Life at the Calligraphy and Painting Hall was exceedingly dull, and before he knew it, a month had passed.
As a painter apprentice, Li Mo could only travel back and forth between the main hall and the side rooms.
Only official Painters could come into contact with cultivation Dharma Gates, so the vast majority of apprentices would eventually be eliminated and relegated to menial labor.
The Calligraphy and Painting Hall taught only the most basic painting techniques, occasionally mixing in some knowledge of the Eight Extraordinary Meridians, but never going into much depth.
If not for the oppressive atmosphere, Li Mo would have felt as though he were back in the schoolhouse of Niu Family Village.
He had long since grown accustomed to the Calligraphy and Painting Hall's routine. Whenever the faint beast roars that sounded every night came to an end, he would naturally awaken from his bed.
The side room was certainly better than the place he had stayed when he first arrived at the Pawnshop, but its furnishings were still extremely simple, and four people had to share a single room.
The painter apprentices rarely spoke with one another. Li Mo had tried to pry for clues from the others, but the information he obtained was quite limited.
Even now, Li Mo had yet to figure out how cultivation could be connected to painting, or why painting techniques were openly used as a test.
He only knew one thing.
The Painting Studio apprentices were basically selected from among the children of Smelting Town's residents, so they knew more or less about cultivation Dharma Gates.
Through indirect probing, coupled with the memories occasionally revealed by the Book of Fortune, Li Mo had barely gained a little confidence in cultivation.
He had also considered imprinting a visceral artifact, but he had heard that once one became a painter, the steward would personally teach the Dharma Gate. Thus, he abandoned the thought.
The sky had only just begun to brighten, and the chill of late autumn blanketed every corner of the Calligraphy and Painting Hall.
Li Mo threw off his cotton quilt and rose, stretching his limbs barefoot in the room. His heart sped up, restoring his body temperature like some cold-blooded creature.
The painter apprentices sharing the room gradually woke as well.
Li Mo only recognized one of them, Zeng Xiaoyi. The latter was already nearly nineteen, and Childhood Stage Death Sickness had begun to erode his body.
Li Mo was the first to leave the side room, striding swiftly toward the main hall beneath the dim candlelight.
Li Mo understood that it was about time for him to come into contact with cultivation. Childhood Stage Death Sickness was close at hand, and continuing to hide his talents would certainly be unwise.
By the time he arrived at the main hall, quite a few painter apprentices were already grinding ink.
A painter named Liu Qin walked about the hall. She looked to be over forty, with a slender, frail frame. Only her right leg was swollen and tinged blue.
She was merely carrying out her routine duties. Every month, she would be replaced by another painter.
Li Mo chose a spot near the corner. He used a Town Stone to pin down the xuan paper, poured some clean water into the inkstone, and took an ink stick from his robes.
Items such as inkstones and brushes were readily available, and if they were damaged, one could ask a painter for replacements.
Only the ink sticks had to be kept individually.
The ink stick was no bigger than a finger, yet it weighed three jin. Li Mo had no idea what had been mixed into it. The ink it produced carried a peculiar smell of rust, pungent and unpleasant.
Li Mo ground the ink at an unhurried pace.
He sensed that Eidetic Memory was subtly causing his body to undergo metamorphosis.
Eidetic Memory gave Li Mo a skilled grasp of composition. Together with the masterpieces by famous artists he had seen in his previous life, so long as his hands could keep up, shedding his identity as a painter apprentice would not be difficult.
Over the past month, while lying low, he had focused on honing his control over his arms.
Li Mo spent most of an hour grinding ink, then picked up his brush and began sketching. Before long, the image of a Wooden Figure appeared on the xuan paper.
He then began grinding ink again, only this time he switched from his right hand to his left.
Liu Qin noticed Li Mo's actions and could not help shaking her head. After all, Painters were mainly assessed on their imitation of Tiger Beasts. Wooden Figures were only used to memorize acupoints and meridians.
