Drawing a Ghost While Drawing a Tiger

The life in the Calligraphy and Painting Hall was extremely monotonous, and before he knew it, a month had already passed.

As a painter apprentice, Li Mo could only move between the main hall and the side rooms in a straight line.

Only official painters could access the cultivation methods, causing the vast majority of apprentices to be eliminated and demoted to menial labor.

The Calligraphy and Painting Hall only taught the most basic painting techniques, occasionally mixing in some common knowledge about the Eight Extraordinary Meridians, but never going into depth.

If not for the oppressive atmosphere, Li Mo would have felt as if he were back in the schoolhouse of Niu Family Village.

He had long grown accustomed to the routine of the Calligraphy and Painting Hall. When the faint beast roars that echoed every night finally ceased, he naturally woke from his bed.

The side room was certainly better than the lodging at the pawnshop when he first arrived, but the furnishings were still extremely simple, and he shared the room with three others.

There was rarely any communication among the painter apprentices. Li Mo tried to extract clues from others, but the information he obtained was quite limited.

Li Mo still hadn't figured out how cultivation could be tied to painting, or why painting skills were so blatantly used as an assessment.

All he knew was that

the apprentices in the painting studio were mostly selected from the children of Smelting Town's residents, so they more or less understood matters related to cultivation methods.

Relying on indirect inquiries and the occasional memories revealed by the Book of Fortune, Li Mo barely managed to gain some confidence in cultivation.

He had also considered imprinting his organs, but he heard that once he became a painter, the steward would personally teach him the methods, so he abandoned the idea.

The sky was barely light, and the chill of late autumn enveloped every corner of the Calligraphy and Painting Hall.

Li Mo threw off his cotton quilt and got up, stretching his limbs barefoot in the room. His heart beat faster, like a cold-blooded animal recovering its body temperature.

The other painter apprentices in the room gradually woke up.

Among them, Li Mo only recognized Zeng Xiaoyi, who was nearly nineteen years old, and the Childhood Stage Death Sickness had already begun to erode his body.

Li Mo was the first to leave the side room, walking quickly toward the main hall under the dim candlelight.

He understood that it was about time for him to get involved in cultivation. The Childhood Stage Death Sickness was closing in on him, and continuing to hide his abilities would certainly be unwise.

When he arrived at the main hall, many painter apprentices were already grinding ink.

A painter named Liu Qin paced around the hall. She appeared to be over forty, with a thin and frail body, except for her right leg, which was swollen and discolored.

She was merely fulfilling her routine duties; every month, she would be replaced by another painter.

Li Mo chose a spot near the corner, picked up a Town Stone to hold down the rice paper, poured some clean water into the inkstone, and took out an ink stick from his chest.

Items like the inkstone and brush were readily available, and if damaged, he could ask the painter for replacements.

Only the ink stick had to be kept by himself.

The ink stick was only the size of a finger but weighed three catties. Li Mo had no idea what was mixed into it, but the ink it produced had a peculiar rusty smell, pungent and unpleasant.

Li Mo ground the ink at a steady pace.

He could feel that his Eidetic Memory was subtly transforming his body.

Eidetic Memory gave Li Mo a proficient ability to compose images. Coupled with the famous paintings he had seen in his previous life, as long as his hands could keep up, shedding the identity of a painter apprentice wouldn't be difficult.

During this month of lying low, he had focused on honing his control over his arms.

Li Mo spent most of an hour grinding ink, then picked up a brush and began sketching. After a moment, the image of a Wooden Figure appeared on the rice paper.

Then he started grinding ink again, but this time switching from his right hand to his left.

Liu Qin noticed Li Mo's actions and couldn't help but shake her head. After all, the assessment for painters mainly relied on copying Tiger Beasts; Wooden Figures were only used to memorize acupoints and meridians.

Li Mo's daily routine was simply repeating the process of drawing Wooden Figures.

Liu Qin had seen the Wooden Figure drawings Li Mo produced. The acupoints and meridians were precisely accurate, showing just how outstanding his talent in painting was.

