Old Acquaintance

Even after washing it countless times, Aisha still felt that her hair smelled fishy.

She had used soap, hair oil, alkaline solution, and even strange folk remedies. Her hair had been washed until it split at the ends, yet the smell of shrimp oil mixed with shrimp brains still lingered.

Had no one invented something specifically for washing hair?

To cover up the smell, she spent a whopping seventy-nine silver coins on a bottle of expensive perfume and sprayed it in her hair.

It was not that the money had been wasted. There was indeed a fragrance now, except it smelled fragrant and foul at the same time, making it utterly bizarre.

In her mentor's reception room, Aisha and Drogo were waiting for Flynn Uman to return from class.

Their plan was to lure Flynn into making illusion special effects for Holy Mountain Journey.

Although most of the story took place inside a carriage, there were also several grand scenes beyond Aisha's capabilities. They could only ask a legendary illusionist for help.

Yes, Aisha's mentor, a second-rank illusionist, was a legendary illusionist. It was not exactly a disgrace to the lineage; after all, Aisha had still inherited a tiny fraction of her true teachings.

The main reason was that illusionists were simply too scarce, and the teaching force was severely lacking. Of the several hundred living illusionists, more than half had been taught by Flynn.

Still, Aisha felt that this plan was not very realistic. Flynn was absurdly wealthy. When Aisha had studied under her, she could use all kinds of precious magical materials as she pleased. It was said that even the Sutton Royal Family could not compare to the collection in her home.

Drogo's usual strategy of paving the way with money definitely would not work here, and with her mentor's intelligence, she could not be fooled by some mystical act either.

How were they supposed to persuade her to make a magic film she had never even heard of?

Flynn liked paintings, so Drogo had prepared one for Aisha to give her.

Aisha had seen the painting. She could not understand it at all. It was just a pile of crooked lines, like a child's doodle.

How could something like that move Flynn?

If it did not move her, no one would make the illusions, the magic film would turn out poorly, Drogo would not make any money, and then who would give Aisha a promotion and a raise...?

Compared to the worried Aisha, Drogo seemed even more nervous.

First, he paced around the reception room. Then he banged his head against a pillar. Finally, he even chewed two leaves from the flowerpot in the corner.

"What are you doing? The attendant has been staring at you for ages," Aisha whispered.

"Do you think I should wear a mask?"

"Huh?" Oh no, he was already answering questions that had not been asked. This dragon was not going crazy, was he?

"She probably will not recognize me."

"Who?"

Just then, the reception room door was pushed open. A woman nearly six and a half feet tall entered with imposing strides. She had fair skin, shoulder-length golden hair, and a lovely face like an elf without pointed ears.

Flynn Uman had returned.

Aisha hurriedly stood and bowed.

"Oh, isn't this dear little Aisha?" Contrary to her somewhat aggressive appearance, Flynn was remarkably kind. She even remembered every one of her students, including unlucky children who had taken ten years to reach the second rank.

"And who is this?" Flynn looked at Drogo, who was trying to hide behind Aisha.

"Uh, my pet drake."

"Is that so?" Flynn seemed intrigued. She took several steps forward, walked up to Drogo, bent down, and stared at his dragon head.

"Teacher?"

"Shh—"

Flynn grabbed Drogo's forelegs and lifted him up with a tug.

Even in his shrunken form, Drogo weighed over two hundred and forty pounds, yet she lifted him like a child. Mages truly were a very strong group.

Flynn examined him carefully from top to bottom, then suddenly said, "Did Drogo secretly breed a drake with something behind my back?"

Was there some history here?

Aisha looked like she had just stumbled upon a massive piece of gossip.

"No!" Flynn noticed Drogo's lava-like eyes. "You are not... Drogo himself, are you?"

Drogo stayed silent and pretended to be mute.

Flynn continued teasing him. "Could it be that the Calamity of Wuwang, the ancient Red Dragon, Drogo, shrank himself to sneak into the city? Oh my, so there really are dragons who can live this long and still never learn transformation magic!"

