Inside and outside the Rain Gallery, all was silent.
Countless gazes followed the tip of He Zhan's brush.
People looked shocked, and somewhat bewildered.
Before long, He Zhan set down the brush, studied the painting for a moment, and nodded with some satisfaction.
He returned the brush to the painter, untied the wine flask at his waist and took a drink, then let out a long, contented breath.
The Sect Master of Kunlun gave a cold laugh and left without saying anything.
"The painting is quite decent. He hasn't disgraced himself."
Leaving those words behind, Nan Wang also departed from the Rain Gallery.
It sounded as though she was praising He Zhan, but everyone knew she was speaking of Jing Jiu, for everyone present to hear.
Still, He Zhan's painting truly was excellent.
The winter-bare branch was crooked yet straight, reaching toward the distant, gloomy sky. Red plum blossoms blazed along it like scattered flames, plainly before their eyes yet far away at the edge of the heavens.
There had originally been plenty of blank space in the painting, but even more plum blossoms needed to be added today. Painted in the usual way, even the smallest blossoms could not all have fit. His method was a clever shortcut, one that could also be called ingenious, resolving this thorny problem. More importantly, its artistic vision was far-reaching and lingering, worth savoring.
The cultivators watching from outside the corridor came to their senses and stepped forward one after another, discussing the details in the painting without pause, unable to dispel the shock in their hearts.
"What's going on? Why did he have to paint so many plum blossoms? Exactly how many are there?"
"How are we supposed to count them?"
The cultivators could only tell that all those plum blossoms grew