Plate Ninety-Seven: Visualization Diagram

Sang Sang finished all of her brush-making courses three days ahead of schedule, and another piece of the puzzle of creation had fallen into place.

By now, she had already emptied the old man’s store of knowledge. She had gone through every book in his collection as well, until she knew them all by heart. In theory, Sang Sang had already reached the level of an Imperial Brush Master; the only thing she still lacked was experience.

Seeing her packing away the materials and tools for brush making, Dean Qinghe asked with delight, “You’re going back to the academy tomorrow?”

“Didn’t we still have three days?” Sang Sang looked up. “I was planning to go to Flower Brook Town to see how the plant pigments are grown. This season is the harvest for the red and purple pigment grasses.”

Dean Qinghe frowned. “Brush making, pigments, and next you’ll be learning paper making too?”

“Yes.” Sang Sang did not deny it.

Dean Qinghe asked, “You’re exploring the principles behind creation, trying to uncover the secret of creating without water?”

Sang Sang paused, and her expression turned more serious. “Yes. Not just creation without water. I want to know whether creation can still be achieved without drawing at all.”

Dean Qinghe smiled. “Good. Then this Grand Painting Tournament gives you a reason that you must enter.”

Sang Sang did not understand.

Dean Qinghe said, “If you take first place in both the literary and martial individual contests, you will be granted permanent secluded cultivation in the Sacred Palace. The Sacred Palace is on the Vermilion Sea, the source of creation. There, you’ll find many geniuses like yourself, all seeking truth.”

The Sacred Palace sounded like the very core of the origin of creation, a place where one could directly comprehend the laws.

Sang Sang no longer bothered to sort her things. She swept everything into her spatial container and said solemnly, “Dean, let’s return to the academy. Give me the records from all the past Grand Painting Tournaments. I think I need to make some preparations.”

Dean Qinghe stood up. “The theme of every tournament never changes. The literary contest covers everything from custom work for infants to healing, mending wounds, and even resurrection. The martial contest is paired combat.”

Custom work for infants? Resurrection for adults?

Sang Sang reached the doorway, then stopped and turned back. “Dean, please go on ahead. I have something to take care of. I’ll be right back.”

With that, she strode quickly toward the rear courtyard.

Dean Qinghe called after her, “Then hurry up. I’ll wait for you.”

In the rear courtyard, Elder Xing was holding a carving knife, shaping a brush barrel from a piece of wood. Even at the sound of footsteps, he did not stop his hands, nor did he lift his head. “Didn’t we already say our farewells? Why have you come back?”

Sang Sang stopped in front of him. “I have a way to cure the problem of not being able to sense spiritual energy. I wonder if you would be willing to try, Teacher?”

Crack.

His hand slipped with more force than before, carving a deep gouge into the wood. The brush barrel he had nearly finished snapped in two. Holding the broken half, the old man sighed wistfully, “Even in old age, my heart still cannot remain calm. I should not be so restless. I should not be so restless.”

Sang Sang raised her voice slightly. “Teacher?”

Elder Xing shook his hand and brushed the wood shavings from his clothes. “It’s enough that you mean well. There’s no need.”

Sang Sang frowned. “At least let me examine it and see how serious it is. Even if I can’t cure it now, I can find a treatment within a year or two at most.”

Elder Xing smiled bitterly and shook his head. “Go back. This is not an injury. It is a punishment. I cannot...”

“Elder Xing, my student wants to have a look. Just let her. The Grand Painting Tournament is almost here anyway, so let her gain some experience in treatment.” Dean Qinghe cut him off. At some point, he had come to stand beneath the eaves, one hand resting on the railing as he smiled.

Elder Xing froze. “It may sound that way, but if people find out, it will only harm her. The seal placed on me back then was by the noble Yun family, and even the painters of the Royal City would not dare to make a move.”

Dean Qinghe laughed heartily. “Don’t worry. Nothing will happen. It’s your fortune, really, to have met her. She has the ability, and the Royal City’s ban cannot bind her.”

