He Hui feels that everything in his life is fate, predestined!
Poverty, wealth, illness, health...
The elderly man in his eighties was moved to the hospital bed.
All around were concerned eyes.
He understands.
Before he turned seventy, he was a burden to the family, even his grandson didn't like being with him.
People in the village said he was not sociable, just an old farmer wanting to be an artist.
But once his paintings gained recognition, everything changed!
He Hui feels, heaven has treated him kindly.
He's satisfied with this life.
Hand pain?
He wasn't about to make a fuss.
At eighty, if he's muddled, he's just pretending.
They all know it clearly inside.
He's the money tree for these people, a political bargaining chip.
So, He Hui paints very little.
Literati have pride.
He does too.
Now, it's time for him to rest.
"Director Liang, please save my dad! Once he's better, I'll give you a painting!" He Hui's son said.
