The Madam Dances with Her Sword, A Sketch

An Le had been intimidated by Madam Hua's astonishing aura earlier and hadn't noticed that the wisp of Time Qi he'd absorbed was actually golden.

This came as a small surprise to An Le—golden Time Qi could condense into a Dao Fruit, bringing immense benefits!

The scene before him rippled like water, images unfolding into view.

Beyond the long pavilion, by the ancient road.

A fine, secluded rain slanted across the sky, curling mist shrouding the world in melancholy and sorrow.

Outside Lin'an City, on the ancient Official Road.

Raindrops like silk threads wove an endless tapestry. Two figures led a horse, strolling leisurely along the bluestone path, poetic and picturesque, with a charm all their own.

The woman wore a white dress, a sheathed longsword at her waist. The man beside her had brows sharp as blades and a presence deep as an abyss, clad in silver armor and a white cape. A golden-tipped spear rested on his back, and a broad-backed golden saber hung at his side, exuding dominance. He held the reins of a glossy black horse in silence as they walked.

A lover heading to war, a wife seeing him off—even the spring rain was tinged with the sorrow of parting.

An Le watched quietly, from a third-person perspective, as if observing a film.

That armored man must be the Lin family's Grand Duke who was enfeoffed, a cultivator of peerless skill, unmatched with both blade and spear, suppressing foreign tribes, guarding Great Zhao's border, and holding the Yuan Meng Army at bay beyond the Canglang River.

At this time, Madam Hua was still young, her lovely face carrying the fresh, dreamy beauty of a maiden in bloom.

They walked in silence for a long while, and though reluctant, they finally reached the end.

"Who knows when you'll return after this parting."

"Let your concubine dance with her sword to see you off."

Madam Hua said softly.

Then, she drew the longsword from her waist. The blade was like a cicada's wing—thin yet sharp—and as she swung it, she lightly sliced through raindrops, the misty spray blooming like flowers.

The man stopped the horse and smiled faintly. He took a jade flute from the saddlebag, brought it to his lips, and a lingering, unbroken melody drifted out.

The woman danced with her sword, the man played his flute—a scene of exquisite beauty.

He mounted the horse, looked back at the white-clad woman still dancing, gently pressed his legs against the horse's flanks, and the black steed began a slow trot, the flute's notes trailing endlessly behind.

Madam Hua continued her sword dance to the melody, her movements growing fiercer. Sword light slashed wildly, carving Sword Marks into the ground all around.

It seemed to carry the spirit of clashing arms—cleaving mountains, severing rivers!

Until the man and horse vanished into the fine rain.

Only then did Madam Hua stop her dance, leaning on her sword. Her eyes were filled with sorrow and worry, the melancholy of farewell. At the corners of her eyes glistened a Barely Audible trace of crystal—whether rain or tears, none could tell.

"May my lord slay enemies like a god at the border, and keep the rivers and mountains safe."

"This Concubine will await your return at home."

The scene, like a hazy scroll painting, dissolved into the flowing golden mist.

An Le slowly opened his eyes, a dazed look in them, but he didn't forget his main purpose in observing the Time Qi. The sorrow of Madam Hua seeing her husband off to war, the divine charm of her sword dance—it stirred An Le's heart.

He turned to look at Madam Hua, now seated in the Tianbo Water Pavilion. Beneath her stunning, dignified face lay an indelible sadness.

If An Le remembered correctly, the Lin family's eldest son never returned from that campaign.

Obtained Time Dao Fruit: Sword Dancer (0/10)

Note: Sword Dancer (Dao Fruit): Related to the sword, grants insight enhancement. When wielding a sword, Battle Intent doubles, and strength and speed are boosted.

Before him, a Light Screen flashed briefly.

A wisp of Flowing Gold Time Qi had condensed into a Time Dao Fruit.

But An Le, who should have been delighted, felt calm. He didn't study the newly acquired Dao Fruit.

He closed his eyes slightly. In his mind, images lingered like smoke that wouldn't disperse.

The white-clad woman, her face full of sorrow and worry, the melancholy of farewell.

Opening his eyes again, An Le grabbed a charcoal stick he'd sharpened with a knife, its tip cut into a fine point.

He pressed the base of his palm against the stick, holding it between thumb and forefinger like plucking a flower. Thick paper was spread over a wooden board, propped upright. The slender charcoal tip touched the white paper, and a "scratching" sound arose at once—quite different from brush painting, and much louder.

The noise stood out in the quiet Tianbo Water Pavilion. Many painters turned to look, sneered at the Young Painter's odd method, then immersed themselves back in their work.

Sketching was a fundamental drawing technique. Every art student's first exposure was to sketching, which tested the artist's control over Lines, light and shadow, form, and structure, creating realistic works through light, line, and surface.

