Chapter 630: The path is complete

The old blind man's brush paused, his face expressionless, his eyes staring blankly ahead.

"Judging by the voice, he seems about twenty, and the confidence in his words doesn't seem unfounded. Yet, there's a sense of age in his tone, a disparity between his spoken age and his mental age. Such a situation likely indicates a cultivator."

The old blind man's voice was hoarse and deep, as if the friction of time and the erosion of the elements had left deep marks on his vocal cords.

Each word was squeezed out of his throat with difficulty, like gravel rasping in a hoarse friction.

This hoarse voice gave a profound and unique feeling, making one involuntarily ponder and listen.

Chen Xun raised an eyebrow, still maintaining a stance as if facing a worthy opponent, ready for a challenge.

He didn't respond verbally, knowing this old blind man was definitely not a cultivator, but just an ordinary mortal.

The old blind man's brush remained paused on the painting, and even when facing a cultivator, his expression remained calm: "Why not let me paint a portrait of you, young master? You already have an image in my mind."

"Please, sir." Chen Xun's expression was calm, his eyes curious, still holding his cup of health tea without putting it down.

Chen Xun couldn't help but be shocked, his mind drawn in. Outside the alley in the painting, two figures gradually appeared, one of which was his own silhouette.

This person’s eyes were filled with indifference, expressionless, yet slightly looking up, as if gazing at the heavens, or detached from this world, observing everything with solitude and calm.

What terrified him most was that the figure in the painting was also holding a cup, resembling his health tea cup. This person's insight was already meticulous, a master among masters!

But Chen Xun frowned slightly; this didn't seem like him. The figure's outline was largely left blank, only the eyes were vivid, but it wasn't him.

"Young master, take a look."

"Sir, did you once see these mountains and rivers with your own eyes?"

"Never seen them."

"...Impressive."

Chen Xun took a deep breath. Mortals have no divine sense, "Then how did you paint this? To be honest, I also dabble in painting and have a snow-capped mountain scene I'd like you to critique."

"By walking with my feet, touching with my hands, and painting with my heart."

The old blind man responded calmly, neither arrogant nor humble even when facing a cultivator, "Young master, as for critique, I cannot see, so forgive me for lacking the elegance."

"Sir, I only know that people cannot imagine what they've never seen, especially in painting. You've painted so vividly, even clearer than my memories."

"Hehe, the earth and mountains all have veins. I once traveled the world. Rather than painting form and meaning, it's more about painting the veins, which doesn't require eyesight."

The old blind man's hollow eyes looked ahead, having set down his brush, "Whether it's people or all things, they all have veins. By outlining them bit by bit, form and meaning naturally emerge, without needing imagination."

Chen Xun's eyes widened slightly, his gaze gradually lifting from the painting, a look of astonishment on his face, even feeling a tingling on his scalp, his heart already in turmoil.

The veins of heaven and earth... Such an understanding was something he only discovered after breaking through the Void Refinement phase and opening the Five Elements Immortal Eyes, even needing the power of the Five Elements to fully outline a painting.

The old blind man slightly tilted his head, his ears moving slightly: "Judging by your expression, young master, is my painting incorrect?"

"...Yes."

"Then it's incorrect. The appearance is born from the heart, like mountains and rivers, constantly changing. What is painted can only be kept for a moment, not passed down for a lifetime."

"Sir, what do you mean by this?"

"If a painting could change with the passage of time, like the veins of mountains and rivers, evolving on its own, I would consider it complete."

"How is that possible..."

"Hehe, I cannot see this world, but I wish to paint constantly, using my lifespan to fill the blank sky in my heart with my humble painting skills, to see this world anew."

"Sir, perhaps your eyes can be healed."

"Young master, there's no need. Immortals have their path, mortals have theirs. I also have a path in my heart, returning to my ancestral land after a wandering life, my path is complete."

"Congratulations, sir."

"Hehe."

"I'll go buy you some wine."

"Thank you, young master."

The old blind man's empty eyes lowered again, starting to paint with vigor. Chen Xun had already walked away, deep in thought, muttering something under his breath.

At this time, some passersby shook their heads slightly as they walked by.

The scenes in the paintings that Chen Xun saw slowly collapsed in the eyes of the passersby. The once undulating mountains became flat and featureless, leaving only chaotic lines, like ghostly scribbles, hard to decipher.

The rippling water lost its vitality, resembling a stagnant pool, no longer possessing lively ripples and dynamic flow.

The flowers and birds were bizarre, unrecognizable as living beings.

Even the veins of leaves and the texture of petals seemed like ink splattered carelessly, chaotic and disordered, lacking in order and beauty.

A gentle breeze blew through, and the mountains and rivers that should have been majestic appeared ethereal and insubstantial, losing their original grandeur and magnificence, becoming pale and weak.

It was as if the paintings seen by the passersby were completely different from those seen by Chen Xun, and the real world was entirely different from the world imagined by the old blind man. His paintings never sold.

That's why a meal, a pot of wine, and a painting were all he could offer, with no gentry coming to seek so-called famous paintings.

He was just a blind old man with nothing special.

The neighbors only bought his paintings to prevent him from starving, as an excuse to give him some food. After all, how could a blind man paint?

If he truly painted well, his fame would have spread far and wide, and the alley would be bustling with people, and the painting table wouldn't be piled with so many paintings, only occasionally given to children.

In the children's world, such ghostly scribbles better suited their aesthetic, and they could even take them home for free to scribble on.

The children in the alley all liked the old blind man and said he painted well!

The neighbors also discussed among themselves: "Looks like no one bought a painting today. Who knows how many spirit stone fragments have been spent on these brushes and rice paper, such a pity."

"He has no children or family, so we should help him as much as we can."

"Yeah, a blind man selling paintings, isn't that nonsense? Luckily, he doesn't charge spirit stone fragments. If he did, he'd be seen as a swindler."

"Let's go, let's go, we've tried to persuade him, but he's stubborn."

...

The neighbors casually chatted a bit before hurrying into the alley. These paintings couldn't even be called paintings, not much better than children's scribbles.

They looked at the piled-up paintings with some headache, while the old blind man continued tirelessly, as if possessed, with no one able to dissuade him.