Song Qianji watched as the two figures lightly tapped their toes, their forms leaping gracefully upward, scaling the cliff face straight into the clouds.
The mountain wall was smooth and barren, devoid of trees, a path even monkeys would struggle to cross on ordinary days.
Towering and upright, it stood across the sea of clouds, directly facing the western window of Flying Cloud Tower.
If the Calligrapher Sage stood by the window, with his keen eyesight, he could glimpse this cliff face simply by pushing the window open.
The two raised their hands, sleeves fluttering, and almost simultaneously began writing on the rock.
Their postures were effortless and unrestrained, showing no visible exertion, yet the strength of their brushstrokes penetrated deep into the cliff.
Stone fragments crumbled and fell, stirring clouds of dust upon impact, causing the earth to tremble.
On the towering mountain wall, characters as large as bushel baskets emerged as if carved by knife and axe.
Sweeping and elegant, with strokes like iron and silver hooks, their imposing aura was overwhelming.
The crowd on the grassland, captivated by this spectacle, momentarily forgot the calligraphy and paintings on their own tables.
Focusing intently, they felt as if the two lines of large characters were about to burst forth from the stone and press down from the sky, prompting them to cheer loudly:
"Such mastery! Such power! Writing on stone cliffs is not difficult, but maintaining unbroken flow, with clear strokes, appropriate depth, and continuous brush intent—that is rare. Zhao Mu truly lives up to being the youngest Golden Core Talisman Master in Tianbei County."
"Wei Zhanyang's line is exceptional too—every stroke, hook, and dash stands like blades and swords. Even if I practiced on paper, I could never write characters this fine."
Song Qianji’s seat was far in the back, and he could only see a sea of bobbing heads ahead.
Ji Chen stood on tiptoe: "What did they write? My cultivation is lacking—could you take a look for me, fellow Daoist?"
Song Qianji narrowed his eyes slightly: "Nature’s masterpiece crowns divinity and elegance."
"Truly magnificent!" Ji Chen exclaimed. "No matter how much others practice calligraphy day and night or train through thousands of landscape paintings, they’ll all be overshadowed by these two at this Grand Assembly of Distinguished Appraisals."
Song Qianji smiled without replying. When writing on the host’s turf, it was only proper to please the host first.
The Spirit Qi in their brushstrokes was abundant; unless deliberately destroyed, regardless of wind, sun, or rain, these two lines of poetry would remain deeply engraved on Huawel Sect’s cliff wall.
By beginning with praise for Huawel Sect’s outstanding people and spiritually rich land, these lines earned their place.
"What about the other line?" Ji Chen asked excitedly. "Fellow Daoist Song, take another look!"
Song Qianji recited: "All other peaks appear insignificant."
"What grandeur!" Ji Chen said enviously. "When will I ever possess such skill?"
Song Qianji shook his head: "You don’t need to."
You’re a Formation Master—why bother learning Talismans?
Ji Chen clearly misunderstood: "Fellow Daoist Song, don’t be fooled by my decent appearance. Wealth is but an external possession; only skills honed by oneself are reliable. Otherwise, people will always mock, saying even a dog could cultivate better with the same resources."
Song Qianji couldn’t hold back a laugh, but after chuckling, he felt a pang of melancholy.
The current Ji Chen was still young, like a wealthy young master unaware of life’s hardships. Though talkative, his words weren’t mad—which felt somewhat unfamiliar.
In his previous life, when Song Qianji had met him, this man had already set formations to annihilate his entire clan, become a Rogue Cultivator, and spent his days half-mad, half-lucid, half-drunk, and half-delirious."Fellow Daoist, don't laugh. I've already observed that the seating arrangement for the Calligraphy and Painting Examination is quite deliberate. The two most recognized masters, Zhao Mu and Wei Zhanyang, are seated at positions one and two—they can write directly on the cliff face for the Calligrapher Sage to see," Ji Chen analyzed seriously. "The others are seated according to their proficiency in talisman arts. As for me, a Talismaster who can't write talismans, and you, a Sword Cultivator who's never written one, we're seated together so neither of us can copy from the other."
Song Qianji: "...It's fine. We'll each do our own work and rely on our true skills to be at the bottom."
The cliff wall fell silent again.
The two who had left their writing had already descended the cliff and were slowly walking toward the grassy meadow by the stream.
Inspired by the effortless brushwork of these two, some participants who were writing had finished and stopped, wholly admiring the stone carvings on the cliff, while others who hadn't completed their paintings continued to work diligently with their heads down.
Song Qianji sat down to add details to his potato flower.
Ji Chen watched for a moment and couldn't help but exclaim in admiration—
Though there was no wind on the paper, the petals seemed to glisten with dew, trembling slightly as if in a breeze, and every tiny hair on the stem was depicted with exquisite detail.
With a pained expression, Ji Chen took his seat, picked up his priceless Rosy Haze Brush, and drew a circle on the paper:
"I really didn't want to compete. What else can I do here besides being laughed at? But my elders insisted I give it a try."
After finishing his painting, Song Qianji set down his brush contentedly, waiting for the ink to dry naturally, and glanced at the other's paper.
The brushstrokes were powerful, penetrating the paper, and the brushwork was smooth and harmonious—but it was indeed just a circle.
"If you can't compose landscapes, why not write characters?" Song Qianji asked.
"The structure of characters is also a form of composition."
Song Qianji suddenly understood. Ji Chen had a unique perception of space and simply couldn't draw anything two-dimensional. He should be building and constructing. He was a natural Formation Master, a genius favored by the Dao Ancestor.
