“I’m out hauling goods and I get back late. Xiuli is home.” Mingliang glanced at his wife standing next to him.

Xiuli, a burly woman, said, "Mom was so happy yesterday. She ate two big bowls of noodles and several pieces of watermelon for dinner. She seemed perfectly fine. It must have been a ghost. Mingliang didn't believe me. Behind our courtyard is a welfare home with many elderly people who have no children, and some mentally challenged people. An old lady just died a few days ago. Those people were usually very close to my mother-in-law. But most of them have died over the years. I suspect that the dead came to find my mother-in-law, that she was possessed by a ghost… It's true, I saw it with my own eyes last night. This morning I told Mingliang that the figure I saw last night was definitely a ghost, but Mingliang, being the idiot he is, didn't believe me and even scolded me for talking nonsense—"

Bingbing asked, "What did you see last night?"

Xiuli said, “The power went out after dinner last night. My mother-in-law went to lie down in the inner room, and I was in the living room, lying on the sofa, dozing off. I was half asleep when I felt a figure come in from outside. I thought it was Grandma Qin—an old lady from the welfare home who often came to visit my mother-in-law. The person who came in was all white. Grandma Qin always wears white clothes and often comes to our house, going in and out of my mother-in-law's room, so I didn't pay attention and closed my eyes again. After a while, the power came back on, and I got up. When I passed by my mother-in-law's room, I saw her lying alone on the bed, so I casually asked, ‘Has Grandma Qin left?’ Unexpectedly, my mother-in-law said no one came. I said yes, I saw her. My mother-in-law kept saying no, the door wasn't even open, so where did she come from? Then I remembered that I had closed the door, and the safety lock was very loud, so no one could have come in. But I clearly saw someone come in, so who was it? Thinking about it, I got a little scared. Seeing that my mother-in-law was also nervous, I didn't dare to say anything more. I never expected that my mother-in-law would suddenly have an accident last night…”

Bingbing asked, "Didn't you hear any noise from your mother-in-law's room last night?"

Xiuli said, "No, Mingliang came back late yesterday, and I slept with my head covered until dawn."

Wu Bingbing thought that she had told the older woman about her dream and the scenes she saw in it, especially the frightening woman in white. The older woman must have had the same strange dream last night, perhaps even seeing the woman in white. That's why, even though she couldn't speak, she gave her son her phone number, hoping to see her. If the older woman could speak, she would definitely tell her what she had discovered…

As Wu Bingbing walked out of the hospital building, she suddenly heard a woman's laughter behind her. Turning around, she saw no one. As she walked forward, the laughter resumed, sounding cold and hoarse, sending chills down her spine even in the sunlight.

Chapter Six

The moment she saw the woman in the painting, her eyelashes fluttered. Her heart was instantly touched, like unexpectedly encountering a long-lost friend, a fellow townsman, or seeing a familiar face in a foreign land, amidst a bustling city and crowded streets…

The following day, the Southern Herald published the news. The headline was: Southern Rehabilitation Hospital's exploration of heart transplantation faces difficulties; the subheading was: Three patients who received transplant surgeries died within a month.

The article states that five local patients underwent heart transplants at the Southern Rehabilitation Hospital, three of whom recently died. The hospital denied any deaths outside the city, but the reporter remained skeptical. Such a short survival rate and high mortality rate have caused considerable anxiety among patients and their families preparing for surgery, naturally leading some to question the hospital's heart transplant expertise. When the reporter interviewed Dr. Meng, the hospital's vice president and director of cardiothoracic surgery, Dr. Meng declined to comment. According to sources, Dr. Meng performed all the transplant surgeries, and the unexplained deaths of patients put him under considerable pressure.

At that time, Wu Bingbing was on her way to the museum and bought a newspaper, where she saw this report.

After thinking for a moment, she stopped and called Dr. Meng on her phone from the roadside. She told him about the dreams she had been having these past few days, including the white-clad woman in her dreams and the terrifying chase she was experiencing.

Wu Bingbing said, "I felt that this woman in white might be targeting not only me, but also others, so I started investigating and discovered the deaths of Kang Qiujing and Wei Pan. I also witnessed the death of He Guomin."