"Roar! (I just do not have a tail, so I cannot keep my balance!)"

"Then transform for me."

"Roar! (Provocation will not work!)"

"Then you cannot do it. That is fine. You are cute when you are tiny too. I do not mind."

Aisha discovered in amazement that although Drogo was red from head to toe, his face could somehow turn even redder.

"Roar! (Mind your own business! You gold dragon who could not even eat her eggshell properly after hatching.)"

"Still better than you, though. You are my student's pet, so what should you call me?"

Aisha was stunned. What had she just heard? Flynn was a gold dragon!

"Roar! (Who is her pet?! You disgrace to dragonkind who got swindled out of thousands of gold coins by a fake painting peddler!)"

"And who was it that picked up a piece of glass and insisted it was jade, then argued that modern craftsmanship could not make good glass?"

"Roar! (Disgrace to dragonkind!)"

"Likewise."

Aisha watched helplessly as the two dragons argued like children, exposing each other's embarrassing pasts. Their logic was as rigorous as: you are a pig, rebound, rebound does not work...

Just as she was trying to figure out how to ease the tension between the two dragons—

Flynn suddenly hugged Drogo, and her tone turned gentle. "It has been a long time. I thought you had died at the hands of the gods."

"I am not that easy to kill."

Aisha's wide eyes were filled with confusion. No, clearly I was here first.

A few minutes later, calm returned to the reception room.

"So, you came to me because you want me to use illusions to make something called..."

"Magic film."

"Alright, magic film. Is it similar to recording magic?"

"It can record several times more content than a spell, and it can be projected anywhere."

Flynn tapped the armrest with her fingers. After considering it for a moment, she said, "It is an interesting idea, but for a gold dragon, everything has its price, does it not?"

That was the reasonable part about gold dragons. Once they accepted something, they would get the job done. If it had been Drogo before he changed careers, he would have kept the item, and the owner would have needed to pay to redeem it as well.

Drogo gestured for Aisha to take out the painting.

Aisha felt a little embarrassed. In her eyes, the painting was simply too embarrassing to present, but she handed it over nonetheless.

Flynn accepted the painting. At first glance, she thought it was some child's playful creation. The paper held nothing but branching black lines and lighter-colored curves.

Yet it had a strange allure. Those simple lines seemed to have water flowing through them, while the black branches divided the nonexistent water's surface into plants and reflections.

It was a subtle feeling. Because the composition was so simple, it seemed to express more than paintings filled with painstakingly polished details, completely unlike the common style of painting. Yet it was unexpectedly lively.

"What is this painting called?"

"New Willow, Withered Lotus."

"Withered lotus?"

Flynn stared blankly at the paper, lost in thought. She raised a hand and cast an illusion, turning the reception room floor into a lotus pond.

As her palm turned, time within the illusion sped by. Blooming lotuses passed through autumn and winter; the flowers faded and the leaves withered, until early spring brought budding willow branches that echoed one another.

It was exactly like the lines on the painting.

"Who painted this?"

"Wu Guanzhong."

"Wu Guanzhong? What a strange name. Is he from another continent?"

"Perhaps."

"What is this style of painting called?"

"Freehand."

"Freehand, freehand..." Flynn murmured thoughtfully. As a collector of famous paintings, she had also studied art, but she had never seen anyone paint like this. Perhaps she ought to try it herself.

"Fine. I will help you make the magic film. If you can find more of Wu's paintings, we can continue working together."

"Pleasure doing business with you."

Of course, this was not an original painting by Wu Guanzhong. It was merely Drogo's imitation of his work.

The difficult part of creativity was the journey from zero to one. Those who came afterward always had it much easier.

Drogo had imitated this painting for Flynn because he wanted to accelerate this world's artistic transition from realism to abstraction. That would be important for the art design needed in future games.

After all, Drogo could not do everything himself. An individual's cultural advantage could not bring about the ultimate cultural victory.

Perhaps the seed of freehand art planted today would grow into a force capable of prying at the gods in the future.