The Night Journey in Splendid Robes

Liu Laodao did not particularly care what his bargain disciple had done. Right now, he was busy chanting like a monk reciting scripture, "What do I do, what do I do..."

Li Yunxin leaned against his side and lightly poked him with a finger. "Master."

Liu Laodao shot him a miserable glance. "Ah, disciple. Your master can barely save himself right now. If you have some other idea..."

"Do you know The Night Journey in Splendid Robes?"

"Huh?"

"'The Night Journey in Splendid Robes'—in the early days of Emperor Xiang Yu the Valiant of Great Chu's uprising, he suffered defeat at Gaixia and lost his beloved wife. Later, he devoted himself heart and soul for twelve years, led his army to crush the enemy capital, and established his rule over the realm. But by then, everyone he cared about was already dead. Though he possessed an empire that would endure through the ages, he had no one with whom to share it. So, on a snowy night, dressed in a gold-dragon robe of brocade, he rode alone for three hundred li through the night to Gaixia to mourn his dead wife. Later, a master of painting created this work. You must know it, right?"

Li Yunxin spoke with perfect clarity, as though he were leisurely discussing wine beside a clear stream on a fine sunny afternoon. But in their present circumstances, that made it utterly bizarre.

Liu Laodao stared blankly at him for a long while before opening his mouth. "You... you... how did you know..."

"I told you before that I rather liked the promising profession of painting, so it is no great surprise that I know this painting. Now, look over there. Yes, there. Squint and use the firelight. Look at the marks I scratched out with my feet when I walked over and back just now."

Liu Laodao was filled with astonishment, unable to understand how this boy had suddenly become like a different person. Still, he subconsciously followed the direction Li Yunxin had secretly pointed and squinted into the distance.

Though he was not one of those great cultivators from prestigious sects with profound magic powers, since he called himself one of Luo City's "Five Great Masters" of painting, he still understood what he ought to understand. After looking for a while by firelight, Liu Laodao's eyes slowly widened.

He turned to look at Li Yunxin, his voice becoming halting. "This... this... who exactly are you..."

"Mm, all of you like asking who exactly I am." Li Yunxin patted his arm, signaling him to relax. "But let us not discuss that for now. So you can tell that what I painted over there was The Night Journey in Splendid Robes. But it is not finished yet. The Night Journey in Splendid Robes is meticulous brushwork. I used freehand brushwork to sketch a few strokes and capture its spirit."

"I understand, understand..." Liu Laodao broke free of his slightly dazed state. He realized that he might have stumbled into extraordinary luck. Being kidnapped here by six fierce men certainly did not count as luck, but compared with the boy before him... that misfortune was simply too insignificant to mention.

Painters divided their work into meticulous brushwork and freehand brushwork. Meticulous brushwork was dense and exquisite, revealing every last hair and detail, making the scenery in a painting come alive. Freehand brushwork was bold and unrestrained, with ink and color flying freely, placing greater emphasis on charm and artistic conception.

For ordinary people painting in the mortal world, meticulous brushwork and freehand brushwork had no distinction of superiority. But among painters, someone might use a meticulous painting to make a sixteen-year-old beauty seem vividly alive, yet still fail to use freehand brushwork to capture her charm.

But this boy before him had... with just a few sparse strokes in a freehand style... captured the very spirit of that famous masterpiece!

From these few strokes alone, one could sense how smooth and unobstructed they were—the person who laid down the brush had used his soul as a guide, planning out every trajectory of spiritual power across the "scroll." Once the painting was complete, all that remained was to use the sea of qi within his body to draw in the spiritual energy of heaven and earth and pour it into those trajectories. Then a painting that only a master of artistic conception could create would be complete!

Liu Laodao had once been fortunate enough to see a masterpiece by a true expert. Every stroke in that work had been deeply significant—much like Daoist talismans, where every stroke and line guided the spiritual energy of heaven and earth into the painting.

People said that paintings by artistic-conception painters could make viewers feel as though they stood within the scene. But in essence, they used brush and ink to form something akin to talismans—the quality depended on one's cultivation and the refinement of one's technique!

But these few strokes of the boy's...

Liu Laodao felt that they might be better than the work of that master he had seen that day.

Even more brilliant...

Just who in the world was this person?

He hurriedly grabbed Li Yunxin's hand. "I failed to recognize Mount Tai before my eyes. Those earlier words about taking you as my disciple—ah, forget them! Young master, at such a tender age, you already possess such extraordinary attainments. May I ask which household you belong to—"

"Do not rush. Listen to me first." Li Yunxin gently pushed his hand away. "Something is wrong with my body. I cannot add the finishing touch."

The so-called "adding the finishing touch to the dragon's eyes" was the crucial final stroke after a painting was completed. That stroke guided the spiritual energy of heaven and earth into the pathways outlined by the painting's lines. As for where to add it and how to add it, only the painter himself knew. But Li Yunxin's sea of qi was sealed, so he could not complete this final step.

"I cannot add the finishing touch, so you will do it." Li Yunxin pointed toward the swordsman with high cheekbones and narrow brows beside the other campfire. "Right there. One stroke is missing—the sword of the Valiant Emperor in the painting."

Liu Laodao opened his mouth and shrank his neck. "Well... esteemed master, this humble Daoist's cultivation is shallow..."

"Aren't you one of Luo City's Five Great Masters of artistic conception?"