Portraiture was a form of life sketching.

In his past life, An Le had successfully entered an art academy by crossing the narrow bridge of thousands of competitors, so his foundation was solid.

Coupled with observing Madam Hua's unique charm through Time Qi, At this moment, An Le was confident. That look in Madam Hua's eyes was deeply etched into his mind.

Scratch, scratch, scratch...

A rhythmic yet urgent sound filled the air, lingering without end.

An Le's eyes seemed to glow. Once he entered his creative state, he became extremely serious and focused.

From time to time, he lifted his head to steal a glance at Madam Hua.

The sharpened charcoal stick brushed lightly across the paper, leaving traces on the white sheet. Lines sketched out the contours of her features, then refined them bit by bit with meticulous care.

What An Le focused on most were Madam Hua's eyes. In a charcoal portrait, the eyes were crucial—they were the part that best captured the spirit and expression.

Time trickled away, and the Tianbo Water Pavilion remained quiet.

Girl Zhuifeng squeezed in beside Ninth Sister Lin Qingyin at the railing, occasionally craning her neck, trying to use her sharp eyesight to peek at the painters' works.

Madam Hua, however, was perfectly at ease. She sat in her chair, picked up a book by a great Confucian scholar, and read earnestly, letting the painters do their work. She seemed utterly unconcerned with how the portraits would turn out.

"Ninth Sister, let's go down and take a look?"

The fire poker hung at Girl Zhuifeng's waist. Her curiosity was burning, but more than that, she cared about whether An Le's painting could outshine those of the slightly famous painters in Lin'an Prefecture.

Lin Qingyin shot Girl Zhuifeng a helpless look. "Fine, fine, have it your way."

With that, the two rose to their feet.

"First Madam, we'd like to observe the painters up close," Lin Qingyin said, bowing to Madam Hua.

Madam Hua nodded indulgently.

Girl Zhuifeng grinned, grabbed Lin Qingyin's hand, and crossed the white jade bridge to the open square.

"Let's look at Master Liu Qingyan's painting first," Lin Qingyin said, pulling Lin Zhuifeng back as she tried to dart toward An Le.

Though displeased, Lin Zhuifeng said nothing.

"Actually, we could have invited the imperial painters from the Imperial Palace—those who've cultivated their spirit. Why didn't the Old Madam ask them?"

Lin Zhuifeng asked, puzzled.

The imperial painters of the Imperial Palace were true cultivators, and their calligraphy and painting skills were unmatched. With the Lin family's standing, they could certainly have invited them.

"Those people may be painters, but they all have their allegiances. The court's situation is tangled and complex. Behind every painter stands some noble patron. The Lin Manor has always remained neutral, never caught up in the turmoil. If we invited a painter, we'd owe a favor, and the Old Madam doesn't want that," Lin Qingyin said softly.

The two had already reached Master Liu Qingyan's desk.

On the desk, the ink was still wet. On the ripe xuan paper, a noblewoman seemed to leap off the page. The lines were fine, smooth, and steady—every strand of hair was rendered just right.

Lin Qingyin nodded slightly. Though the Lin Manor was a family of martial merit, she had studied poetry and classics alongside the manor's young masters under great court scholars since childhood. Nurtured by that, she naturally knew how to appreciate a painting.

"As expected of Master Liu Qingyan. Truly well painted," Lin Qingyin praised.

"Thank you for the compliment, Miss Lin. This old man merely did his utmost," Liu Qingyan said, brush in one hand, stroking his beard with the other, a hint of pride in his eyes.

Lin Zhuifeng wasn't impressed. The painting didn't really look much like Madam Hua, but since Ninth Sister had praised it, it must be good. Still, Liu Qingyan himself wasn't pleasant to look at.

Her mind was still on that handsome painter, An Le.

Unable to wait any longer, she pulled Lin Qingyin along, bypassing the other painters, and arrived at An Le's spot.

His unusual painting posture was quite eye-catching.

Curious herself, Lin Qingyin quietly followed Lin Zhuifeng to stand behind An Le.

Her gaze fell on the wooden board propped up before him.

The next moment, Lin Qingyin's eyes narrowed. Looking at the eyes in the painting, it felt as if Madam Hua were staring straight at her. That indescribable sorrow seemed to seep out from the paper, sending a chill down Lin Qingyin's spine. Beneath her silk robes, goosebumps rose on her fair arms.

Beside her, Lin Zhuifeng tightened her grip on the fire poker at her waist, her mouth hanging open.

"Hey, that handsome painter is incredible—he's practically pressed the First Madam onto the paper! That old man's painting has no flavor next to this!"

Liu Qingyan: "..."

Lin Qingyin: "..."

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