The spring day was bright and pleasant, with birds chirping among the branches.

Young cultivators gathered in pairs and small groups, converging toward the banks of the Colorful Stone Creek.

They wore no swords or daggers, carrying only folding fans, fragrance pouches, or jade pendants. With light robes and loose belts, they chatted happily with their companions.

Compared to the boisterous, blood-pumping martial trials and the serious, quietly murderous chess trials, the atmosphere of the calligraphy and painting trial was much more relaxed.

After all, participants didn’t have to face off in life-or-death duels against opponents. If they felt dissatisfied with their performance, they could simply change papers and start again, as long as they stayed within the time limit.

Seven-tenths of the participants were disciples from the Qingya Academy, three-tenths were talisman masters from other sects and clans, and very few were like Song Qian Ji, who registered just for the experience—

In others’ eyes, he was merely a sword cultivator with an interest in calligraphy and painting.

Although Hua Wei Sect had countless suspended waterfalls, this small stream was not particularly powerful, yet it possessed a unique elegant charm, earning it the name Colorful Stone Creek within the sect.

The stream flowed gently, so clear one could see to the bottom, where pebbles were visible at a glance.

Each pebble was perfectly rounded and colorful, covering most of the small stream.

Along the banks stretched a flat, open meadow. Under the azure sky and blue clouds, grasses grew tall and orioles flew, extending as far as the eye could see.

Thousands of tables and chairs for the calligraphy and painting trial were arranged in this picturesque setting, bathed in the beautiful spring light.

Before the competition began, scholars strolled along the creek, fanning themselves while engaging in lofty discussions:

“I’ve heard that Daoist Li possesses remarkable literary talent and a miraculous brush. What do you plan to write today?”

“Humble as I am, I composed a quatrain the other day while admiring the beautiful scenery of Yaoguang Lake.”

“I’ve heard Brother Liu’s plum blossom paintings are unparalleled at the academy. Will you be painting ‘Plum Blossoms in Snow’ today?”

“Having recently toured the landscapes of Hua Wei Mountain, I think I’ll paint a ‘Scenery of Hua Wei Mountain’.”

Though their conversations seemed casual, they followed many subtle rules. Those with good relationships genuinely praised each other; those with poor relationships gave compliments hiding criticisms, their words sharp as blades. One moment of carelessness would give others a verbal advantage, or turn flattery into mockery, making one a laughingstock behind their back.

Song Qian Ji walked through the fan-waving crowd, lifted his robe, and bent down to select pebbles from the creek’s edge.

He had planted a lotus in the water vat under his eaves, and a few rain-flower stones would be perfect for filling the vat.

The spring creek water wasn’t cold, as it flowed over his five fingers, it left just the right touch of coolness, refreshing his spirit.

The stones at the bottom displayed a myriad of colors. Song Qian Ji carefully selected them, occasionally disturbing small silver fish that would dart through his fingers from crevices between the rocks.

Song Qian Ji placed the rain-flower stones in his storage pouch, feeling both amused and satisfied, ignoring the whispers around him:

“Who is this person? Did he drop something in the water?”

“He’s picking up stones. Is something wrong with his mind?”

“He looks somewhat familiar…”

A distant bell rang from the mountains.

“Would all participants please take their seats according to their numbers—” the stewards announced in unison.

People bid each other farewell with laughter, promising to chat next time, then found their assigned tables and chairs, laying out their paper and brushes.

Most talisman masters used brushes that were magical tools, often selecting from thousands before finding one most suitable. Their regular ink and pigments were also no ordinary items.

Hua Wei Sect did not provide writing brushes, ink, paper, or inkstones—participants had to bring their own.

Song Qian Ji found his number, pulled out the chair, and sat down, his hands still wet.

Just then, a clean, soft silk cloth was offered to him.

Accustomed to Meng He Ze regularly handing him clothes, Song Qian Ji took them without thinking.

Only after wiping his hands did he realize. Ice silkworm satin with a glossy sheen—the material was excessively fine.

Song Qian Ji looked up to see the face of his tablemate in the calligraphy and painting trial.

The person had long eyebrows and starry eyes, a sincere smile, and wore a ceremonial robe embroidered with eighty-eight layers of water-cloud talismans. His belt was adorned with numerous King Shark pearls, and on his brush rack hung a Purple Cloud Mist brush—actually a high-level magical tool.

From head to toe, everything about him screamed: “wealthy.”

Song Qian Ji was startled: “Thank you.”

The face seemed somewhat familiar, but he couldn’t immediately recall where he had seen it before.

