Chapter 741

Depicting a vase, lining cloth, and a simple flower combination belongs to the category of standard still-life sketching, which any art student who has undergone systematic training for a period of time can generally handle.

But adding a live cat in a relaxed sleeping state... the difficulty coefficient climbs geometrically.

Feline bodies are soft, and the layers of fur are extremely complex, presenting subtle and rich texture changes under specific light.

More importantly, when sketching living things, especially animals, one must never be satisfied with just a likeness.

One must capture and express that inner vitality and the vivid feeling of a relaxed state; otherwise, the painting is dead, a failed specimen.

Regardless, the guidance agreement reached with the Yutang family this time had a staggering reward, far exceeding the sale of several meticulously created oil paintings.

He absolutely did not want to miss this opportunity.

Therefore, he "kindly" added a little bit of "appropriate" difficulty for this confident A-kun.

Of course, even without adding this cat, given A-kun's background of "only two days of self-study," the result would likely not be essentially different.

After all, even art college students who have studied drawing for many years might not be able to excellently complete a sketch of a cat, let alone a layman of a mere two days?

It is good for art creators to have backbone and confidence, but if confidence detaches from the soil of reality and evolves into blind arrogance, someone needs to provide "guidance" at the right time.

In the envisioned teaching relationship, he would be A-kun's teacher in the future.

And an appropriate, impressive "display of strength" could make the student realize the gap and establish necessary respect, which was also part of the art of teaching.

So this could also be considered his warning to Natsume Chikage.

Kusamura Hokusai had already outlined the script for what would follow in his mind:

When A-kun drew something full of loopholes and dreadful to look at, he would appear calmly with the demeanor of a master, precisely point out the errors, demonstrate with his own brush, and then order him to redraw according to the correct method.

At that time, the young man would naturally be able to realize what true sketching skill was and be convinced.

Konoe Tong keenly captured the calculation that flashed across the bottom of Kusamura Hokusai's eyes, but she did not speak, simply sitting quietly, her gaze falling on Natsume Chikage, like a calm bystander.

Natsume Chikage took the brand-new sketching pencils of different hardness and the thick professional sketching paper handed over by Kusamura Hokusai, his face showing no extra expression.

He adjusted the angle of the drawing board.

Then, he raised his eyes slightly, his gaze sweeping calmly over the square table in front, the wrinkled linen cloth, the plain white vase, the half-open white roses and eucalyptus leaves, and the tabby cat sleeping without any defense, its fur visible root by root under the sun.

His expression, on that handsome face that was almost unreal, revealed a kind of ascetic-like calmness and focus.

No nervousness, no excitement, and not the slightest intention of showing off.

It was as if what was about to begin was just an ordinary daily practice.

His right hand gripped the pencil in an extremely natural and relaxed posture, his knuckles distinct, his posture steady, completely without the stiffness or excessive force common in beginners.

The effect of the special equipment "Da Vinci's Mystery," after he obtained and initially understood the basics of drawing, began to ferment continuously and deeply.

During the equipment period, as time ticked by, his understanding of the essence of drawing and visual principles was expanding toward depth at a speed difficult for ordinary people to reach.

Between the him of yesterday and the him of this moment, there was already a chasm in the level of cognition regarding drawing.

Even between the him who had just left home an hour ago and the him sitting in this master's studio at this moment, there was a subtle but tangible difference due to the continuous realization and "digestion" along the way.

The current him, in the field of sketching, no longer needed any "teacher's" guidance.

Or rather, no one was qualified to be his "teacher" in this path.

If there were any, it would only be this complex world itself—the dance of light and shadow, the logic of form, the mystery of texture, and the breath of space—these were his eternal teachers.

Under the blessing of the equipment, he instantly opened a "drawing eye."

Wherever his gaze reached, the internal structure of objects, the rhythmic transition of light and dark, the virtual-real relationship of space, the unique expression methods of different materials... countless information, like decoded data streams, instantly poured into his consciousness and were automatically converted into multiple feasible, and even optimal, drawing expression schemes.

The seemingly complex relationship network of light and shadow was no longer a secret that needed to be painstakingly pondered, but a drawing vocabulary that was clearly visible and could be picked up at will.

Coupled with the extreme control power that turned brushstrokes into "sword intent" bestowed by the "Decaying Wooden Sword"—precise, stable, and full of rhythm and expressive power.

At this moment, sketching for Natsume Chikage was as natural as breathing, as smooth as walking, without any obstruction.

At first.

Kusamura Hokusai was still holding a mindset of scrutiny and waiting for an "interesting development," standing about two steps behind Natsume Chikage, observing at his leisure.

"Speaking of which, you two discussed with Xiyuanji and the others all day today, do you have a final conception for the theme of the new manga?"

However, when the pencil in Natsume Chikage's hand fell, drawing the first light yet incredibly certain and elastic "rustling" sound on the paper.

The smile on Kusamura Hokusai's face began to freeze at a speed visible to the naked eye.

His eyes, from the initial relaxed observation, quickly became focused, his pupils shrinking slightly, then replaced by surprise, and finally settling into an unbelievable solemnity.

He subconsciously moved forward silently by one step, his body leaning forward slightly so he could see the direction of every stroke more clearly.

