Chapter 120: Masterful Brushwork and Immortal Masterpieces

Chapter 120: A Masterpiece of Artistry

The portly envoy moved with surprising grace as he approached a colossal canvas, roughly ten meters in length, fashioned from an unknown, pristine white beast hide. It was flawless and exuded an air of nobility. Though Wu Hong possessed some skill in painting, this was his first time encountering such a high-grade medium, one unique to the Great Han Dynasty and unseen in the Great Qian Dynasty.

The man stood before the canvas and closed his eyes. A soft, nebulous qi emanated from his body, imbued with an endless literary aura that seemed to harmonize with the very heavens. This singular presence alone brought a sense of profound clarity to the minds of all present—a clear sign that his mastery had reached a sublime level.

The scholars and literati of the Great Qian Dynasty blanched, barely suppressing their gasps. "The Resonance of the Hundred Schools? The Aura of Magnanimity?" they whispered in disbelief. This state of near-unity with the natural world, known as the Resonance of the Hundred Schools, was the hallmark of a scholar who had achieved a pinnacle of cultivation. Even the court ministers of Great Qian felt a sting of shame, realizing that such a figure would be considered a grand master in their own land, a rank few among them could attain.

Any expectations of an easy victory for Wu Hong vanished; they now only hoped to see what other wonders this unassuming yet extraordinary envoy might produce.

Suddenly, the envoy’s aura retracted. His eyes snapped open, and with a swift motion, he seized a meter-long steel brush tipped with rare beast hair. Despite his rotund frame, he moved with the agility of a swallow, dancing across the canvas without leaving a single stray ink mark. The audience watched, transfixed by this technique unique to the Great Han. The tough, sword-proof beast hide was designed to be carved with the steel brush’s sharp tip, creating intricate textures that would later catch and disperse the ink.

While this technique was all but unknown in the Great Qian, it carried a grave risk: if the artist’s cultivation was insufficient to carve the proper textures, the final image would blur or fail to take color. Wu Hong watched with intense focus. His own artistic skills were limited, but he possessed an uncanny, masterful control over his strength and qi. He had hoped his internal power would bridge the gap, but seeing the envoy’s prowess, his confidence faltered; the odds were now surely even.

The envoy ceased his carving and sent a tremor of qi through the air. A glob of red pigment rose from the palette, and with a sharp strike of his brush, he shattered it into a myriad of crimson droplets that rained down upon the canvas. The pigment flowed instantly along the capillary-like textures he had carved, creating a complex, patterned base of fire-red and white. He followed this with a spray of black ink, and the scene began to transform.

"A miracle of artistry! Incredible!" the crowd erupted. This technique of using qi to atomize and direct ink was a feat most would never dream of achieving in a lifetime.

With a fluid turn, the envoy swept his brush across the table, drawing dozens of different pigments into the air at once. The palette was left bone-dry, a testament to his absolute control. Even the battle-hardened generals, who understood little of art, stared with mouths agape at the display of raw power. While any practitioner at the late stage of Marrow Refining or the Great Perfection of the Houtian realm could manipulate objects with qi, the ability to control dozens of colors simultaneously in such an orderly fashion was deemed impossible.

Flushed with exertion, the envoy released a powerful current of qi from his broad sleeves. The pigments shattered into a fine mist, coating the canvas and bringing the chaotic colors into focus. Before their eyes, high walls, magnificent palaces, and a sprawling military training ground coalesced with imposing grandeur.

Then, a figure emerged—a woman in a crimson silk gown, her frame curvaceous and delicate, a vision of ethereal beauty. As her face sharpened, it became clear: it was a living, breathing portrait of Wu Songran.

The hall was in an uproar. A wave of magnificent, sweeping aura emanated from the painting, washing over every corner of the palace like a mighty river. The artistry was so refined it had drawn the very breath of heaven.

"A masterpiece! A treasure for the ages!" an elderly minister cried out, tears streaming down his face. No one mocked his lack of composure; all felt the same. This painting was priceless. The architecture was so detailed it was as if the palace itself had been shrunk and transferred onto the hide.

Emperor Yang Wei was stunned. He had seen countless masterpieces, yet none compared to this. And to think it came from an envoy of the Great Han, a nation often dismissed as barbaric.

The envoy, having steadied his surging qi, approached the Emperor and bowed gracefully. "Your Majesty, my work is complete. May I make a single request?"

"Speak," the Emperor replied, still in awe. "Anything within my power shall be granted."

"I wish to gift this painting to Lady Wu Songran," the envoy said with a radiant smile.

"Ha! Why not? A masterpiece for a beauty—it is only fitting!" the Emperor laughed.

The envoy knelt and kowtowed in gratitude. Watching the scene, the Emperor noticed the subtle, unnatural expressions of the envoy’s two companions, and a thought began to take root in his mind.