Wu Bingbing said, "That day I went to Kang Qiujing's house. When I came out, I felt something following me, but it wouldn't let me see it. I knew it was the woman I saw in my dream again. I suspect that Kang Qiujing might also be being harassed by her."

As for who she is, I still don't know. She seems to have a deep-seated hatred for people who have undergone heart transplants?

Wu Bingbing said, "Anyway, Wei Pan's death must be related to that woman. On the night of her accident, her daughter-in-law saw a woman dressed in white enter her house."

Wu Bingbing said, "Xu Miaomiao and I are the only ones in the area who have had the surgery. I don't know what will happen next. That woman said in my dream that I would die like them."

Wu Bingbing said, "Uncle Meng, are you listening? What do you think?"

“Yes, I’m listening. I wasn’t thinking about anything,” Dr. Meng said, his tone clearly impatient. “I just don’t understand why you’re saying all this nonsense. Is it because I didn’t tell you who gave you the heart?”

"I don't understand, do you think—what I said was all a lie?"

"I don't know what the point of saying all this is?"

"I'm telling the truth! Do you think I'm lying to you?"

“I am a scientist. Besides, you are at least a college student.”

"Fine, then forget I said anything." She hung up the phone, but angrily kicked a trash can on the side of the road. "Hmph, do I look like I'm lying? What's wrong with your science? You old fogey! You're a ghost! —"

Reaching the museum entrance, her emotions calmed down slightly. Since it was Sunday, there weren't many visitors. She bought a ticket, examined it closely for a while, and then finally stepped through the gate.

The museum's design is bright and open, with a wide, unobstructed staircase leading up from the first floor, much like the tiered steps at the entrance. Wu Bingbing ascended the stairs, glancing left and right. Passing by the first-floor exhibition hall of ancient architectural components and stone inscriptions, she could see rough, clumsy stone carvings or tombstones through the glass. On the second floor, she saw bronzes, ceramics, and various artifacts on display, with photos of rusted bronzes and gleaming porcelain displayed in the screen wall's windows. Finally, she entered the richly decorated calligraphy and painting exhibition hall on the third floor. She felt a sense of exhilaration, as if she had traveled through a time tunnel, stepping out of history itself.

The 2,500-square-meter calligraphy and painting exhibition hall is shaped like a giant "回" (hui), with various paintings hanging on both sides. Walking along the aisles, one can see hundreds of paintings from ancient and modern times in a single stroll. Wu Bingbing first stood there reading the introduction. The entire exhibition hall is divided into four parts, with paintings occupying three: an ancient painting section, a modern and contemporary painting section, and a section for paintings from the new era. The other sections mainly feature arts and crafts, calligraphy, and seal carving. Wu Bingbing cautiously entered the front exhibition hall.

The exhibition hall was almost empty, with only a few scattered people. Wu Bingbing browsed aimlessly. She had to admit that although she enjoyed painting and had even dreamed of becoming a painter in junior high school, and still occasionally flipped through art books, and her father's recent art collection had shown her his collection, her knowledge and understanding of painting was still very shallow. From her ancestor Wu Daozi's "The Emperor's Southern Journey" from the Tang Dynasty, to Su Dongpo's "Ancient Trees and Strange Rocks" from the Northern Song Dynasty, Chen Xianzhang's "Fish and Shrimp Fighting for Water" from the Ming Dynasty, and Yuan Jiang's "Looking at Mountains from the Sea" from the Qing Dynasty, she had never even heard of these beautiful paintings, let alone seen them in person. In class, her classmates majoring in archaeology in the history department had watched documentaries introducing the murals of the Hongmen Banquet in the Western Han Dynasty tombs, the murals of the Mogao Grottoes in Dunhuang, and the murals of the Jade Maidens in Yongle Palace, but compared to the "Fairy Weaving in the Garden of Immortals," "Washing Silk in a Jade Robe," and "Wenji Returning to Han" before her, those things seemed stiff and lifeless.

In the modern and contemporary art exhibition area, a short-haired girl wearing glasses was looking at the paintings while muttering to herself, whether in question or deep thought, it was unclear. As Wu Bingbing walked past her, the girl turned around, smiled, and greeted her.

