Chapter 611: Paint a Tiger, and the Wind Follows; Paint a Dragon, But Do Not Dot the Eyes

You looked at the desk; all the paper was Bianjing's expensive Chengxin Hall paper, a specialty of Jiangnan Dao.

How could ordinary families even dream of such a thing? Its finished product was famed as "smooth as spring ice, dense as a silkworm's cocoon."

You had never used paper like this before.

Zhou Yuner bowed her head to grind ink, then slowly lifted her gaze to see your profile, chin resting on your hand, nose straight and refined, jawline clearly defined, black hair cascading over your shoulders.

In your eyes lay deep thought, carrying an air of quiet elegance.

Zhou Yuner had seen many handsome men, but your demeanor was utterly unlike any she had known.

The Confucians often said: "One who harbors literature within his breast is as empty as a valley; one who holds poetry and books in his belly naturally radiates splendor."

You turned your head slightly, sensing Zhou Yuner's gaze, and smiled gently at her.

"Thank you, Miss Yuner."

Zhou Yuner, known for her bold speech, was momentarily speechless, responding only in a whisper: "Lord Guan, you are too kind."

Jia Yu witnessed this and was instantly furious. He recalled how, moments earlier, Zhou Yuner had shown no such tenderness—even as others took turns toasting her, she had not touched a drop of wine.

Not to mention grinding ink for him.

Now, she was being so attentive to Xie Guan—it filled Jia Yu with resentment.

He thought to himself: That Xie Guan is nothing but a pretty face with no real talent or learning!

Just wait—you'll all see his true colors soon enough!

Jia Yu turned to you coldly: "Lord Guan, you'll honor your wager."

You replied calmly: "A gentleman's word is binding—four horses cannot catch it."

Jia Yu ignored you, tore away the white sheet marred by a stray ink drop, and settled his mind.

He had studied painting since childhood, once apprenticed to Master Liu Xing of the Academy, and devoted six years to intensive practice.

Now, with both hands holding brushes, he painted simultaneously—his long-honed mastery.

Two hands at once, one mind divided, yet both paintings completed in perfect harmony—his skill was evident.

He specialized in tigers; to capture their form and spirit, he had once asked his father to capture a striped tiger and keep it in the backyard for him to observe day and night.

After countless hours of effort, his tigers—sitting, standing, roaring, crouching—were lifelike beyond compare.

Now, with his left hand, he painted a "Sitting Tiger," standing firm in the wind, majestic and fearsome.

"A fierce tiger lurks in deep mountains; its roar stirs the wind."

With his right hand, he sketched the form of a "Roaring Tiger."

He Xiao watched silently. Though he held no fondness for Jia Yu or his kind, he could not deny that Jia Yu's painting was extraordinary.

In a few strokes, the tiger's form leapt onto the paper.

Among this circle of licentiates preparing for the imperial examination, Jia Yu was renowned for his tiger paintings; He Xiao had heard of him.

He Xiao turned to you and found you had not yet picked up a brush—you were still carefully selecting among the ink brushes on the desk.

He sighed inwardly: If this were a calligraphy contest, you might still have a chance—you had once shown him your handwriting, which already bore strong character.

But now you were challenging him in painting? This match would surely end in defeat.

Zhang Yuanlai often visited the small courtyard but had never seen you paint; now he was frantic with worry.

This contest had started because of him—if you lost and left the Gathering of Beauties, wouldn't he be the one who had made a mess of things?

Yet seeing your calm expression, Zhang Yuanlai felt a flicker of reassurance.

You had always been mature beyond your years, never acting rashly—when you played chess with Xie Yuan, you had turned certain defeat into victory.

After some thought, you recalled the dragon in Dezehu Lake.

You finally seized a fine brush and prepared to paint.

Feng Yaya, seeing the boy move, immediately fixed her gaze upon him.

The woman in golden robes, Li Xiangjun, also turned her eyes toward Xie Guan.

You walked slowly to the desk, lifted your brush lightly, and brought it down.

Ink swept across the vast white paper, stretching slowly, freely.

The Confucian scholars beside Jia Yu stared, seeing your brushwork as casual, lawless, and utterly without technique—some snickered.

Their earlier anxieties vanished instantly; after all, Xie Guan was known in Bianjing, or else Li Xiangjun and the others would not have taken such notice.

