You know painting and calligraphy?

Immortal Martial Arts Era, March 18th.

At the hour of You.

Ye Ping had been at the Qingyun Dao Sect for exactly fifteen days now.

Ye Ping had fully comprehended all one thousand four hundred and sixty sword moves of the Four Thunder Sword Technique.

In other words, he had stepped completely into the realm of Peak Attainment with this sword technique.

Now, he needed to comprehend Sword Momentum.

What is called Sword Momentum is a kind of momentum within the sword path.

A sword technique with one thousand four hundred and sixty moves—if you truly executed them all, it would be like doing calisthenics, each move stiff and mechanical.

But by condensing Sword Momentum, that was no longer necessary. As long as you thrust out one sword, it was equivalent to having all the moves of the entire technique imbued into that single strike.

Thus, Sword Momentum was very important—one move equaled one entire technique.

As for Sword Intent, that was an even higher existence.

A strong practitioner with Sword Intent didn't even need to draw their sword. Standing there, they could suppress their enemy.

So Sword Intent was the most profound realm.

Ye Ping had spent fifteen days fully comprehending the entire sword technique. As for the next step, Sword Momentum, he believed it wouldn't take long to comprehend it either.

However, Ye Ping was not arrogant, because he knew that his achievement was entirely due to Senior Disciple Brother.

If not for Senior Disciple Brother's Sword Mark, he would have found it difficult to comprehend anything.

When drinking water, one must not forget the one who dug the well. Ye Ping would keep this kindness in his heart.

Thinking back to half a year ago, he had participated in over fifty Ascension Conventions, yet not a single sect was willing to take him in. This had made Ye Ping deeply distressed. Now that the Qingyun Dao Sect did not despise him, he naturally held this kindness in his heart.

With this thought, Ye Ping couldn't help but look toward Su Changyu on the cliff not far away, his heart filled with even more admiration.

"Senior Disciple Brother."

Ye Ping called out.

On the cliff, Su Changyu had been sitting for several days in a row.

He didn't know what was wrong with him lately. During the day, he was fine, but as evening approached, he would inexplicably feel melancholy.

Perhaps it was because of the blow he had suffered, or perhaps it was because of Ye Ping's heaven-defying talent, which made him doubt himself. He wondered if he was simply unsuited for cultivating the sword path.

Just then, Su Changyu heard Ye Ping's voice and couldn't help turning his head back.

"What is it?"

Su Changyu's expression was calm.

"Senior Disciple Brother, your junior brother has fully comprehended all one thousand four hundred and sixty sword moves. I'm letting you know."

From below the cliff, Ye Ping spoke calmly.

Hearing this only made the already melancholy Su Changyu feel even worse.

He was so jealous.

But he could only silently endure the jealousy. The worst part was that Ye Ping was clearly very strong, yet he acted as if he were still weak.

While he himself was clearly as weak as a chicken, yet had to put on a show of being strong.

No matter how thick his skin was, it was hard to bear.

"Then take a good rest. Don't push yourself too hard. We cultivators must know how to balance work and rest. Haste makes waste—you understand that, right?"

After a moment, Su Changyu spoke, telling Ye Ping to rest for a while, and also sighed with deep emotion.

Geniuses weren't terrifying. What was terrifying was that geniuses also worked hard. That was what truly made people despair.

"Thank you for the guidance, Senior Disciple Brother."

Below the cliff.

Ye Ping nodded.

For these past fifteen days, he had indeed been diligent and hardworking, forgetting to eat and sleep, without a single moment of rest.

Although one should be diligent, being too diligent wasn't good either. At the right time, one truly needed to rest.

Alright, he would give himself half an hour off.

Ye Ping nodded, then sat down on the ground, letting his thoughts drift.

He looked at the Qingyun Dao Sect.

The sunset clouds rolled along the horizon, the Qingyun Mountain Range bathed in a faint red glow. Everything was silent and filled with poetic charm.

At this moment, Ye Ping stretched his waist, swept his gaze over the beautiful scenery of the Qingyun Dao Sect, and then couldn't help speaking slowly.

"The evening clouds shroud Qingyun Peak in light, Hengyue's heights and depths bloom crimson bright. I wish to learn Qingzhou's art of the divine, To eat a morning cloud and ride the wind's flight."

He couldn't help but recite a poem.

This was a poem by the Southern Song poet Lin Yongzhong.

However, Ye Ping made a slight change, replacing Zhurong Peak with Qingyun Peak, and changing "I wish to learn the cultivation arts of Lingyang" to "I wish to learn the cultivation arts of Qingzhou."

Small alterations, but the essence remained unchanged—this was likely the highest realm of a Literary Plagiarist.

Ye Ping felt a touch of pride in his heart.

Though he was a waste in the Immortal Realm, in the Jin Kingdom, he could be considered somewhat famous, right?

But Ye Ping was indeed being modest; in the Jin Kingdom, his reputation was far from merely "somewhat famous."

Saying "A Word Worth a Thousand Gold" was an insult to his status.

The nobles of the Jin Kingdom cherished Qin, Chess, Poetry, and Painting above all, and Ye Ping happened to be the object of their adoration. So, if not for this being a world of immortal cultivation, Ye Ping could have thrived effortlessly in the Jin Kingdom.

Yet Ye Ping felt no regret.

In his eyes, all pursuits were base; only immortal cultivation was noble.

And at this very moment.

Su Changyu, standing on the Back Cliff, stirred slightly.

He shifted his posture, turning his gaze toward Ye Ping.

One reason was that his legs had gone numb.

The other was that the poem Ye Ping had just recited caught his attention.

Su Changyu was utterly uncultured.

But even he could tell that Ye Ping's poem was quite good.

Thinking of Ye Ping's background, Su Changyu couldn't help but ask curiously.

"Little Junior Brother, I heard from the Sect Master that you were a scholar before coming up the mountain?"

Su Changyu inquired.

"Replying to Senior Brother, I'm half a scholar," Ye Ping answered quickly, not daring to be presumptuous.

"Half a scholar?"

Su Changyu was puzzled. What did "half a scholar" mean?

"I haven't passed the imperial examinations yet, so I can only be considered half a scholar," Ye Ping explained immediately, not keeping him in suspense.

"Oh." Su Changyu nodded. He didn't quite understand.

But finally, Su Changyu continued asking.

"Little Junior Brother, do you know the Art of Painting and Calligraphy?"

Su Changyu asked.

"I know a little," Ye Ping replied very modestly.

"Then make a painting for your Senior Brother," Su Changyu said. It wasn't a sudden whim; rather, he thought that if Ye Ping was skilled in painting, then later, when Ye Ping truly rose to prominence, he'd have something to brag about.

See that? The number one sword cultivator of the Jin Kingdom once painted a picture for me.

Su Changyu had no hobbies; his only pastime was showing off.

"Alright, Senior Brother, wait a moment. I'll fetch the brush and ink," Ye Ping nodded.

He was skilled in sketching and painting. It wasn't out of interest, but because in his past life, he joined a painting club to pursue a goddess, trained hard for three years, and finally mastered the art—only for the goddess to run off with a rich second-generation heir.

Thus, Ye Ping learned a lesson: learning to paint couldn't save a single dog.

Before long, Ye Ping brought back a brush, rice paper, and an inkstone.

He had brought these things up the mountain with him, but had never found a use for them. Now was the perfect time.

Taking up the ink and brush, Ye Ping focused intently. Gazing at the hues of the sunset and then at his Senior Disciple Brother, he began to paint.

Su Changyu didn't overthink it. He stood up, quietly watching the sunset, striking a carefree pose.

An hour later.

The painting was done.