Chapter 119: The Painting Contest

Chapter 119: Painting Contest

Watching their once inseparable comrades being mercilessly devoured by the demonic flames spewing from the demon wolves’ mouths, the Feathered Forest Guards erupted in a frenzy. With no hesitation, their bodies radiated a torrent of black qi, converging into a mighty surge that blasted toward the pack of two-headed demon wolves.

In an instant, hundreds of demon wolves were shattered by the overwhelming force.

The burly envoy could no longer bear to watch and shouted anxiously, “Your Majesty, shall we concede?”

Yang Wei did not rejoice in the Feathered Forest Guards’ victory. After all, the opposing knights were only severely wounded in the truest sense, whereas his guards had suffered dozens of fatalities. In a battle involving tens of thousands, losing a few dozen men might be negligible, but the Feathered Forest Guards had been cultivated with painstaking effort over decades. Yang Wei felt a pang of regret.

However, since the opponent had already admitted defeat, he gave a subtle nod to the temporary military judge.

“The contest is over. The Great Han Feathered Forest Guards are victorious!”

The guards, understanding this was the emperor’s command, immediately ceased their assault.

Yet the two-headed demon wolves still attempted to charge.

The leader of the wild wolf guards lying on the ground hastily produced an iron whistle made of some unknown material and blew a strange tune into the air.

Only then did the two-headed demon wolves stop their advance.

Within Wu Hong’s heart, a smile blossomed, and some of Wu Wei Wang’s former subordinates shared his delight. Though the challenge had been directed at Wu Hong, it was ultimately Yang Wei’s trump card that had been depleted. “Heh heh—this seems rather unfair,” some thought.

While some rejoiced, others were filled with worry.

Yang Wei’s face darkened slightly.

Wu Hong smiled broadly. “Next, I shall personally step forward to compete in painting with your envoy! This constant fighting truly disrupts the atmosphere of friendship between the Great Han and Great Qian dynasties—it’s most discordant.”

When Wu Hong spoke of friendship, his words carried heavy emphasis, and Yang Wei’s expression grew more sour, though he dared not show it.

Several ministers supportive of Yang Wei grumbled inwardly, “Friendship contest? It nearly erupted into a bloodbath! Were it not for the final intervention, rivers of blood would have flowed.”

Of course, with Wu Hong’s current status and stature, none of the ministers dared voice such thoughts openly in his presence.

To jest with a prince who almost stood equal to the emperor, revered by countless subjects of the Great Qian dynasty as a god, was not the place for ordinary ministers to debate right or wrong.

Hearing Wu Hong’s words, the three envoys exchanged glances. The short, stout man with a broad face stepped forward with a smile. “Your Majesty, your Feathered Forest Guards are truly formidable—I am impressed. As for the second contest, may I compete against Prince Wu?”

Wu Hong had long known that this stout man was no ordinary person but had not expected him to come forward to challenge him.

The man’s round, chubby face bore features somewhat reminiscent of Li Yunda, but his eyes gleamed with sharp light. His cultivation had reached the mid-stage of marrow refinement.

Though short and stout, an unmistakable scholarly aura emanated from his head, leaving a deep impression on anyone who saw him.

Wu Hong was taken aback—this was a master, and he needed to be careful.

“Hey—fatty, what’s your status? How dare you challenge my brother Hong?”

Wu Song suddenly leapt from the crowd. The thick scholarliness radiating from the stout man caused even the ministers and generals to change expressions.

This was the mark of someone whose literary cultivation had reached a certain height; perhaps this stout man’s entire cultivation was derived from literary refinement.

Martial arts take countless forms—some focus on combat, others on the path of slaughter like the King of Horse Hell, and some on the art of poisons like the Old Man of Ten Thousand Toxins.

These two were typical examples, each with their own merits.

Yet those who had cultivated through reading thousands of books, refining their literary temperament, were exceedingly rare. Clearly, this stout envoy from the Great Han was one of them—a high-level martial scholar.

Emperor Yang Wei smiled heartily, thinking, “Though it is a friendly contest, it’s a small way to dent the pride of your newly appointed Prince Wu Wei—a little vindication for me.”

“Brother Wang, what say you? This envoy wishes to compete with you. Are you willing?”

Yang Wei addressed the stout envoy, but the man did not respond immediately. Following his gaze, they saw him staring blankly at Wu Songran, who wore a fiery red sheer gown.

Wu Songran’s appearance was indeed like a blazing spirit of fire. The scarlet sheer fabric enhanced her extraordinary aura.

Recently, she had been nurtured in certain ways, her skin pale and luminous with a faint glow, her cheeks perpetually tinged with a delicate blush, leaving the stout envoy nearly dazed.

“Ahem—Esteemed envoy, this is Prince Wu Wei’s beloved daughter, Miss Wu Songran, a rare beauty in the capital.”

Yang Wei reminded him, “Perhaps now is not the time to admire a beauty.”

The introduction of Wu Songran was largely superfluous, though it carried its own subtle meaning.

“Fatty, what are you staring at? If you don’t stop, I’ll gouge your eyes out!”

Wu Songran snapped angrily, secretly glancing at Wu Hong, who remained calm. She breathed a sigh of relief, somewhat afraid he might become jealous.

In truth, Wu Hong was a little jealous. If they were still siblings, he might have tried to matchmake them, as the envoy’s status was extraordinary, and it was clear he was genuinely enamored with Wu Songran.

But their relationship was now different. Though not publicly acknowledged, it was only a matter of time.

Yang Wei’s subtle hint to the envoy was clearly ill-intentioned.

Only when Yang Wei spoke did the stout man come to his senses. His once pale face flushed an embarrassed purple-red, though his thoughts remained a mystery.

“Very well! Though my painting skills are poor, I accept your challenge, envoy of your esteemed country.”

Wu Hong answered casually.

Wu Songran grew tense. To her, Wu Hong was an invincible war god. Since meeting him, he had never tasted defeat. She worried that a failure in painting might adversely affect him.

Wu Hong smiled faintly at Wu Songran.

Their eyes met, and Wu Songran’s heart settled. That smile was one she knew well—the invincible confidence of Wu Hong.

She almost worshipped everything about him.

Wu Hong’s serene smile was an unmistakable reassurance to her.

“Then, Prince, I shall present my humble offering.”

The stout envoy bowed slightly, but refrained from a deep bow, clearly proud and unwilling to show too much deference.

Meanwhile, the training ground was already prepared, with attendants ready and all the pigments and brushes needed for the painting contest laid out.