An Artist ( Par 3: A short novel I wrote not long ago...) “But it’s only a bloodstain!” A high call came up from the crowd. Appalled, the vast audience ‘s attention shifted to the seat where the call rose from, obviously , the speaker is a student journalist aged about 8, he may well be part of a student journalists team from a primary school. “No, the theme...”The representative frowned but was not daring to be mad. “Yes! If I spill a small cup of blood over a piece of white paper, I can make a same painting! ” The child called out confidently. The adult speaker was almost going into a fury, “No, please let me finish my analysis, this masterpiece...” “Yes, the kid is right!” another adult interrupted the representative’s speaking, and this time around, the voice, to everyone’s astonishment, came from Steven himself. Steven heaved a sigh, ”He’s right, none of the adults made right analysis, in a morning last week, I was peeling an apple with a knife while watching TV, unluckily, I cut my finger, and some blood came out of it, it spilled onto a piece of paper on my sofa. Then I came up with an idea, though I am famous, I wanted to see the way my fans and all art critics judge my work, I am eager to know whether they form judgments on the basis of real art, or just out of merely mania and idolism...” By this moment, the whole conference hall and even the whole world seemed to become still, Steven uttered his last sentence with a sneer, “Well, considering all this drama today, I am an artist, but not a real one, nor are you the people who understand art.”