Li Mo's daily routine was to repeat the process of painting Wooden Figures without end.
Liu Qin had seen Li Mo's Wooden Figure diagrams. The acupoints and meridians were flawless, making his talent in painting abundantly clear.
It was just a pity...
Liu Qin went back to tending to her work and resting with her eyes closed, no longer paying Li Mo any attention.
Only occasionally would she select a few paintings, but not because they were particularly well painted. Rather, they revealed a trace of something strange and inexplicable.
Just then, Liu Qin noticed Li Mo suddenly lift his brush.
This time, Li Mo chose a Leaf Vein brush whose shaft was as slender as a long chopstick. Instead of repeatedly copying the Wooden Figure, he began outlining a tiger beast.
His movements were incomparably practiced, his breathing steady. It was hard to imagine that he had not painted a tiger beast for an entire month, yet there was not the slightest hesitation when his brush touched the paper.
Liu Qin unconsciously stepped closer, her gaze drawn to the image on the xuan paper.
Li Mo painted a tiger beast standing atop jagged rocks. Its body leaned slightly, its eyes fixed on the distance, while the stripes over its body flowed like water, setting off the Mountain Lord's restless beastly desire.
As the painting took shape, Li Mo became aware of the ink stick's strangeness.
It was as if the ink stick were granting the tiger beast life, causing the painting to grow ever more unfamiliar. The gaunt Mountain Lord in the picture possessed an indescribable ferocity.
Li Mo had copied Tiger Roar Painting by the tiger-painting master Zhang Shanzi from his previous life. Yet perhaps because of the ink stick, it was completely different from the original, carrying an inexpressible horror.
"What a magnificent White-Forehead Striped Tiger."
Liu Qin only spoke after Li Mo stopped his brush, unable to conceal a trace of complicated emotion.
It was not amazement at extraordinary talent. It felt more like wariness—or fear.
Liu Qin, who cultivated a Dharma Gate, had actually felt fear toward an apprentice beneath her. Though it had lasted only an instant, Li Mo still caught it.
Li Mo realized that the Dharma Gate of the Pawnshop's Calligraphy and Painting Hall lineage might very well be connected to painting.
He understood that hiding his talents was useless. Although he could not reveal anything too far beyond ordinary, he had to demonstrate his value. Otherwise, he would have no foothold here.
"Li Mo, you..."
Liu Qin realized she had lost her composure. After calming herself, she said, "I'll take this painting to Steward Hu. It possesses a few traces of spirit and should earn her appreciation."
"Thank you, Lord Liu."
Seeing that his goal had been achieved, Li Mo could not help letting out a long breath.
The surrounding painter apprentices fell silent. Their gazes upon Li Mo brimmed with all kinds of emotions: jealousy, envy, resentment.
Liu Qin picked up Tiger Roar Painting and left.
Li Mo did not know whether he had seen wrongly, but he noticed a faint black mist emanating from the arm with which Liu Qin held the painting.
The other apprentices could not see it at all. It was likely because Li Mo's brain was different.
The ink marks on the surface of Tiger Roar Painting began to blur.
The gray-black hairs of the Mountain Lord descending the mountain to hunt gradually vanished.
The Mountain Lord's appearance grew more and more unfamiliar. In the end, it resembled a naked man crawling upon the ground, its tail replaced by an exposed spine.
Li Mo blinked, and Liu Qin had already vanished down the branching corridor.
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 lay sprawled over his chair, his mangled hands staining the xuan paper bright red with flesh and blood.
The Pawnshop did not resemble a place selecting suitable cultivation seeds in the least. They seemed intent on barring the vast majority outside the gate.
Li Mo did not know what that meant, but he would rather die upon the road of cultivation than endure the pain and despair of Eternal Life.
For the next dozen or so days, he remained busy traveling between the side room and the Calligraphy and Painting Hall.
Yet Li Mo never saw Liu Qin again.
Today's update was earlier.
From now on, updates would be posted between eight and nine at night.
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 their rewards.
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