A kind of understanding was a kind of realm. Once a frog had seen the world beyond the well, it was no longer a frog at the bottom of the well.
Meng Zhao had also entertained the thought of taking a walk through the new world and seeing it for himself.
Meng Zhao had never been a frog at the bottom of a well, yet the scenes of Kou Huaizhen's transcendence still brought him enormous shock and enlightenment.
They showed him just how powerful a person could become, and gave him something to strive toward with unflagging effort.
This was a goal—a distant goal, and one he was bound to achieve in the future.
Only after a long while did Meng Zhao calm his excited emotions and look again at the painting hanging on the wall. Yet unlike before, when it had seemed so lifelike that the Daoist might ride Mystic Crane out of the painting at any moment—
The figure in the painting had lost its former vitality. Its eyes were vacant, and it carried a faint air of vicissitude. It had truly become a dead object.
Meng Zhao knew that it was precisely because the god within the painting had poured itself into his mind, allowing him to glimpse those astonishing scenes, that the painting's spirituality had vanished and it had become ordinary.
It could be said that this painting no longer even possessed the value expected of a masterpiece by a renowned master. Even if it were taken out and sold, it would not fetch much money, let alone find anyone who liked it.
Within the Stone House, aside from the painting, the other conspicuous object was the prayer mat beneath his feet.
It looked as good as new. With a casual wave of Meng Zhao's hand,