"Yes, I want to mention a little here, which will have a feeling of mabudura style..." delier holds the hand of a handsome boy and makes some graffiti on the canvas that people can''t understand. These graffiti are often called "art" by normal people. Sometimes what art needs is not to understand. Otherwise, why should artists be proud of the world?


    He felt the little hand full of masculinity in his hand, gently fell on the boy''s shoulder and greedily smelled the good smell of the boy. He felt that he was about to fly to heaven. If the two damn guys weren''t still staring at him last time, he might take the little boy to the secret room to discuss higher art.


    Some greedy withdrew their hands, straightened up, looked at the drawing board in front of the other children and nodded constantly. Although delier''s own artistry remains to be discussed, his ability to appreciate art is quite good. Among these children, he is very optimistic about a girl and a boy. He believes that these two children have real artistic cells. If they can enter a good art college in the future, they are likely to become great artists.


    Just as he imagined that he had trained many artists and that the art world was also correcting his name, a rough and savage footsteps startled him. He turned impatiently, hugged his chest angrily, pursed his lips slightly and looked at the guy who had destroyed the artistic conception. He knows that man. He''s Mrs. Vivian''s driver.


    He changed his face as fast as his artist''s level. It should be said that he was super first-class. He immediately changed a smiling face to welcome him. Just as he was about to ask why Mrs. Vivian didn''t come in, the driver spoke to him first, "the mayor invited you to go. I hope you won''t embarrass me."


    Delier''s face changed slightly. He arranged an assistant to take care of the children, then sorted out his clothes, wiped some cosmetics again, and then returned to the mayor''s manor with the driver.


    This was delier''s second close meeting with the mayor. For the first time, at the art auction held by the chamber of Commerce, he appreciated some works of art for Mrs. Vivian. It happened that the mayor was also there, but the two sides just said hello to each other, so they didn''t say another word. On the way, the mayor left directly. Therefore, this is the second close meeting between the two people, which makes delier feel a little uncomfortable. He can''t say why he feels uncomfortable, but in short, he is a little flustered.


    "I heard that my wife has been buying some expensive works of art from you, hasn''t she?" the mayor didn''t ask him what he wanted to know as soon as he opened his mouth. Instead, he started the topic of unimportant and irrelevant. "I can see that my wife likes works of art very much. Those works of art are piled up in a storage room."


    Delier could only laugh and nod his head with guilty conscience when the mayor spoke. He knew the "real situation" of his works of art. To put it bluntly, it''s just his reward for pimping for those expensive women. Direct money exchanges are too easy to doubt, but the way of payment for art is much more normal. Because everyone''s ability to appreciate art is different. Maybe you think a certain art is worthless, but in the eyes of those who like it, it is priceless. This controversial and idealistic payment method saves delier a lot of trouble and is hidden enough. Up to now, many people don''t know what his real business is.


    "How much do you think your so-called works of art can be worth?" the mayor looked very friendly with a smile, but delier always felt that the mayor in front of him was very dangerous.


    "Probably... Worth some money?" delier carefully tried to say. Seeing that the mayor had no clear objection, he was a little relieved and continued: "Art is actually hard to understand. It''s just like Mr. Mark''s'' Genesis'', which just smears a circle drawn by multiple colors on the canvas. I can do this kind of painting skills and painting results, but the meaning of what I paint is far from reaching the high evaluation of ''Genesis''."


    He said earnestly: "everyone has a positioning for art, either high or low, but art itself is priceless!"


    The mayor nodded seriously, "what you said is reasonable, but I invited great artists from Orlando and the capital to taste the works of art you sold to your wife. They told me that those things are not necessarily comparable to the works of apprentices. What do you think of this?"


    Of course, those are just children''s graffiti. Their real purpose is to cover up "whoring money". How can they sell real works of art to these expensive women? Delier just smiled awkwardly and didn''t raise any objection. He was clear that it was more meaningful to shut up at this time than to explain.


    Seeing that the heat was almost over, the mayor said slowly, "I understand what you are doing and what they are doing. Now I don''t want to take care of so many things. Just tell my wife who she has been with recently."


    Delier was silent. He knew that someone would see through his business one day, but he didn''t expect that it would be so fast and that the people who saw through his business had such a high status.


    "Don''t you want to say?" the mayor shook his head, "or do you think silence can fight the problems you can''t avoid?"


    Delier remained silent. The next second, the mayor reached out to pick up several kilograms of crystal ashtrays on the tea table and smashed them hard on delier''s head. People always say how hard the bone is. Maybe the bone is really hard, but the skin is very soft. Blood flowed down his forehead. Delier''s eyes were dark and some flashes were blooming. The dizziness made him unable to hit his attention.


    With a bang, delier''s head slammed to one side again, and the heat flow in the nasal cavity couldn''t stop rolling out. He reached out and touched it. It was not blood, but a clear liquid. He vaguely felt that when the danger came again, he realized that he had to hold his head with both hands. The heavy pain of his arm wound made him scream at this time, but the mayor had long told that no one would come in.


    "Look, keeping a secret may cost you your life, but you won''t lose anything if you say it." the mayor gasped slightly, threw the crystal ashtray back on the tea table and sat back. He took out his handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the blood on his hands. The striking red stained the handkerchief.