From their exchange, Sang Sang guessed why Elder Xing was wary. She took out her identity jade disc and showed it to him. “I am of the royal house. If the Yun family has any objections, let them come to me. Now, please give me your hand, Teacher.”

The old man stared blankly at the jade disc she had put away. Even when the carving knife fell to the ground, he did not react. His outstretched hand trembled faintly.

Sang Sang sent star power into his body and scanned him thoroughly from head to toe, inside and out, even through the soul, gathering a complete set of data. Then she discovered that the old man’s body also contained a gene lock, very similar to the one inside Snowball. A similar gene lock also existed in the child of Aunt Fu. Such locks were not born naturally; they were formed through human interference, and the signs of forced grafting were obvious.

There were three layers to the gene lock.

The first locked away reproduction and inheritance, so the function of childbirth had already declined.

The second locked away evolution; without outside help, it would be impossible to reach the heavenly level. Yet in the history of the Vermilion Painting Realm, the highest cultivation had only ever been the peak of the heavenly level, with no star level ever appearing.

The third locked away lifespan; two hundred years was the limit. Once that limit was reached, it would automatically collapse.

These three seals were probably set by the Lord of Vermilion to better control this small world, but the data from just a few people was too one-sided. More data would be needed for comparison.

“Is it difficult?” Dean Qinghe saw that Sang Sang had not spoken for a long time and thought he had overestimated her ability. Otherwise, judging by the success records of the pool in her dormitory, solving a spiritual-energy seal should not have been a problem.

“No problem.” Sang Sang came back to herself and smiled reassuringly at the old man. “Wait here. I’ll paint you a healing picture.”

“A spiritual seal can be broken with a healing painting?” Dean Qinghe grew interested and took the initiative to help Sang Sang set up the easel and spread out the pigments.

What Sang Sang painted was a half-length portrait of the Lord of Vermilion. She endowed the image with simple functions: removing abnormalities and gathering spiritual energy. It was not a large painting, and it was finished in less than half an hour.

When the old man took the painting, his usual calm and detached expression shattered. His lips trembled, his eyes reddened, and he held the painting with both hands, shaking, before bowing deeply to Sang Sang.

Sang Sang lifted her hand lightly, preventing his knees from touching the ground. “This is a contemplative healing painting. Try to contemplate it as much as possible. You can also pray silently to the person in the painting. You may be pleasantly surprised.”

The old man nodded repeatedly.

Dean Qinghe, however, had his doubts. On the way back, he could not help asking, “Have you been to the Sacred Palace?”

Sang Sang shook her head. “No.”

Dean Qinghe said, “The person you painted is the master of the Sacred Palace.”

Sang Sang paused before answering, her tone rather strange. “I merely met him once by chance. I know how powerful he is. For him to protect someone would not even count as a trivial effort. He is the master of the Sacred Palace? Yes, that makes sense. He really ought to be.”

Dean Qinghe said nothing more, but in his heart he began to imagine Sang Sang’s identity as even more exalted. She had met the man only once by chance, yet she could paint the bearing of the Lord of the Sacred Palace and even turn it into a contemplative painting at will?

What a joke.

He had seen the man more than five times, and aside from his face, he could not paint even a trace of that bearing.

The Grand Painting Tournament was the most important event in the Vermilion Realm. During this period, everything else had to yield, and even the sovereign’s birthday was no exception. Anyone or any force that dared to disrupt or sabotage the Grand Painting Tournament would face heavenly punishment.

With this year’s tournament about to begin, every painting academy was on full alert. The scattered freelance painters in the wild had also gathered in the major cities to take part in the preliminaries, and craftsmen of every trade, old and young alike, had all joined in. The consumption of painting supplies during this period was beyond estimation, because paper, brushes, and pigments were all provided free of charge for the tournament, and it took five years of accumulation to supply a single event like this.