"Young Master, Grandpa Cong is calling for you."
Zhu Wuneng's voice rang out beyond the quiet study. Though he had yet to arrive, that distinctive voice of his had already drifted in first.
Inside the study, Chen Xiaojun was immersed in the world of his painting, the brush in his hand flitting lightly across the rice paper, free and effortless as a wandering dragon.
Without raising his head, he only asked mildly, "Do you know what my second grand-uncle wants me for?"
Zhu Wuneng shook his head and answered honestly, "No idea. My uncle sent someone with a message, so I came straight over."
Chen Xiaojun gently set down the brush in his hand. A little ink still clung to the tip as he rubbed his slightly sore wrist.
Zhu Wuneng took the chance to glance at the painting on the table. It was an unfinished "Qingming Shanghe Tu."
In the painting, the river wound and twisted, while the bridges, boats, and figures were all so vivid they seemed as if they might step out of the painting at any moment.
Zhu Wuneng could not help sighing with feeling. "Young Master, you still haven't finished this 'Qingming Shanghe Tu'? You've been painting it for months."
Chen Xiaojun smiled faintly. "Soon, I suppose. I expect I'll finish it in the next few days."
When it came to painting, Chen Xiaojun had not actually displayed extraordinary talent from the very beginning.
In his previous life, his painting skills could only be called ordinary. He had merely studied for a few years in an interest class when he was a child.
But this life was different. Ever since he began practicing the sword, he had discovered, to his surprise, that he had made unexpected breakthroughs in painting.
The Chen Clan had always placed