And Konoe Tong, who had just been sitting and watching, had her eyes, which were always calm and waveless, narrow involuntarily at this moment.

Clearly, she also keenly sensed that the trajectory of events seemed to be galloping away in a way that completely exceeded the script.

The current Natsume Chikage seemed to have transformed into a precise "high-speed plotter" that possessed an artistic soul.

His movements were incredibly fluid, and his rhythm was steady enough to make one's heart palpitate.

The pencil, in his slender fingers, seemed to have been endowed with independent life and will.

The lines were sometimes as light as spring willow catkins, delicately outlining the subtle curls at the edges of the rose petals and the almost transparent fluff at the tips of the cat's ears.

Sometimes they were as steady as gold and stone engravings, powerfully depicting the age-old texture of the old elm tabletop and the heavy texture of the linen lining cloth deep in the shadows.

The speed at which he put down his pen was dazzlingly fast, yet as precise as if it had undergone the most rigorous calculations.

The square and stable perspective structure of the table, the soft and complex folds formed when the lining cloth naturally fell, the warm curved surface of the vase and the unique matte texture of the pottery, the complex forms of the rose petals layered upon layers, budding and waiting to bloom...

And, that sleeping tabby cat—its completely relaxed curled posture, the arc of its abdomen rising and falling with steady breathing, the sensitive whiskers on its face trembling slightly with the wind, and the thin ear flaps that appeared translucent under the afternoon sun, with internal blood vessels faintly visible...

All these incredibly complex visual pieces of information were "growing" and "emerging" on that clean white drawing paper at a speed that was jaw-dropping yet orderly.

No hesitation, no traces of repeated modification, no smudges from erasing.

Done in one go, every stroke filled with wind.

It was as if the complete image he saw in his mind was being directly "transmitted" and "printed" onto the paper surface through some invisible channel.

After a period of time.

Natsume Chikage lifted his wrist slightly and stopped his brush.

A complete, deep, and strangely charming still-life sketch work was already displayed on the drawing paper without any reservation.

Kusamura Hokusai almost held his breath, taking a big step to the front of the easel.

His gaze was like being attracted by a magnet, locked dead on the image, the muscles on his face appearing somewhat stiff due to the excessively strong impact, his mouth slightly open.

In the painting.

The afternoon sunlight was geniusly "introduced" into the painting, slanting in from the "window" in the upper left, precisely and softly illuminating the upper right corner of the elm tabletop, casting a shadow with clear edges and natural transitions on the lining cloth.

That light seemed to possess substance and temperature, passing through the virtual, clear air in the painting, gently brushing over every white rose petal, making them look full and delicate, as if they would really tremble gently with the breeze in the next moment.

The ceramic texture of the vase was expressed to the fullest, even making people feel, when staring at it, that they could almost smell the fragrance of the soil and feel the coolness and roughness when touched by fingertips.

And what made the soul tremble the most was the cat.

It was depicted... the word "lifelike" seemed so poor and powerless at this moment.

It was not just "like," but as if it had been injected with a soul, body temperature, and breath.

That completely relaxed curled posture contained the elegance and laziness unique to felines.

The imperceptible rising and falling arc of the abdomen subtly hinted at steady, long breathing.

Under the closed eyelids, it seemed one could "feel" the slight rotation of the eyeballs in the dream.

The most terrifying and shocking thing was the "vitality" that rushed toward one's face!

That tabby cat was truly sleeping in the sunlight by the window, its fur warm, the purring sound seeming as if it would reach one's ears in the next second, and it might wake up at any time, stretch its body, and let out a sleepy "meow."

This realm—transcending likeness, reaching the essence; not just depicting light and shadow, but capturing and recreating the eternal moment of "light and life being present"—this was precisely the supreme artistic holy realm that Kusamura Hokusai, and countless artists throughout history who were truly obsessed with drawing, exhausted their life's blood to dream of but often could only catch a glimpse of.

His eyes were filled with huge confusion, unbelievable disbelief that was hard to digest, and a trace of bewilderment and bitterness that was deeply shaken and even hit.

He really wanted to ignore etiquette and ask Konoe Tong loudly.

The one you brought, their sketching attainments have reached perfection, and even... even in some aspects, they are faintly superior to me!

And you still ask me to "guide" them?

What kind of international joke is this?!

It was also in this shocking cognition.

Kusamura Hokusai suddenly recalled the words Natsume Chikage said when he entered the door, which he had treated as the arrogant joke of a young man—

"I have only been learning to draw for two days."

You call this something that can be drawn after "learning for two days"?!

This... this is completely impossible!!

If Natsume Chikage had revealed shocking drawing miracles from childhood, received the top-tier resources for cultivation, and gone through more than ten years of hard practice without stopping to reach today's realm, Kusamura Hokusai might have sighed at the genius, fearful and respectable, amidst the shock.

But "two days"?

A mere forty-eight hours, leaping from a state of being almost a blank sheet of paper to touching and even surpassing the realm he had spent decades of immersion and hard practice to reach?

This had completely shattered all the basic cognitive frameworks he had as a professional painter and an art educator regarding "talent," "effort," and "time"! ===== CHAPTER 742 =====