But it was a pity...

Liu Qin went back to resting with her eyes closed, no longer paying attention to Li Mo.

Occasionally, she would select a few paintings, not because they were well-drawn, but because they revealed something strange and inexplicable.

Just then, Liu Qin noticed Li Mo suddenly pick up a brush.

This time, Li Mo chose a leaf-vein brush with a shaft as thin as a long chopstick. Instead of copying the Wooden Figure over and over, he began sketching the outline of a Tiger Beast.

His movements were extremely skilled, his breathing steady. It was hard to imagine that he hadn't drawn a Tiger Beast in a month, yet his strokes showed no hesitation.

Liu Qin subconsciously approached Li Mo, her gaze drawn to the pattern on the rice paper.

Li Mo was drawing a Tiger Beast standing on jagged rocks. Its body was slightly tilted, its eyes fixed on the distance, its stripes flowing like water, reflecting the restless beastly desire of the Mountain Lord.

As the painting took shape, Li Mo realized the strangeness of the ink stick.

The ink stick seemed to be granting life to the Tiger Beast, making the painting increasingly unfamiliar. The lean Mountain Lord in the painting carried an indescribable ferocity.

Li Mo was imitating a "Tiger Roar Painting" by Zhang Shanzi, a famous tiger painter from his previous life. But perhaps because of the ink stick, the result was completely different from the original, carrying an indescribable terror.

"What a fine White-Forehead Striped Tiger."

Liu Qin only spoke after Li Mo set down his brush, a trace of complexity slipping into her voice.

It wasn't admiration for extraordinary talent; it felt more like wariness, or even fear.

A cultivator of the methods like Liu Qin was actually afraid of an apprentice under her charge—even if only for a moment, Li Mo caught it.

Li Mo realized that the methods of the Pawnshop Calligraphy and Painting Hall were likely tied to painting.

He understood that hiding his talent was useless. Though he couldn't show anything beyond the ordinary, he had to demonstrate his value, or else he'd have no place to stand.

"Li Mo, you..."

Liu Qin realized she had lost her composure. Calming herself, she said, "I'll take this painting to Steward Hu. It has a bit of the spirit in it; she should appreciate it."

"Thank you, Lord Liu."

Seeing his goal achieved, Li Mo couldn't help but let out a long breath.

The surrounding painter apprentices fell silent. Their gazes at Li Mo were filled with all kinds of emotions—jealousy, envy, resentment.

Liu Qin picked up the Tiger Roar Painting and left.

Li Mo wasn't sure if he was seeing things, but he noticed that the arm Liu Qin used to hold the painting was emitting a faint black aura.

The other apprentices couldn't see it at all—probably because Li Mo's brain was different.

The ink on the surface of the Tiger Roar Painting blurred.

The Mountain Lord in the painting, descending the mountain to hunt, gradually lost its gray-black fur.

The Mountain Lord's appearance grew more and more unfamiliar, until it finally looked like a naked man crouching on the ground, its tail replaced by an exposed spine.

Li Mo's mind went hazy. Liu Qin turned into a fork in the corridor and vanished from sight.

His temples throbbed faintly. He packed up his things and returned to the side room.

Before leaving, Li Mo glanced at Zeng Xiaoyi.

Zeng Xiaoyi was slumped in his chair, his bloody hands staining the rice paper a deep red.

The Pawnshop didn't seem to be selecting suitable cultivation seeds at all. They appeared intent on shutting most people out.

Li Mo didn't know what it meant, but he would rather die on the path of cultivation than endure a painful, hopeless Eternal Life.

For the next ten-plus days, he remained busy shuttling between the side room and the Calligraphy and Painting Hall.

But Li Mo never saw Liu Qin again.

[Today's early. From now on, it'll be posted between 8-9 PM.]

[Thanks to Nine Upper Lots, Sima Xianqing, Weida Wolong, Meng Xiaolong, Primordial Embryo, Da Da Da Da Da Guai Guai, I Am the Little Match Girl Selling Boys, and Shu Ba for the tips.]