“You’re welcome.” His tablemate took back the glossy silk as if it were merely a rag.

He smiled and asked: “Just now I saw you touching stones at the bottom of the water. Were you making a wish? We have the same custom in my hometown.”

Song Qian Ji: “…No, I was just collecting stones to fill my water vat.”

The person nodded somewhat awkwardly: “I see. Are you here to write calligraphy or paint?”

“Painting, I suppose,” said Song Qian Ji.

The person’s eyes brightened slightly.

Although they shared a table, most tablemates wouldn’t chat.

Once participants picked up their brushes, they would focus without distraction.

The sound of ink grinding filled the air, resembling silkworms munching on mulberry leaves.

Amid these orderly, methodical sounds, his tablemate’s voice seemed even more abrupt:

“Daoist friend, why haven’t you started yet?”

Song Qian Ji sat leisurely, admiring the stream’s scenery, watching clouds, and feeling the breeze: “I haven’t decided what to paint yet.”

The person was speechless: “You dared to register like this?”

“Registration doesn’t cost money,” Song Qian Ji said.

This reason was irrefutable. But everyone who came to participate in the calligraphy and painting trial had practiced thousands of times in private, able to write or paint with their eyes closed.

Only the two of them remained sitting idle, even chatting.

Song Qian Ji took out the pebbles from his storage pouch and began to play with them.

His tablemate grew impatient first and spoke again: “You don’t know how to paint, do you?”

“I know a little,” Song Qian Ji said.

A little skill, and he dared to come to the Dengwen Elegant Assembly’s calligraphy and painting trial?!

The person’s face showed disappointment as he sighed dejectedly.

He opened his inkstone and added water to grind the ink: “Fine, I won’t wait for you.”

“Why were you waiting for me?” Song Qian Ji’s curiosity was piqued.

The person replied earnestly: “To be honest, I paint landscapes and wanted to reference your composition.”

Song Qian Ji was speechless.

Why not just say you wanted to copy my work?

So that’s why he started a conversation with me—he was waiting for this.

Brush strength and artistic intent come from years of diligent practice.

But composition requires ingenuity and aesthetic sense.

Especially in landscape paintings, as the saying goes, “Viewed horizontally, it forms a ridge; viewed from the side, it forms a peak; different heights and distances yield different views.” The same mountain, viewed from different angles by different people, results in vastly different mountain forms and artistic conceptions.

Current landscape painting emphasizes spirit over form, with the Calligraphy Sage’s “distant mountains, close waters method” being the most popular. To cater to preferences, most participants used this method.

And eight out of ten painters chose to paint landscapes.

Song Qian Ji smiled helplessly, wondering if the numbers and seats were arranged by skill level.

With two poor students sharing a table, they shouldn’t rely on each other.

The person caught his gaze and, thinking he was being scorned, blushed slightly and defended himself: “I just don’t know composition! My brush technique is decent…”

“It’s fine, I don’t even know how to paint landscapes,” Song Qian Ji said.

The person’s expression softened as he comforted: “Then paint something you like most, something you want to paint now. Time is limited, don’t delay.”

Song Qian Ji thought for a moment: “Alright.”

He then picked up his brush.

His tablemate craned his neck to look. Seeing that the brushes and ink Song Qian Ji used were the cheapest street goods, his face showed sympathy:

“Use mine. I brought an extra set.”

Song Qian Ji said it wasn’t necessary.

With just a few strokes, the outline of a small flower appeared on the paper.

The flower had five petals, a slightly raised center, and adorable pointed tips at the ends of its petals.

The person was astonished and confused, thinking: how can I copy this?

Yet the flower seemed extraordinarily lively. Although it was just an outline, it seemed about to bloom from the paper. He couldn’t help but ask curiously:

“What spiritual plant is Daoist friend painting? It’s quite adorable!”

“It’s not a spiritual plant, just a potato flower.”

“Potato flower?” The person exclaimed in surprise: “Heavenly Dao be my witness, so potatoes grow underground and still bloom flowers! I thought they grew on trees. You’re not deceiving me, are you?”

Song Qian Ji: “…I’m not.”

Let’s not trouble the Heavenly Dao with such matters, alright?

Some cultivators had parents from immortal sects or noble clans, consuming spiritual rice and fruits from childhood, practicing abstinence from food early after cultivation, with limited contact with ordinary people, to the extent they couldn’t distinguish between the five grains.

Song Qian Ji could understand this.

He said: “Actually, cucumbers bloom too.”

