"That... Qing'er didn't mean that." Xing Wenqing immediately shook her head.
I did not dwell on the matter. The more room there was for imagination, the more beautiful certain things became. By contrast, the closer one came to the truth, the more it left one astonished, peeling away from imagination and becoming something new.
Naturally, appreciating and critiquing the paintings at the Academy of Painting and Calligraphy took some time. The Shengtus had grown up in the imperial palace from childhood, and their eyes were discerning when it came to painting and calligraphy. They also understood the art to some extent. Like one who had finally met a kindred spirit, Xing Wenqing explained the emotions and insights behind every stroke.
I, meanwhile, gained even more inspiration from those paintings. After all, sometimes they were like a resounding, soul-stirring song, while at other times they were like a trickling stream, matching the application and expression of the spells I had studied all my life. These seemingly inadvertent paintings had already transcended Xing Wenqing's own state of mind.
Because of these paintings, some parts were as though formed by Heaven itself—even Xing Wenqing did not know how they had come to be.
So whenever they took turns discussing the paintings, I would occasionally point out these crucial details. They were often the core hidden within the paintings, and each time they made Xing Wenqing sink into contemplation. Yet she could never explain why she had made those strokes that way at the time.
"Every question the City Lord raises leaves Qing'er at a loss for an answer. At the time, it was as though some ghostly force had guided me to add those embellishments... Yet I simply felt that I had to paint them that way. But what is even more wondrous