Though they looked down on Su Yun's humble Poetry Cottage, they held deep respect for this Su family scion from Bianjing's elite.

Not to mention befriending him—even gaining his favor was a dream they dared not hope for.

Li Xiangjun, however, was puzzled. Her deference toward Xie Guan stemmed from Zhang Yunzhi, who, in idle chat with Yun Jie, had gushed over this Xie family bastard, calling him "a dragon near the clouds, far from a fish in a pond."

Such high praise had drawn her attention to him.

Though she knew little of painting, she felt your brushwork was improper.

Look at Jia Yu!

He was utterly absorbed in his painting. His left-hand "Sitting Tiger" was half-finished—the tiger's cold eyes glared, lips curled in fury, its fur rippling as if caught in the wind.

His right-hand "Roaring Tiger" was equally lifelike, mouth open in a thunderous howl, its aura so fierce it seemed to subdue all beasts.

"The wind howls through the woods; a hundred beasts bow before its might."

The tiger, king of beasts, fierce and majestic, lord of the mountains, was also called the Mountain Lord.

A lone tiger walks!

The two brilliantly colored, wide-eyed tigers Jia Yu painted stood apart yet complemented each other, radiating a unique beauty and majesty.

In contrast, your painting remained unfinished, while Jia Yu's was already reaching its peak.

Many in the C-zone of the Gathering of Beauties turned to stare; some gathered closer, praising: "What a magnificent tiger painting—perfect in form, perfect in spirit! The tiger, king of beasts—who dares provoke its wrath?"

"Even the Academy's masters couldn't do better."

Most here were from wealthy families, literate and cultured; even if they didn't read poetry, they could appreciate art.

Jia Yu's face brightened; his brushstrokes grew steadier.

Zhang Yuanlai's face darkened—Jia Yu's tiger today was even better than usual; perhaps fate had granted him sudden inspiration.

At that moment!

A woman cried out: "This is…"

Feng Yaya turned toward the voice—it was Zhou Yuner, who had been grinding ink for you. Her face was pale with disbelief, eyes fixed on the paper where you had just painted.

The woman in golden robes, Li Xiangjun, stared at the white Xuan paper on the pearwood desk, lips parted in disbelief: "It's… Yun…"

Her whisper drew curious glances from nearby guests.

And then—

The boy held his brush, moving freely; a long streak of ink instantly appeared on the paper, occupying the upper half.

This unexpected stroke puzzled everyone. Yet the boy did not pause—he dipped his brush again, added a heavy stroke beneath the first, and ended with a decisive pause.

The ink was still wet; as they stared again, it seemed as if mist had gently settled upon the paper.

Not as if—it was real. The ink seemed to move, hovering in midair, as if harboring thunder, radiating mysterious power.

He Xiao rubbed his eyes, thinking he had imagined it. He stared again—the ink was just ink. Had it been an illusion?

But as he kept watching, the mist reappeared.

He began to wonder: Was it too much wine? Poor tolerance? Or had he overindulged with his old lover, weakening his body, draining his kidneys, blurring his vision, ringing his ears?

As He Xiao drifted into such thoughts, a child's voice suddenly rang out: "Mother, the ink on the paper is moving!"

One of the nearby adults held up the child, whose words were innocent and clear.

He Xiao was jolted awake.

He looked around—everyone's faces showed disbelief, or blinking, or stunned silence.

It was truly moving!

The ink seemed alive, gliding freely across the paper.

The boy continued painting, his strokes simple yet bold—another heavy stroke landed.

In the eyes of all, the mist thickened.

"What kind of painting is this…?"

The woman in golden robes had risen to her feet, her face filled with astonishment.

Xie Guan had barely begun, yet already such wonders appeared.

With the clouds in place, he added a few strokes beneath them—like falling rain.

Then he "parted" the clouds with more strokes—like wind sweeping diagonally across the sky.

Clouds gave birth to rain; rain gave birth to wind.

All felt as if "the wind tore mountains apart, the rain burst rivers open."

Feng Yaya marveled: Xie Guan's brushwork was utterly unbound—free, spontaneous, lacking the refined precision of iron lines or delicate bird-and-flower detail.

Yet precisely this wild, unrestrained style had conjured such a wondrous scene upon the paper.

Li Xiangjun's beautiful eyes narrowed in wonder: "Is this a thunderstorm painting…?"

"No—there's something else within the clouds!"

