Old Man of the Imperial Ancestral Temple Flaunts a Painting in a Pavilion, Madam Hua Is Startled by the Youth on Her Couch

The bright moon cast cold shadows, low eaves gave way to winding corridors.

The evening breeze blew apart the dusk clouds, and moonlight poured down through the window, draping itself over Luo Qingchen, who stood before it.

The burly coachman cupped his fists respectfully in reply.

"The youth was as usual. He only moved out of the inn today and changed to a residence in Imperial Ancestral Temple Alley. Every day, he still went to Lin Manor to work on paintings."

Thinking of something, the coachman added, "Oh, right. The youth also drew three wanted portraits for the Black Office, helping them capture criminals."

Leaning against the windowsill, Luo Qingchen could not help but shake his head upon hearing the coachman's words.

"This youth truly hasn't been affected in the slightest. He's living so comfortably... My Dao Heart has been clouded because of him. What gives him the right to live so comfortably?"

"It really sits ill with me."

It sat ill with him; it was as though a ball of fire burned within his heart.

His clouded Dao Heart made him need to vent the emotions in his chest.

With his hands behind his back, Luo Qingchen walked to the window. Looking at the night sky veiled by dusk clouds, he slowly said, "Old Luo, did you say just now that he painted for the Black Office to assist in the capture of criminals?"

The coachman cupped his fists respectfully. "Yes. The paintings are lifelike. It is difficult for those criminals to hide, and they cannot escape calamity."

"With Hua Jiebing protecting him, if I truly strike at the youth again, Hua Jiebing will definitely dare to kill me."

"It seems Hua Jiebing intends to become this youth's Dao Protector..."

"For the dignified Jade Guanyin to lower herself and protect the Dao of a youth who only completed his cultivation initiation at eighteen, opened his Qi and Blood, and had barely entered stillness..."

"She must truly appreciate this youth."

Luo Qingchen raised his hand, as if he wished to pinch the moonlight scattered over the windowsill between his fingers, yet there was little emotion in his eyes.

"The Black Office hunts cultivators of the martial world, every one of them vicious and wicked. This youth paints for the Black Office, and criminals kill him for it. That would be reasonable enough, wouldn't it?"

Inside the room, the coachman was stunned for a moment.

"Go. Make the arrangements properly. Since Hua Jiebing appreciates this youth so much, perhaps the key to washing the dust from my Dao Heart lies with him."

Luo Qingchen waved his hand.

The coachman cupped his fists and lowered his head. "Yes."

Just as An Le immersed himself in consolidating his newly broken-through Embryonic Breathing realm, the old man took the painting and left the small courtyard, brimming with excitement and delight.

He did not return to the Imperial Ancestral Temple. Its octagonal, double-eaved, pointed-roofed pavilion was brightly lit, flames flickering freely within while incense smoke drifted lazily. Yet he passed directly by its gates and stepped onto Qingbo Street.

"Although Little Friend An's painting contains little spiritual power, its preciousness lies in the fact that using ink wash to paint bamboo is enough to form a school of its own. And the inscription's calligraphy has a flavor of its own as well—strange and uncanny, yet upright amid the strangeness. It is not random scribbling."

"A painting of bamboo like this must be judged by that old fellow from the Literature Academy."

Standing on Qingbo Street, the old man could not help but smile. Then he headed toward the Literature Academy, moving faster and faster, the blue stone beneath his feet seeming to compress and stretch.

Before long, he arrived at the Literature Academy.

The Literature Academy was also called the Academy. It had been founded eight thousand years ago. After that emperor who united the four seas and standardized cultivation established the Literature Academy and Martial Temple, he passed away before his ambitions were fulfilled.

Later dynasties continued the tradition of the Literature Academy and Martial Academy. Countless descendants of great clans and countless geniuses from aristocratic families would choose to cultivate in either the Literature Academy or Martial Temple according to their respective strengths.

Nowadays, most high officials and nobles of the court came from the Literature Academy and Martial Temple.

The old man passed through the Literature Academy's white jade archway and headed familiarly toward a secluded pavilion. When he reached it, however, the page at the entrance informed him that no one was there.

"Senior, Teacher left the Literature Academy to visit the Sixth Mountain Lord three days ago," the page said respectfully.

Hearing this, the old man stroked his long brows. "I should have gone directly to Sixth Mountain. This trip was for nothing."

After muttering that, clouds and mist sprang beneath his feet, and in the darkness of night, rosy vapors seemed to curl around him.

In the next instant, he shot straight into the sky, fleeing into the vast heights and leaving Lin'an Prefecture.

The dusk clouds had all withdrawn, spilling clear coldness; the silent Milky Way turned like a jade disk.

Sixth Mountain.

It ranked sixth beneath the Sacred Mountain, hence its name, Sixth Mountain.

There was a level clearing in the mountains, and an idle pavilion upon it. Beneath the shifting stars and changing constellations, the pavilion seemed to have endured since antiquity, untouched by time or the years.

The old man drifted down onto the mountain clearing, his plain robes snapping in the wind.

Within the pavilion, two figures were playing chess. One was an aged elder dressed in a scholar's robe, his head full of crane-white hair, the years having carved crisscrossing ravines into his body.

The old man held a white stone at that moment, his brows tightly furrowed.

The other wore white and looked like a young man. He was meticulous and stern-faced, with a massive Pine Wood Sword Box strapped to his back. Sitting upright on a hollow-carved stone chair in the pavilion, he looked somewhat strange.

"Hahaha! You old bastard, you really are here!"

The instant his feet touched the ground, the old man burst into laughter, intending to draw their attention.

Yet the two men in the pavilion did not even spare him a glance.