Wu Bingbing nodded in a friendly manner. Seeing Wu Bingbing stop in front of a landscape painting, she leaned closer and introduced it, "This is Zhang Daqian's 'Autumn Wind Dyes the Valley,' what are your thoughts?"

Wu Bingbing looked at the painting. It was large, filled with shades of crimson and pale purple, but she didn't have any particular opinion.

She looked at Wu Bingbing: "Don't you find it familiar? The composition, the color scheme, the atmosphere?"

Wu Bingbing became embarrassed: "I don't know anything about painting, I just like to look at it."

She didn't mind and pointed, saying, "Have you seen Li Shinan's 'Autumn Landscape in the Distance'? — This painting is practically a direct copy. Li Shinan was a famous painter in the Northern Song Dynasty, skilled in landscape painting, and highly praised by the venerable Su Dongpo."

In his youth, Zhang Daqian frequently imitated ancient paintings, achieving a level of skill that could easily fool the originals. I suspect he often copied Li Shinan's works. Look, if you were to remove the 'Zhang Yuan' inscription from this painting and mount it on imitation Liuhe hemp paper or Chengxintang paper, you would be 120% certain it was painted by Li Shinan.

Listening to her critique the paintings, Wu Bingbing felt inferior, but she didn't particularly like her. The girl was boastful and arrogant. She asked casually, "Are you a painter?"

"Oh, I'm a reporter." As if remembering something, she quickly took out her business card and handed it to Bingbing. "Southern Herald, in charge of news on culture, arts and science and education."

Wu Bingbing remembered the report she had read on the way home. She couldn't recall if the author was Zhang Qun, whose business card listed her as a reporter and amateur writer, but she still felt she should avoid her. As Zhang Qun was taking notes in her notebook, she politely nodded and walked away alone. She could still hear Zhang Qun saying behind her, "I'll introduce you to her later. You should go see that female painter's work."

The exhibition area for paintings from the new era features more than one hundred paintings, divided into two main categories: traditional Chinese paintings and oil paintings.

There were works by currently renowned domestic painters, as well as successful pieces by young artists. Behind the works of a newcomer who shocked the art world with his brushless ink paintings were several oil paintings by a female painter. Wu Bingbing had just stood there when Zhang Qun approached and continued her sweeping commentary.

"Chinese painting has reached a dead end, and the paintings of those who come after it further prove the importance of updating techniques."

If you're looking for new works or oil paintings, I was just about to recommend this artist's work to you.

There is no artist's biography or photo. The paintings mainly depict people and animals. The printed dimensions of each painting are pasted in the lower right corner, along with the small print: "Artist: Jiang Lan".

Wu Bingbing muttered, "Jiang Lan? Where have I seen that name before?"

She suddenly remembered the newspaper she had read after being discharged from the hospital following her surgery. One of the news items was the final verdict in the murder case of female painter Jiang Lan—was this Jiang Lan the female painter involved in the murder case?

As if sensing her thoughts, Zhang Qun asked from the side, "You must have read the reports about her? You should know her. Almost everyone in the city knows her, right?"

"You mean Jiang Lan? The one in the newspaper—?"

"Yes, that's the female painter. I've written more than 20 articles about her case and her paintings, so I should say I have the most authority to speak on this. Although she committed murder, her paintings cannot be denied. Her paintings are indeed excellent, and many painters, both new and old, in the art world agree on this."

"I think I saw the news about her trial; I never imagined her paintings—"

"In fact, there are countless people who have committed crimes throughout Chinese and foreign history, including great painters and writers, and Russia has many of them."

Artistic value should transcend life and history. After the court verdict, Jiang Lan demanded that all her paintings be destroyed, but the art academy ultimately did not comply.

"I don't quite understand. You mean...her painting skills are very high?"

“It’s not just me who thinks it’s great; professionals and art dealers think it’s great,” Zhang Qun said confidently. “I’ve collected over 50 reviews of Jiang Lan’s paintings, most of them praising her. If you’re interested, I can borrow the materials for you to look at later. She mainly created a new painting method, incorporating traditional Chinese painting techniques into oil painting. More importantly, she has exceptional skills in oil paints, using everything from ancient cinnabar, azurite, and carmine to modern acrylic paints, plant pigments, metal materials, and chemical components. She discovered a new perspective on painting, creating a three-dimensional style, which some people exaggerate and call magic painting.”