"Although I think your painting is excellent, brimming with Spirit Qi, this potato flower is... after all," Ji Chen chose a more tactful phrase, "too novel. The Huawel Sect has invited ten contemporary masters of calligraphy and painting to judge the rankings. They might not be able to accept it."
Song Qianji comforted him: "Most things in life are about participation, not winning."
Ji Chen nodded: "You're right. Sometimes, the harder you try, the worse it gets."
Participants at the front tables overheard and turned around, staring at them in utter shock.
From their gazes, Song Qianji read fourteen words:
"Dead pigs aren't afraid of boiling water, and minnows team up with weaklings."
Yet the two continued to exchange pessimistic encouragement, creating an oddly harmonious atmosphere.
Song Qianji even picked up his brush again and wrote two tiny characters on the other's paper:
Chicken Egg.
Ji Chen clapped in admiration: "Marvelous! The circle has become an egg. What I drew was indeed a chicken egg."
As they spoke, a chorus of congratulations and praises arose around them.
Of course, Song Qianji and Ji Chen didn't think this was for their egg painting.
They saw a person in a white brocade robe, waving a folding fan, striding through the meadow and crowd before stopping at their table.
Ji Chen was astonished—wasn't this Zhao Mu, who had left his writing on the stone cliff? Had he come personally to guide the bottom-ranked participants?
The man smiled smugly: "Fellow Daoist Song, what a coincidence. We meet again after parting at the Yaoguang Lake pavilion."
Yaoguang Lake pavilion?
Song Qianji thought for a moment, vaguely recalling that the day hadn't been suitable for gathering mud.
Meng Heze had acquired many Magical Artifacts, while he himself had obtained a Jade Bloom.
As for the two who arrived last at the pavilion, he only remembered Zhao Jiheng holding many scrolls. As for the person before him, he had no impression at all.Song Qianji asked in confusion, "Are you a friend of Zhao Jiheng, fellow cultivator?"
Zhao Mu's expression turned cold: "I'm his cousin."
He thought to himself, how could this person remember someone like Zhao Jiheng—that good-for-nothing—yet fail to remember me?
It must be that the tables have turned today. Having lost the prestige he once held in the waterside pavilion, he’s now deliberately trying to insult me.
In truth, if he had gifted me a lounge chair or a hoe, not only would Song Qianji recognize me, but he’d also thank me sincerely.
Zhao Mu glanced behind him, and Zhao Jiheng, taking the cue, sprang forward.
Quick as lightning, he snatched Song Qianji’s painting and held it up high for all to see:
"Song Qianji, I said a Sword Cultivator like you should be at the martial examination instead of signing up for calligraphy and painting. I thought you’d paint something impressive, but all you can manage is wildflowers?"
Ji Chen retrieved the thin sheet of paper and earnestly corrected him: "Fellow cultivator, these aren’t wildflowers—they’re potato blossoms. I didn’t recognize them at first either, but thanks to Fellow Cultivator Song’s extensive knowledge..."
Zhao Jiheng feigned surprise: "Well, if it isn’t the young Lord Ji, who studied Talisman arts diligently for twelve years yet couldn’t produce half a Talisman even with brush in hand. My apologies. Your late father was a mighty figure who once dominated these lands—what a pity he passed so soon."
Lively laughter erupted around them.
Ji Chen’s face flushed red.
Song Qianji smiled: "Some people simply awaken to their talents a bit later; great vessels take time to mature."
Ji Chen looked at him with gratitude.
At another signal from Zhao Mu, Zhao Jiheng grabbed the painting from Ji Chen’s desk and slapped the table, roaring with laughter:
"Everyone, look—it’s an egg!"
The crowd excitedly gathered around to admire the smooth, glossy egg, nearly crying with laughter.
"Egg and potato blossoms," Zhao Mu remarked with a faint, indifferent smile. "You two truly deserve to share a table."
"Maintain order," a Deacon at the edge of the venue coughed lightly. "Participants who have finished painting, please submit your work and leave promptly."
Yet he showed no intention of stepping in to enforce discipline.
Amidst the waves of mocking laughter, Song Qianji and Ji Chen turned in their papers.
Ji Chen said, "I’m used to it, but are you alright, Brother Song?"
Having just defended him, Ji Chen’s address had shifted from "Fellow Cultivator Song" to "Brother Song."
"Why not chant with me: When others anger, I stay calm; if I die of rage, who’ll take my place? Besides, it drains the spirit and wastes energy..."
Song Qianji knew that once Ji Chen started, it would be hard to get him to stop, so he cut in:
"Shall we go watch the Music Examination?"
"Excellent! Listening to the qin can soothe the mind—just what we need."
※※※
"What did Song Qianji write? Did he draw any Talismans? How was his calligraphy?"
In the Flying Cloud Tower, the Calligrapher Sage fired off three questions in rapid succession.
The academy dean didn’t know how to respond: "...He didn’t write anything. He painted a flower."
"What flower?"
"Potato blossoms."
The Calligrapher Sage was taken aback: "Which kind of potato blossoms?"
The dean replied helplessly, "Have you forgotten? There’s only one kind of potato blossom—the most ordinary type."
The Calligrapher Sage fumed, "What is that boy playing at? Bring me that damned potato blossom painting at once!"
The dean acknowledged the order, thinking to himself, Feel free to scold Song Qianji, but why blame the innocent potato blossom?
"Never mind, I’ll go see it myself." The Calligrapher Sage suddenly rose to his feet.
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