Immortal Martial Arts Era, March 18th.
The Hour of the Rooster.
Ye Ping had arrived at the Qingyun Dao Sect exactly fifteen days ago.
Ye Ping had thoroughly comprehended all 1,460 Sword Moves of the Four Thunder Sword Technique.
In other words, Ye Ping had completely entered the realm of Peak Attainment with this sword technique.
Now, he needed to comprehend Sword Momentum.
Sword Momentum was, in essence, a force within the sword path.
A sword technique had 1,460 moves. If one truly performed every last one, it would be like doing radio calisthenics—each move stiff and wooden.
But once Sword Momentum was condensed, there was no need for that. As long as one thrust out a single sword strike, it would be equivalent to having every move of the entire sword technique imbued within that one strike.
That was why Sword Momentum was so important. One move was equal to an entire sword technique.
As for Sword Intent, it was an even more advanced existence.
A powerful expert who possessed Sword Intent did not need to draw his sword at all. Simply standing there, he could suppress his enemy.
Thus, Sword Intent was the most profound realm.
Ye Ping had spent fifteen days comprehending the entire sword technique. As for the Sword Momentum that came next, he believed he would comprehend it before long.
However, Ye Ping was not arrogant, because he knew that his achievement was entirely due to his Eldest Senior Brother.
Without that Sword Mark left behind by his Eldest Senior Brother, he would have found it difficult to comprehend it.
When drinking water, one must not forget the one who dug the well. Ye Ping would keep this kindness in his heart.
Thinking of how, half a year ago, he had attended more than fifty Ascension Conventions and not a single sect had wanted him, Ye Ping felt deeply miserable. Now that the Qingyun Dao Sect did not disdain him, he would naturally remember this kindness forever.
With that thought, Ye Ping could not help looking toward Su Changyu atop the distant cliff, his heart filling with even greater admiration.
"Eldest Senior Brother."
Ye Ping called out.
On the cliff, Su Changyu had been sitting there for several days straight.
He did not know what had been wrong with him lately. He felt quite fine during the day, yet whenever evening drew near, an inexplicable melancholy would seize him.
Perhaps it was because he had suffered a blow, or perhaps Ye Ping's heaven-defying talent had made him doubt himself. He wondered whether he was truly unsuited to cultivating the sword path.
Yet at that moment, Su Changyu heard Ye Ping's voice and could not help turning around.
"What is it?"
Su Changyu's expression remained calm.
"Eldest Senior Brother, this junior brother has comprehended all 1,460 Sword Moves. I merely wished to let you know."
Ye Ping spoke calmly from beneath the cliff.
Those words made the already gloomy Su Changyu feel even worse.
He was so jealous.
But he could only stew in his jealousy in silence. Most importantly, Ye Ping was obviously incredibly strong, yet he carried himself as though he were utterly useless.
Meanwhile, Su Changyu was clearly as weak as a fledgling chick, yet he still had to act as though he were overwhelmingly powerful.
No matter how thick his skin was, he could barely keep it up.
"Then rest properly for a while. Don't work too hard, either. Cultivators like us must understand the balance between work and rest. As the saying goes, haste makes waste. You understand that, don't you?"
After a while, Su Changyu spoke, telling Ye Ping to take a rest, while inwardly sighing with emotion.
Geniuses were not frightening. What was frightening was geniuses who still worked hard. That was the truly despairing part.
"Thank you for your guidance, Senior Brother."
Beneath the cliff.
Ye Ping nodded.
Over these fifteen days, he had indeed worked diligently, forgetting food and sleep, without taking even a moment to rest.
One ought to be diligent, but being too diligent was not good either. At the proper time, one truly needed to rest.
Alright, he would give himself half an hour off.
Ye Ping nodded, then sat down on the ground and emptied his mind.
He looked toward the Qingyun Dao Sect.
The evening clouds rolled across the horizon, while the Qingyun Mountain Range was bathed in pale crimson. Everything was tranquil, yet brimming with poetic charm.
