He was just putting brush to paper, painting the dragon's head.
Rumble—!
Outside the hall, lightning suddenly flashed and thunder roared through the black night. Wind rose over the great river, white waves surged thirty feet high, and dark clouds blotted out the full moon as raindrops pattered onto the ground. Zhang Yao, who was painting, felt an inexplicable terror well up within him.
Old Monk Huixian jolted awake, as though he had seen the dragon on the wall come alive.
"Benefactor Zhang... stop at once!"
The Snake Demon Boy moved in an instant. With a light leap, he landed atop the wooden scaffold and seized Zhang Yao's hand.
"Ah? Master? Why are you doing this?"
Startled, Zhang Yao nearly knocked over the oil lamp.
The old monk hurried to his feet and walked to the wall, frowning as he stared. It felt as if waves of cloud and mist were rushing toward his face. The divine dragon, nearly complete, seemed ready to fly off the wall at any moment. Fortunately, its eyes had not yet been painted.
As the saying went, one could see the soul through the eyes. So long as the eyes had not been added, there would be no trouble.
He waved Zhang Yao down.
But when he saw the ink and brush, his brow furrowed even tighter.
Such dense dragon aura!
"Benefactor Zhang, were this brush and ink gifts from that Dragon Girl?"
"Indeed."
"These things should not exist in the mortal realm. You may paint a dragon, but remember this well: never paint in its eyes."
"Never paint the eyes?"
Zhang Yao was puzzled. Why could a dragon not be given eyes?
Huixian pointed toward the rain-lashed night beyond the hall. Thunderclouds had gathered around Jinshan Mountain without dispersing, thunder deafening as a dragon's