How Much for This Old Painting?

Qin Fen's "shut up" kicked off the painting session and left an impression neither man would ever forget.

That was how a true badass handled things. Wearing an expensive watch or driving a luxury car was showing off; decorating your home with antiques was another level. But Qin Fen had said "shut up" and put them in their place in an instant.

Even the things he used up were antiques. What could they say to that? He didn't explain, didn't care, and acted as though it were nothing.

Qin Fen let everything Wu Daozi had given him guide his hand. His brush flew across the paper, and a landscape swiftly took shape.

Was it any good? Qin Fen couldn't say. He had followed his instincts, and he thought it looked all right.

Fu Qiang was dumbstruck. He pointed at Qin Fen and turned to Song Shaoqing. "He really can paint?"

Song Shaoqing was speechless too. You couldn't judge this guy by common sense. He had never seen Qin Fen paint; he only knew Qin Fen liked playing with a Rubik's Cube. "Looks like it!" Song Shaoqing didn't know whether to laugh or cry. He had only meant to needle Qin Fen for showing off, but Qin Fen really could paint, and it even looked pretty good.

Qin Fen finished the painting, set down his brush, and flexed his wrist. "There you go. I'm just an amateur, so don't expect anything great. Take it if you want it."

"Of course I want it!" Song Shaoqing grinned. Whatever the painting looked like, the paper alone made it worth keeping. He picked it up, and a fragrance washed over him. His expression changed. Damn it, it's not just antique paper. The ink's antique too! A rich herbal scent rose from it, soothing him