When the painting was finished, Fang Qianyuan suddenly saw stars and swayed, feeling unsteady on his feet.
He had immersed himself completely, body and mind, exhausting too much of his mental strength and intent.
To reflect the heart in a painting required skill with the brush, but even more, strength of heart.
Yet precisely because of that devotion, Fang Qianyuan felt that this painting possessed more spirit and was more moving than any he had created before.
Xue Hong had watched Fang Qianyuan paint from behind him. But the moment the painting was completed, it was as though the finishing touch had brought a dragon to life. A desolate, majestic, terrifying sensation swept over him, stirring memories that were still fresh. He involuntarily retreated several steps, fear appearing on his face.
Only after a good while did he finally come to his senses. It was merely a painting, not a real storm.
The impression of that terrifying natural calamity had been etched into it, allowing it to reflect the fear in his heart and evoke what he had experienced yesterday.
Fang Qianyuan had no time to attend to him, for he had closed his eyes the instant the painting was completed.
He sensed a strange stirring arising deep within his heart.
It was his impression of the Black Wind Calamity, a memory that seemed about to engrave itself into his mind and penetrate the depths of his soul.
As that memory stirred, vast quantities of ink resonance appeared out of thin air. The spiritual radiance surrounding the Brush Immortal hovering there grew ever more intense, as though it would gush forth like a fountain.
Little White gave a low growl as she watched the Brush Immortal suddenly rise higher, blazing with strange light.
The Brush Immortal was a spirit of