Chapter 497


    bbergasted with the journalist, I pointed at Christopher. “Mister, if you are in our country, you would


    make an awesome novelist since you are excellent at making up stories. Nevertheless, my husband is


    right here. If you wish to know about Remington, you can ask him.”


    The journalist was so embarrassed that he quickly left us. Looking at his retreating figure, I couldn’t


    stopughing. “Chris, is this considered bullying? His face turned red before he left.”


    “No, this is attacking the enemy without mercy. If he had note to create trouble for us, we would


    not have done that.” Christopher was always supportive of me. “My wife is always right.”


    “What if I really did something wrong?” I asked.


    “If so, then there must be something wrong with my judgment,” Christopher said solemnly, nodding his


    head.


    “What if I really had done something really wrong?” I winked and asked mischievously.


    “Hmm, then you have to refer back to what I said previously.” Christopher really pampered me even


    when I behaved foolishly and asked silly questions.


    Other than Remington, the few people I know at the art exhibition were those from our country. When


    the exhibition was at its busiest, some artists werepeting at the stage right in the center.


    Christopher went there with me and we really enjoyed watching that. Suddenly, I noticed that Crystal


    and her bodyguard were also there.


    Crystal saw me too and she made all sorts of angry and hateful expressions at me. She was probably


    still sore from what happened earlier and was afraid of getting into more trouble, so she kept her


    distance.


    Finally, she seemed to have learned a little lesson. Someone had to keep her in line, or Crystal would


    think that the whole world had to behave like she was their master, by obeying hermands and


    pampering to her every whim.


    The trend ofpetition during art exhibitions spread from abroad to Hawen. Later on, it became a


    tradition and it evolved into four main topics, “Blossoms And Full Moon,” “Phoenix,” “Winter Scenery”


    and “Mountainous Landscapes.”


    On the stage, Remington was having a friendlypetition with a foreign painter. He obviously had a


    unique skill and the pictures of flowers, birds anddies he painted won praises from everyone around


    him.


    “Chris, Remington is really amazing. In the past, my idol had been Spencer. I should have been more


    respectful of Remington instead.”


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    “Why not be your own idol? One day, you’ll be on the same level as him. To challenge yourself and do


    better is the most important of all,” Christopher said, looking at me sincerely.


    “Yes, there is a lot of logic in what you say.” I looked at Chris solemnly like never before. “Chris, I really


    love painting. Even standing here, I can feel that the pores of my skin are all open and I feel alive.


    Thank you, Chris.”


    Thepetition on the stage reached the third round which was the personal talent show. This was


    more difficult as everyone showed what they did best for everyone else to see. I was thinking about


    what to do if I went up. Suddenly someone pushed me from behind. I was holding a ss of red wine


    and I had released Christopher’s hand. When I was pushed, I staggered and went forward. The ss


    in my hand fell to the ground, breaking into pieces and the red wine was spilled onto the floor.


    I turned around and saw Crystal running through the crowd with her brows knitted. Then, she stood at


    the back of the crowd and smiled triumphantly at me. She raised her hand and gave me a thumbs up.


    Then, she slowly turned her thumb down and silently mouthed a message to me.


    I could read from her lips that she was saying, “I’ll see how you fall.”


    “This is the author of “Moonlight Heaven,” Ms. Yvonne. It seems that Yvonne wants to show her special


    skill. Is there anyone who would like to ept her challenge?” the assistant host on the stage asked,


    smiling.


    I was totally unprepared as I looked at the assistant who had met us at the airport. I was pushed


    forward. What skill was I supposed to show? I am certainly not Ansley who could paint with both hands


    and sell his works for hundreds of millions.


    “I will!” A handsome white male walked on to the stage. He looked at me with eyes full of enmity as he


    introduced himself. “I’m Jonah Deere the one whose painting was reced by yours.”