At that moment, Ye Ping stretched his waist, swept his gaze across the beautiful scenery of the Qingyun Dao Sect, then slowly spoke.
"Evening clouds veil Qingyun Peak, Hengyue rises and falls in brilliant red.
"I wish to learn Qingzhou's cultivation arts, dining on dawn clouds borne by heaven's wind."
Ye Ping spoke.
He could not help reciting a poem.
It had been written by the Southern Song poet Lin Yongzhong.
However, Ye Ping had altered it slightly, changing Zhurong Peak to Qingyun Peak and changing "I wish to learn Lingyang's cultivation arts" to "I wish to learn Qingzhou's cultivation arts."
The changes were small, yet the artistic conception remained unchanged. This was probably the highest realm of a Literary Plagiarist.
Ye Ping felt a faint sense of pride.
Though he was a good-for-nothing in the cultivation world, in the Jin Kingdom, he could be considered somewhat renowned, could he not?
However, Ye Ping was indeed being modest. Within the Jin Kingdom, he was far more than merely somewhat renowned.
Even calling his words A Word Worth a Thousand Gold would be an insult to his status.
The nobles of the Jin Kingdom loved Qin, Chess, Poetry, and Painting most of all, and Ye Ping happened to be the object of their admiration. Thus, if this were not a world of cultivation, Ye Ping could have thrived in the Jin Kingdom like a fish in water.
But Ye Ping did not regret it in the slightest.
In his eyes, all pursuits were lowly; only cultivation was noble.
And at that very moment.
Su Changyu, standing atop the Back Cliff, shifted slightly.
He changed his posture and turned his gaze toward Ye Ping.
First, because his legs had gone numb.
Second, because the poem Ye Ping had just composed had caught his attention.
Su Changyu had no cultural refinement.
Still, he could tell that Ye Ping's poem was quite good.
Thinking of Ye Ping's background, Su Changyu could not help asking curiously.
"Junior Brother, I heard Sect Leader Master say that before you came up the mountain, you were a scholar?"
Su Changyu asked.
"In reply to Senior Brother, I suppose I was half a scholar."
Ye Ping hurriedly answered, not daring to exaggerate.
"Half a scholar?"
Su Changyu was curious. What did half a scholar mean?
"I had not yet passed the imperial examination and earned an official degree, so I could only be considered half a scholar."
Ye Ping immediately answered, without beating around the bush.
"Oh." Su Changyu nodded. He did not quite understand.
But after a moment, Su Changyu continued asking.
"Then, Junior Brother, do you know the Art of Painting and Calligraphy?"
Su Changyu asked.
"I know a little."
Ye Ping answered very modestly.
"Then paint a picture for your Senior Brother."
Su Changyu spoke. It was not a sudden whim—he simply felt that if Ye Ping knew the Art of Painting and Calligraphy, then when Ye Ping truly soared to great heights in the future, Su Changyu would have something to brag about.
See that? The Jin Kingdom's foremost Sword Cultivator once painted a portrait of me.
Su Changyu had no hobbies. His sole hobby was showing off.
"Alright. Please wait a moment, Senior Brother. I'll fetch the brushes and ink."
Ye Ping nodded.
He was skilled in painting and sketching. It was not because he had been interested in them, but because in his previous life, he had joined an art club to pursue a goddess, then practiced bitterly for three years until he finally learned to paint. Yet the goddess had run off with a rich second-generation heir.
Thus, Ye Ping came to understand one truth.
Learning to paint could not save a single dog.
Before long, Ye Ping brought over painting brushes, xuan paper, and an inkstone.
He had brought these things with him before coming up the mountain, but he had never had a place to use them. Now, they were just right.
After fetching the writing materials, Ye Ping became very serious. He gazed at the colors of the evening clouds, then at his Eldest Senior Brother, before beginning to paint.
Su Changyu did not think much of it. He stood up and quietly watched the evening clouds, striking a dashing pose.
One hour later.
The painting was finished.
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