The person’s expression changed, showing sincere admiration: “Daoist friend is truly learned and knowledgeable, with vast experience! May I ask your esteemed name?”

“…You flatter me. My name is Song Qian Ji.”

The person’s smile froze momentarily, then he suddenly exclaimed: “So you’re Song Qian Ji!”

Participants all around looked up, turning toward them:

“He’s Song Qian Ji? The leader of Hua Wei Sect’s outer sect?”

“Those two are sitting at the same table? Song Qian Ji is a tough character. That foolish, wealthy chatterbox might be in trouble.”

Song Qian Ji coughed lightly: “Keep it down. You know me?”

“You’re famous!” The person grew excited, “But you rarely come out, so people only hear your name without seeing you. Everyone’s been wondering what kind of person you are… Meeting you today, Daoist Song paints such fine potato flowers, truly as unrestrained and carefree as rumored.”

Song Qian Ji listened in confusion.

In his previous life, people cursed him for being unscrupulous, calculating, cold-blooded, and ruthless.

Unrestrained and carefree? He wasn’t sure if this was praise or criticism.

“I heard Meng He Ze was trained by you?”

“Not by me,” Song Qian Ji said helplessly.

The other didn’t believe him, slapping the table in the complaint: “Last night I should have been painting for practice, then bathing, burning incense to calm my mind and spirit, cultivating the entire night to prepare for today’s calligraphy and painting trial. But I couldn’t resist going to watch Meng He Ze’s match! He released sky lanterns. Is that appropriate? Don’t you control him?”

“How could anyone focus on today’s exam when he’s doing such things at night? But I must say, those sky lanterns were truly beautiful… His new fighting style in the arena, was it all taught by you?”

Once he started talking, his words came rapidly like a string of firecrackers, flowing endlessly.

This speech rhythm seemed extremely familiar to Song Qian Ji, who finally caught a gap to deny:

“Absolutely not! I never taught him!”

I didn’t, I’m wrong.

The person still didn’t believe: “Brother Song, my younger sister also enjoys watching his matches. Could Meng He Ze throw the last flower to her before he leaves the arena tomorrow?”

“This… doesn’t seem appropriate.”

Song Qian Ji had never heard such a strange request.

Sky lanterns, throwing flowers—what other performances had little Meng created behind his back?

Not easy at all.

Controlling the battle rhythm while directing the scene, making it beautiful to watch, yet still winning.

If not for the red jade prayer beads protecting Meng He Ze, he would likely have been overwhelmed long ago, unable to sustain such efforts.

His tablemate nodded understandingly: “You’re right. With the crowd packed below the stage, a dense mass of people, how could he throw accurately? I was being presumptuous… Ah, after chatting so much, I haven’t introduced myself. How rude of me. My surname is Ji, single given name Chen.”

A flash of recognition lit up in Song Qian Ji’s mind: “Ji Chen from Fengxian Prefecture?!”

The vaguely familiar face in his memory finally matched the handsome countenance before him.

Ji Chen smiled awkwardly: “I didn’t expect a Daoist friend to have heard of me.” He tried hard to explain, “Actually, I’m not that useless. I just don’t know composition…”

Song Qian Ji asked in surprise: “Why are you in the calligraphy and painting trial?”

Ji Chen was even more surprised: “What do you mean? I’ve studied calligraphy and painting since childhood.”

Song Qian Ji was stunned.

You, a great formation master, studied calligraphy and painting since childhood.

“Have you started learning array formations?” Song Qian Ji asked.

Ji Chen’s face turned bitter: “I can’t even draw a single talisman. How would I have time to learn formations? Brother Song, stop teasing me!”

Song Qian Ji didn’t know how to react.

Having Ji Chen study calligraphy and painting was like asking Miao Yan to wield a large cleaver or Meng He Ze to practice embroidery.

While he hesitated, a commotion arose ahead, with many people setting down their brushes to stand and look.

Song Qian Ji raised his head to see two late arrivals who, instead of taking their seats, flew directly toward the cliff opposite.

“What are those two doing?”

Ji Chen explained with enthusiasm:

“You and I are here just to go through the motions, to make up numbers. Others are here to compete for the top hundred in the Dengwen Elegant Assembly, or at most, strive for the top ten. So we follow the rules, dutifully apply brush to paper, showing whatever skill we’ve practiced…

“But those two are different. They want to become direct disciples of the Calligraphy Sage, so they must excel in an extraordinary way to attract the sage’s attention. Let’s see what special tricks they have.”