The disciple sat before his desk, brush raised and wrist suspended. The ink in the inkstone was black and gleaming, reflecting half his face.
His name was Cangjie.
An Outer Disciple of the Farm Teachings, he had been in the sect for thirty thousand years without ever standing out.
He was no good at Spirit Planting, blew up furnaces in Alchemy, produced scrap metal in Artifact Refining, and got knocked down with one punch in Martial Dao.
Whenever his Fellow Disciples mentioned him, they had only one assessment: "He's a nice guy."
At that moment, a sheet of rice paper lay spread before him, off-white and finely textured.
He stared at the paper, ink reflected in his pupils, then lowered his brush.
It was not a character, but a pattern.
The sun rose from the horizon, its rays blazing as all things awakened.
The instant the pattern took shape, the paper flashed, as though something within it had awakened.
The disciples watching nearby began whispering among themselves.
"What is that? A Dao Pattern?"
"Doesn't look like one. Dao Patterns aren't that... straightforward."
"It's just a painting."
"A painting? He's painting at the competition?"
Cangjie ignored the chatter around him and continued writing.
Moon. A bright disk hung in the night sky, with several stars flickering beside it.
Mountain. Peaks rose and fell, their summits piercing the clouds.
Water. A river wound onward, waves surging across its surface.
Every time he finished a character, it shone.
The light grew stronger and stronger, changing from the glow of a Firefly into candlelight, then lantern light, then a tiny sun.
Even the Auspicious Clouds above Jinao Island were torn open.
The Calamity Clouds were black as ink, lightning churning within them as he continuously wrote more characters.
These characters had long settled in