"You two, don't pretend you haven't seen me! I haven't come to fight you this time. I have something good to share!"

The old man was so irritated by their disregard that he nearly stamped his feet.

"Zhao Huangting, stop making noise. I'm about to defeat the Sixth Mountain Lord in this game. With you shouting like this, I'll lose again," the elderly scholar said without lifting his head, his tone full of disdain.

"Bah! You old bastard from Half Mountain, you rotten chess basket! Don't try to dump the blame on me!"

The old man immediately fired back. With his arrival, the mountain pavilion that should have been tranquil beneath the stars and moon became far noisier.

In the pavilion, the middle-aged man with the Pine Wood Sword Box on his back remained as calm as ever, as if nothing in the world could stir a ripple in his heart.

After thinking for a moment, Zhao Huangting stepped into the pavilion, took out the painting scroll, and slowly unfurled it.

"You all know that I, Zhao Huangting, am unmatched in painting bamboo. But today, I happened upon an ink painting of bamboo and stone. It paints bamboo with ink wash. Take a look."

The old man raised his chin as he spoke.

The painting scroll spread open.

As the breeze stirred, it seemed as though the rustling of a sea of bamboo drifted over, accompanied by a sonorous sword intent and the unyielding spirit of a gentleman.

The aged scholar in the scholar's robe froze mid-move, a white stone pinched between his fingers.

Sword Qi suddenly flowed from the sword box behind the white-robed middle-aged man. The sword box trembled lightly, as though a faint sword cry echoed within.

A flash of surprise passed through the eyes of both the old man and the white-robed middle-aged man.

They turned their heads toward the side, toward the unfurled painting illuminated by starlight and moonlight.

The next day.

The warm spring sun shone over the earth.

An Le slowly opened his eyes in the courtyard. The Old Scholar Tree was lush with branches and leaves, swaying softly in the spring breeze and scattering the fresh scent of morning light.

After consolidating his spiritual power for the entire night, his Second Spirit Refining Realm, Embryonic Breathing, had finally stabilized successfully.

The spiritual power that had originally boiled within him had also eased considerably, like a babbling stream.

He rose and practiced the Five Animal Forms in the courtyard—the tiger form, bear form, deer form, ape form, and bird form. As he performed them all, his Qi and Blood surged while force carried the wind.

However, he did not draw upon the demonic Qi within the Quenching Demon Jade to temper his body. He was about to go to Lin Manor to work on paintings, and if he tempered his body again, he would end up covered in blood, which would be rather troublesome.

After finishing the Five Animal Forms, An Le's body was like a furnace, heat billowing from him.

He exhaled a breath of turbid air. The spiritual power of the Embryonic Breathing realm made his entire bearing seem even more transcendent.

Holding a book of sage writings for the imperial examinations, An Le read as he left the small courtyard. After eating a bowl of tofu pudding for breakfast at the entrance to Imperial Ancestral Temple Alley, he continued reading as he made his way toward West Lake.

West Lake beneath the dawn was glittering with ripples. The waves raised by flower boats gleamed brilliantly. As An Le walked along the long embankment of West Lake and read his book, he found a unique sense of leisure and understanding.

Quite a few scholars and poets had already gathered by the embankment. Some recited poetry and essays, while others discussed flowers and women, gossiping about recent happenings in Lin'an Prefecture.

An Le's strengthened spiritual power even inadvertently caught discussions related to himself—namely, Lin Manor's recruitment of a painter.

He smiled and withdrew his spiritual power.

By the banks of misty blossoms and willows, he quietly read the sage writings.

A moment later, Fairy Yun Rou arrived by Sword Control, keeping her appointment. With the book in hand, An Le swept his gaze over her and extracted Time Qi several times. His strengthened spiritual power actually allowed him to draw three strands of Time Qi from Fairy Yun Rou today.

He had risen from twice a day to thrice a day!

The corners of An Le's lips lifted, and he was in an excellent mood.

Fairy Yun Rou landed on a flower boat. Sensing something, she saw that handsome and elegant young cultivator again.

He had not come yesterday, yet he had come again today. Though clearly a cultivator, he only watched from afar. It was rather unusual.

Fairy Yun Rou gave An Le a slight nod, then turned and entered the flower boat. A plaintive, ethereal zither melody drifted out, lingering over West Lake as though urging rain from the heavens.

Having finished his daily harvest from Fairy Yun Rou, An Le headed toward Lin Manor.

Today, he had drawn three strands of Time Qi from Fairy Yun Rou. Added to the eleven he already possessed, he now had fourteen strands. With such a substantial reserve, An Le considered how to distribute them while walking toward Lin Manor.

It was still that pretty little maid who opened the door. Upon seeing An Le, her lovely face reddened slightly.

An Le smiled gently. "Good morning, Miss Liu Xiang."

"Good... good morning, Young Master An," the maid returned the greeting.

Tianbo Water Pavilion.

Ripples spread over the Great Pond as flower carp swayed contentedly through the emerald water, stirring waves behind them.

Within the main hall, the morning breeze passing through the corridors carried bursts of spring coolness.

Madam Hua wore a light robe. Having slipped off her embroidered shoes, she revealed crystalline, fair feet as she reclined sideways upon the couch, reading Words on Rites by a Great Scholar of the Academy of Literature.

Suddenly, Madam Hua froze. Her delicate brows drew together slightly as her spiritual power spread out, and she sensed the green-robed youth who had just stepped into Lin Manor, his aura brimming as though he had been reborn anew.

Hmm?

Madam Hua's expression stiffened, and there was even a trace of disbelief in her beautiful eyes.

"He only entered stillness the day before yesterday, yet today he has established Embryonic Breathing?"

"Could this youth be a genius of Spirit Refining?!"