"A joke, just a joke. How could I possibly compare to you..."

"Actually, it is already enough."

"I am afraid of ruining your great undertaking..."

"I am not afraid."

"Esteemed master, why must you make things difficult for this humble Daoist..."

"Do you want to die?" Li Yunxin stared at him.

"...Uh." They had been firing lines back and forth one after another, but at those words, everything Liu Laodao had left caught in his throat.

"This is not a game, and I am not playing with you. They truly intend to kill people." Li Yunxin's expression turned serious, and his tone was no longer as relaxed as before. "They are only waiting for someone or something right now. Once they decide to kill, no one here will escape. I cannot escape, and neither can you. So doing this now means saving yourself. If you succeed, you will also earn the gratitude of those people over there. I do not know how your Dongxuan Sect fares in Luo City, but it certainly cannot be better than they do. So whether you want your own life and their favor depends on whether you go add that stroke."

Liu Laodao had lived for several decades, but he had never experienced such a dangerous scene. Now, seeing the formerly ordinary-looking boy turn into a mysterious man of profound cultivation, his throat grew dry and his legs weak. The campfire crackled nearby. Farther away, the six swordsmen were discussing something in low voices, occasionally turning their heads to glance over.

"Esteemed master, you... but how am I supposed to go?" Liu Laodao felt a little cold, yet sweat was trying to seep out all over him. He wiped his forehead. "Besides, this The Night Journey in Splendid Robes... does not look useful at all right now."

"You will know when the time comes." Li Yunxin patted his shoulder. "Go. Sooner or later, you will have to go. You know that yourself."

Of course Liu Laodao knew. Having lived to his age, no matter how timid he was, he could still distinguish what was urgent from what was important. So long as a person was not hopelessly cowardly, he would always reach out to seize hope when it appeared. Besides, he felt this boy was hiding his true depths—perhaps he could solve the problem himself, but had suddenly become playful and wanted to "have some fun."

As he told himself that, he swayed to his feet. After taking three deep breaths, he had completely entered his usual state.

The state he adopted when fooling Luo City's wealthy bumpkins.

As the night wind rose, his tattered Daoist robe fluttered loudly, and both campfires dimmed slightly. Liu Laodao's features were not bad to begin with. Though he could not be called imposing and noble or heroic and towering, he did possess a certain bearing. Now, tense enough to keep a straight face, he walked silently a few steps toward the swordsmen, and all six became alert.

"What are you doing? Get back!"

"Heroes, please hear me out," Liu Laodao said. "I am Hunyuanzi of the Dongxuan Sect."

After saying this, he took another two steps forward. "I have gained a modest reputation in these martial lands. Let this old Daoist discuss today's matter with you heroes—"

The swordsman with high cheekbones and narrow eyes frowned slightly. "Dongxuan Sect?"

He scrutinized Liu Laodao. "The orthodox Daoist Dongxuan Sect?"

Liu Laodao stroked his beard and smiled. "Heh heh, not quite, but not far off either. This poor Daoist's Dongxuan Sect is the Dongxuan Sect of Luo City. What we practice is also the orthodox mystic method passed down by supreme heavenly beings—"

Hearing this, the swordsman snorted, both amused and annoyed. "So you are this sort of scum from the martial world. Take one more step, and I will break your legs."

At this moment, Liu Laodao was only two steps away from where the finishing stroke had to be added. He forced himself to continue. "All Daoist sects under heaven are one family. Back in those days, I—"

Before he could finish, a sharp whistle tore through the air. The forest had been dim to begin with, lit only by the yellow glow of the two campfires, but even that seemed swallowed by the mist and wilderness surrounding them. Along with that whistle came a snow-bright flash.

A slender sword plunged into the ground beside Liu Laodao. Its hilt continued trembling, giving off a humming sound.

A great spray of dirt and dead leaves flew up. Liu Laodao jerked in fright and dropped onto the ground on his backside. By sheer coincidence, he landed right where that finishing stroke needed to go.

The swordsman cast him a contemptuous glance and snorted coldly. "Why have you not scrammed yet?"

Liu Laodao looked at the sword, scrambled over the ground with hands and feet alike, then fled back to the campfire in a sorry state.

The escort agency men had no mood to mock or ridicule this "master and disciple" pair who had made fools of themselves—they were all staring at the sword that had flown in from nowhere.

The sword was identical in shape to those held by the swordsmen, so it was clearly not from reinforcements. A slip of paper was skewered on its blade, covered in tiny regular-script characters. It was obviously a message delivered by flying sword.

Carrier pigeons and flying darts were both common methods used by martial wanderers to deliver messages, and flying swords were not especially rare either. But what was terrifying was that no one had seen the person who threw this sword. At least in the escort agency men's experience, such skill had reached a level beyond imagination.

"Done." Li Yunxin smiled in the flickering firelight and patted Liu Laodao's arm. "You still have to put on a show. I guarantee you will like it." =============================================== Note: Freehand brushwork, commonly called "broad brushwork," stands opposite to meticulous brushwork. It is a Chinese painting technique that uses concise, uninhibited strokes to emphasize the bearing and spirit of the subject. Freehand painting is one of the basic forms of traditional Chinese painting and is often mentioned alongside meticulous painting. Qi Baishi's famous Shrimp is a freehand painting, as are Xu Beihong's galloping horses. The famous Along the River During the Qingming Festival is a work that combines meticulous and freehand brushwork.