Snow blanketed the sky, covering the entire world in white.
The woods were covered in snow, the mountain rocks were covered in snow, and even the villages were covered in snow.
The wind was fierce and the snow heavy, the white stretching beyond the paper's edge and inviting the imagination to search for an end that could not be seen.
That forceful first stroke had been refined into the trunk of an old plum branch. A few touches of cinnabar on the branch became clusters of red plum blossoms, blooming with dazzling, fiery brilliance.
Amid the vast heavens and earth, only this wild plum tree bloomed against the wind, unafraid of the bitter cold, revealing its scarlet blossoms.
The black woods and mountain rocks, along with the broad expanses of blank space, were all snow. Only those few plum blossoms served as the finishing touch, a splash of color in this desolate world.
That first stroke was the plum tree, its root and bone. It was also the spirit of the painting's composition.
Li Mu Yang finished his final stroke, set his brush down on the inkstone, and thanked the maid who had been grinding ink for him at his side.
"Does this coachman truly understand the way of painting?"
"This painting is excellent and pleasing to the eye. Can it enter the ranks?"
"Impressive. What technique is this? It looks somewhat like the Flying White Technique created by the painting master Xu Feihong ten thousand years ago."
Chen Wenting and the other young women walked over to the table and carefully examined Li Mu Yang's Picture of Plum Blossoms Proudly Facing the Snow. Their eyes flickered with brilliance, and their expressions toward this coachman, Li Mu Yang, softened considerably.
At any time, talented people were always more respected. Although