Zhang Yuanlai stared closely—the boy lifted his brush and drew a single line within the mist, then added a few more strokes.

Another marvel emerged!

Faintly visible, within the clouds, a dragon's head emerged, exhaling downward.

The boy sketched lightly—the blurred dragon's head gradually took shape, crowned with two horns, whiskers fluttering.

Lightning flickered within the horns; its mouth swallowed wind and rain.

It coiled and glided through the clouds, scales rising and falling with each movement.

Zhang Yuan couldn't help but cry out, "It's a dragon!"

"A true dragon hidden within the clouds, summoning mist and clouds with majestic grandeur!"

Those around also marveled, "Dragons rise with clouds—truly, when the pool falls, stars touch the sky; when the dragon stirs, mist rises from the water."

"The world always speaks of divine dragons; now I see one writhing before my eyes."

"Wait… this dragon has no eyes."

You finished your final stroke, tracing the dragon's tail swaying amid swirling clouds and mist.

The crowd gazed again, feeling as if the dragon would burst from the paper, emerging from the clouds, on the verge of full manifestation.

The dragon is trapped, unable to be free!

As the crowd stood stunned, they faintly heard a dragon's roar echoing through the mist.

The boy had already gently set down his brush.

Zhou Yuner hurriedly packed away brush and inkstone, daring not to be careless in the slightest.

Li Xiangjun and others seemed no longer interested in the outcome of the contest.

Those who had been watching Jia Yu's tiger painting were now stunned into silence by the boy's artwork.

Jia Yu's classmates wore expressions of shock, too absorbed to notice the remaining ink in Jia Yu's inkstone.

You began painting after Jia Yu, yet finished before him.

Your expression remained calm; you waited a moment, and finally Jia Yu completed his painting.

Jia Yu had sensed something strange—the crowd growing thicker—but he could not afford distraction at the final stroke; he finished, deeply satisfied.

These were the two tigers he had painted best in days.

After inspecting his own painting for any omissions, he turned toward Xie Guan's paper.

He froze in surprise!

Among those nearby were several with cultivated Primordial Spirits, yet none had sensed even the faintest ripple of spiritual energy.

Without any Primordial Spirit energy to empower it, this painting had achieved such profound mystery.

Their gazes involuntarily fixed on the gentle, refined boy.

With this "Cloud and Rain Dragon Revealed" painting as a jewel before them, Jia Yu's tiger painting was utterly ignored.

Zhang Yuan sighed, "Young Master Xie not only excels in calligraphy—his painting skill is equally transcendent."

You merely smiled humbly, "Merely trivial arts, nothing more."

Your gaze turned to Jia Yu and his tiger painting.

Zhou Yuner chuckled softly and said to Jia Yu, "Young Master Jia Yu, what do you think of this painting?"

Jia Yu's face turned ashen; he opened his mouth but fell silent, staring at the painting, utterly speechless.

Zhang Yuan spoke pointedly: "Young Master Jia Yu once vowed to accept defeat—surely you don't now claim victory for yourself?"

Gamblers keep their word; would the Young Master Jia of Chongshan Academy truly wish to break his promise?

Hearing this, Jia Yu's face flushed crimson; his hands clenched tightly within his sleeves.

At that moment!

One of Jia Yu's fellow scholars, staring at the painting, suddenly laughed: "Who has won or lost is not yet certain."

"Young Master Xie's painting is not yet complete—it lacks the pupils."

"When painting tigers, horses, or dragons, the most crucial stroke is the pupil—it is the ultimate test of skill."

"Young Master Jia's two tigers are both finished, their eyes bright and vivid—naturally superior."

At these words!

Zhang Yuan frowned, silently cursing these men as shameless—they clearly meant to cheat, though the superiority was obvious.

Yet their logic was sound.

Jia Yu, as if finding justification, lifted his gaze slightly: "Xie Guan, dare you add the pupils to the dragon?"

You merely shook your head. "I dare not."

The scholar beside you laughed loudly: "Xie Guan, you fear that adding the pupils will fail, ruining the entire painting—then this contest would be…"

He meant to say Jia Yu had won, but as he looked at Xie Guan's painting, the words stuck in his throat.

So he awkwardly amended: "... draw, then."

You smiled. "I dare not add the pupils—I only fear…"

"If I add them, the dragon might fly out!"

(End of Chapter)