Plate Twenty-Eight: The Faith of Ink and Wash

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[Three chapters today; this is the first. The next one will be at 2:20. Please recommend and bookmark.]

As Boya spoke, he took the world painting and tossed it out the window. A long-tailed green finch swooped down, gripping the orb firmly with its claws. It nodded at Boya, let out a clear and vibrant cry, then flapped its wings, creating powerful spatial ripples as its figure darted away.

Watching the fading spatial waves after the long-tailed finch’s departure, Sang Sang compared them to the ones she created when traversing space herself. She found that her own ripples were still smaller. Then, chiding herself for stooping to compare with a bird, she thought she was becoming more and more degenerate, and quickly turned around to ask, “Teacher, what are we learning next?”

“Infusing a single secret technique is no problem for you. Next, try multiples—combine soul and body arts. The difficulty is a bit higher, but there's a greater demand in the market.” Perhaps because Sang Sang had already asked several times about which works were most popular, most expensive, and easiest to sell, Boya didn’t mind her focus on profit and even reminded her, “If you’re not used to the world painting’s method, use whichever drawing technique you’re best at. Make it your signature.”

Sang Sang’s specialty was the Mind Painting school of Danqing. The tools were many, but the four essentials—brush, ink, paper, and inkstone—were indispensable.

The brush had been custom-made online by Xiao Jin for her, crafted from elfwood and the soft, varied hairs from the head, neck, back, and tail of a hornless dragon. Even with a special discount through the temple’s connections, it cost Xiao Jin all his savings. Elfwood is a sapling of the World Tree, second only to the World Tree, the Mother Tree of Life, and Jianmu in energy affinity. Hornless dragons, though weakest among dragons in both offense and defense, are rare for their affinity with all types of energy.

The ink came from ancient branches and oil fruits Sang Sang gathered on an asteroid in Yaslan, then smoked with fire magic to produce soot ink. With Sena’s contribution of neutral energy-storing materials, and after nine rounds of refining by Black Butterfly, the inksticks were completed.

Paper was the easiest issue to solve: she could condense the five elemental energies into sheets, of any size or shape she wished.

For the inkstone, she chose a high-grade energy-condensing stone from an asteroid in Yaslan. Through repeated martial training, the stone was honed and washed with inner energy, until it was smoothed into a palm-sized square brick. A hollow was carved at the center, creating a miniature lake within, and a time-stasis barrier set so the ink inside would stay fresh.

The water added for grinding ink was not ordinary, but water formed from condensed elemental energy—essentially, liquid energy, the fluid form of energy crystals. Boya had said that only self-prepared liquid was truly suitable, so Sang Sang made it a daily habit to condense energy liquid as a reserve, harvesting the most during spell practice.

Perhaps because her tools felt so familiar, or perhaps because, despite not painting for a long time, she’d been mentally sketching every new scene she saw, when she picked up the brush again, Sang Sang realized she’d made a breakthrough. Even if it was just a small one, it was still a joyful surprise; before coming to the temple, her art had been stalled at a bottleneck, and her only innovations had come through sheer utility.

Brush in hand, the ink flowed like drifting clouds and running water.

And that was exactly what she painted: in bold strokes, a grand landscape of clouds and water. On the right, where sea and sky met, a crescent moon dipped low, about to vanish beneath the horizon. On the left, mountains layered upon mountains, a long river tumbling into waterfalls, a crimson sun climbing above the clouds.

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Compared to the world painting, this ten-meter-long static landscape was even more striking, giving an overwhelming sense of grandeur.

On the left, peaks rose steeply, pines stood tall, wildflowers bloomed in profusion. Amid the drifting clouds and flying waterfalls, cranes and other birds soared, bathed in the gentle dawn. The round sun, though drawn in faint ink, seemed to radiate dazzling light, too brilliant to gaze at for long—life’s vitality surged from the scene. On the right, the sea was wild, waves crashing and islands tumbling, the crescent moon hanging low, pale and obscure, as if it could draw in one’s very soul, swallowing even the light.

The sun rises, the moon sets; light and darkness cycle, life and death entwined.

This, too, was “Twin Stars of Sun and Moon.” Just as with the world painting, it was meant to dispel anomalies—but what was sealed inside was not a spell, but the law of purification.

“What suits you is best. The atmosphere is indeed different,” Boya praised. “You have a deep grasp of spatial laws. With one more step, your illusions could become reality. The inner space here is about a hundred li—perfect for public settings and group healing.”

“Mainframe, scan.”

A faint yellow light shimmered across the painting.

Boya frowned, examining carefully. “The screening procedure needs refining. Removing all but the primary energy is too broad—you’ll also expel beneficial energies, such as blessings from elders. And some people practice several energies; their secondary energy might conflict with their primary, but they have their own ways of handling it.”

Sang Sang thought for a moment. “How about adding a selection option to the screening? Let users choose which energies to purge—preferably allow multiple selections.”

“That’s feasible.” Boya continued to point out flaws. “Your law of purification is only at the basic entry level, far from subtle mastery. You can’t yet annihilate the abnormal energies you expel; they linger in the painting, and over time, will gradually erode the artwork and shorten its lifespan.”

Sang Sang frowned in thought, her fingers moving over the painting, tracing from the lush, flower-strewn mountains along the waterfalls to the vast sea, finally stopping at the crescent moon about to sink beneath the waves. An idea had taken shape in her mind.

She closed her eyes for a moment, then picked up a fine outlining brush. Abandoning ink, she used only colorless liquid star-energy to add an array diagram around the rising sun and setting moon.

The paper was not ordinary paper, nor the water ordinary water—she needn’t worry that too much water would cause the ink to blur and mar the composition.

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When Sang Sang finished outlining the array, she sensed the magnetic field of the painting’s inner world was undisturbed and smiled with satisfaction.

“Teacher, how about now?”

Boya nodded. “Your sun and moon cores naturally gather energy. With the addition of this devouring array, you really can resolve the problem of lingering abnormal energies.”

The following steps—applying the law’s mark, purifying intent, and gathering faith—were no longer an issue.

At last, Sang Sang took out a scroll and unfurled it with a flourish. The mounting paper was also composed of the five elemental energies. She gently laid the “Twin Stars of Sun and Moon” flat, holding her hand above it, pressing lightly until the painting paper and scroll energy gradually fused into one.

With the mounting complete, Sang Sang stamped the upper right corner with her seal; the red-leaf characters in seal script sank into the painting, then slowly faded from view.

“It’s a pity I can’t write poetry, or I’d hang a couplet here.”

“Xiao Jin, take a look at today’s classwork. After revising, I got a green evaluation. Help me open a small online store and list it for sale. I checked—so long as it passes the mainframe’s assessment, student works can also be sold.”

Sang Sang unfurled the scroll; the giant painting, originally over a meter tall, had shrunk to a tenth its size—a palm-high length of more than a meter, exquisitely compact, yet undiminished in grandeur.

Xiao Jin circled around, capturing data, and offered a suggestion. “Sang Sang, I’ve researched the local customs of using faith-based artworks here. Among items of the same rank, those light, portable, and capable of disguise are most popular. To preserve the galactic civilization’s distinctive style, I suggest you make future personal healing works in the shape of fans—folding fans or round fans, either is good. The healing plaques you use yourself are also quite nice and can be used as a set.”

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