Zhang Qun pointed to a painting nearby, titled "Women's Lament." The painting depicted three young women, all very beautiful, almost identical in appearance; however, they wore different clothes and stood in different poses; against the backdrop of yellow earth. "What do these three women have to do with 'telling a story'?" Zhang Qun commented from the side.

“Look how similar these three women look, you might think she painted three sisters, or even one person.”

Both are right. And neither is right. How to put it? They are actually the same person, yet they are not the same person. Look, the woman standing slightly behind, wearing a brocade-embroidered, wide-sleeved top with a embroidered collar and cuffs, and a brocade skirt with embroidered flowers, her hair piled high on her back, clutching a handkerchief in both hands, timidly looking down at people. What era would you say she's from?

"She must have been a woman from the old society, a concubine or something?"

Zhang Qun nodded: "Yes. Look at the woman in the middle, her lake-blue cotton shirt and short skirt have changed from the old style. Especially her short hair that reaches her ears and her loose flat shoes with straps, along with her upright and unyielding gaze, vividly present the era she lived in—"

"She resembles the new women of the May Fourth Movement era."

"Yes. Look at the one in front of us, with her long hair casually tied up and her clothes stylish, loose and natural."

She was unrestrained, arms outstretched, smiling and lost in thought, as if about to take flight—the very image of a modern, open-minded woman.

Wu Bingbing said with a hint of realization, "Is placing these three women in the same context an attempt to narrate women's history or reflect their fate to some extent?"

"It should be said this way. You can see them as one person, or you can see them as three generations of a family. What would it be like if they lived in different eras? The painter uses the language of color to interpret their lives."

She paused here, emphasizing, "But the part of this painting that's more worthy of study is the bottom. If you look at it from the side, it creates a multifaceted effect. Those young women have changed. Look, what have they become? —"

Standing at Zhang Qun's angle, Wu Bingbing looked at the painting and exclaimed in surprise. The three beautiful women, dressed in different clothes, had changed; in an instant, their clothes disappeared, leaving only naked bodies. Although the image was blurry, the age of the nudes was still evident—protruding ribs, sagging muscles, and sunken eyes. They were clearly three old women who were dead or dying. She took two steps back in fright—the three beautiful women were still staring at her from opposite sides.

She stood there for a moment, still unwilling to believe it, and walked back to the painting. She looked at it from the side, and it was still the same three old women.

Back to the front, it was still the same three young women. She looked at them several times, becoming more and more confused.

“This is Jiang Lan’s 3D painting, it’s amazing.” Zhang Qun’s tone was excited, as if she were talking about herself with pride. “Each painting has multiple layers of meaning, allowing people to understand it from multiple perspectives. Look at this one, ‘The Wedding’. The girl in the red dress has tears in her eyes; the mother, with disheveled white hair and a worried face, is combing her hair; in the depths of the scene, there is an old man wearing a red flower, standing by the wooden cart, waiting impatiently with his eyes wide open—and then look at the painting from the side—look, it has changed! The girl has transformed into a pregnant goat, the mother into a half-dead tree stump, and the cart and the man in the painting have turned into the silhouette of black rocks. The whole painting is like it’s been enchanted.”

"I wonder how she paints?" Wu Bingbing said with genuine admiration.

"As I just said, I've collected a whole bunch of articles written by experts, but none of them understood it."

Some studies focused on reflective mineral pigments and binders, others on multi-layered coloring and chemical processing, and still others on perspective and multi-focal compositions—but none of them really got it right—Excuse me, I need to take this call.

Zhang Qun opened her phone case as it rang and walked lightly toward the entrance of the exhibition hall.

As Wu Bingbing continued looking, she stopped in front of a painting titled "Woman Practicing Yoga".

At first glance, her eyelashes fluttered and her heart was touched, as if she had suddenly encountered a long-lost friend, fellow townsman, or a familiar face in a foreign land, in a bustling city, or in a crowded stream of people. She was excited and nervously stunned.