Chapter Thirty-Five: A Stroke That Astounds the Academy, Bamboo Painted Again at the Waterside Pavilion

Madam Hua’s cultivation was profound; her mastery of the Divine Refinement was, by all standards of the Zhao realm, quite extraordinary. She had apprenticed under the wife of the First Master of the Sacred Mountain, inheriting the Divine Refinement legacy from the Temple of Karma. Her primordial spirit was formidable—capable of traveling three thousand miles through the Void, regarding even the blazing sun suspended in the heavens as nothing.

Yet, despite such cultivation, she was unable to discern Anle’s level of attainment. This was a most astonishing matter. Upon careful scrutiny, she discovered that the battered bamboo sword at the young man’s waist emanated a faint, elusive sword intent that shielded him, blocking her primordial spirit’s probing.

“This bamboo sword… where did it come from?”

Madam Hua drew a deep breath, her brows furrowed slightly. She closed the scholarly tome in her hands, her expression growing more solemn. The bamboo sword appeared tattered and ordinary, yet within it surged an indomitable sword energy, akin to a mountain pressing down upon the world.

A battered bamboo sword…

Madam Hua immediately thought of that figure in Great Zhao. A hundred years ago, lifting a shabby bamboo sword, he dared to duel the world’s foremost master—the Emperor Yuanmeng. The old Imperial Uncle of Great Zhao!

But how could such a formidable figure’s sword end up at Anle’s waist?

“It was gifted by an elder. I painted an ink bamboo and stone scroll that pleased him greatly, so he gave me this sword, hoping that my character might be as noble as the bamboo—upright and unyielding to adversity.”

Anle placed his palm upon the bamboo sword and smiled.

Madam Hua glanced at Anle. Gifted by an elder—could it be that old Imperial Uncle? Yet she asked no further. In terms of both lineage and cultivation, the old Imperial Uncle far surpassed her.

She set the book upon the couch and rose, slipping her crystalline, pale feet into embroidered shoes. Looking at Anle, she said, “Young Master An, may I examine your sword?”

Anle did not refuse, nor did he fear Madam Hua would seize the bamboo sword. For someone who had gifted him the “Sword Cascade Scroll” simply for a painting, she would not take the sword without cause.

He unfastened the bamboo sword from his waist, supporting the blade with one hand and the hilt with the other, and presented it to Madam Hua.

She stood and received it gravely. Her powerful primordial spirit surged silently, and within the main hall of the waterside pavilion, a sudden gale swept through, lifting her robes and hair.

Madam Hua scrutinized the battered bamboo sword for a long time before sighing.

Without further words, she returned the sword to Anle. “This sword, bestowed upon you by an elder, is your destined opportunity. Nurture it with your heart and spirit. Though it is but a bamboo sword, it is as resilient as a gentleman’s backbone—unbreakable and unconquerable.”

“A noble heart remains unbent and unbroken; so too does the sword remain whole and unyielding.”

“I hope you may one day be worthy of this sword.”

Admiration shone in Madam Hua’s eyes.

Anle gripped the bamboo sword. He had yet to acquire sufficient cultivation to discern its essence, but since even Madam Hua praised it so, the sword must surely be remarkable.

“Madam Hua, I have come to bid you farewell. The elder who gifted me the sword will take me somewhere in three days, so I fear I cannot come to the Lin residence to paint for the young masters.”

Anle cupped his hands.

Madam Hua’s lashes quivered lightly, her eyes narrowing. “Three days hence? I understand. Your leave is granted.”

Three days—the day the Sixth Mountain opens.

It seems the elder intends to nurture Anle, planning to personally escort him to the Sixth Mountain to see if he might be chosen as a guardian by its master.

This was Anle’s fortune. Naturally, Madam Hua would not hinder him.

Anle had not expected his request to be granted so easily. The people of Lin residence were indeed kind-hearted.

“Thank you, Madam, for your understanding.”

His gratitude was sincere.

Madam Hua’s red lips curled. “No need to thank me. In three days, the young masters will have no time for your painting, so it happens naturally.”

“Last night, the Sixth Mountain issued the Sword Qi Opening Order. In three days’ time, the gates will open to recruit guardians. You know well the marvel and transcendence of the Sacred Mountain. All cultivators of the Central Lands take pride in entering it; even becoming a guardian is a coveted honor.”

“That elder surely wishes you to try your fortune.”

Madam Hua smiled gently.

Anle realized the truth. “So the young masters will also try in three days?”

Madam Hua smiled without answering, merely nodding.

Anle understood and prepared to take his leave, but Madam Hua called him back.

“Young Master An, do not go to paint for the young masters today. Stay here, at Tianbo Waterside Pavilion, and paint your ink bamboo, will you?”

Her voice was soft. Her curiosity about the ink bamboo that had won the old Imperial Uncle’s appreciation, and the gift of the bamboo sword, only grew.

Anle was startled, but stopped his departure and cupped his hands. “Of course. Might I trouble Miss Xixiang to inform the young masters at the training hall, as well as Miss Zhui Feng and Miss Qingyin?”

Madam Hua turned to Xixiang. She bowed to Anle and Madam Hua, raised her oil-paper umbrella, and stepped gracefully into the misty spring rain.

Madam Hua ordered her attendants to set up a painting table with brush, ink, paper, and inkstone.

Outside the pavilion, the spring rain was hazy, and a cool breeze drifted in.

Madam Hua and Anle drank tea and conversed, discussing Divine Refinement. Whenever Anle had questions about the “Sword Cascade Scroll,” Madam Hua answered them accurately. With the enhancement of Anle’s “Innate Swordsman” Dao fruit, he soon comprehended much, gaining greatly.

Since he would not see the young masters that day, Anle decided to draw upon Madam Hua for the aura of years.

With a thought, the “Aura of Years” indicator on his screen began to flicker.

At once, a wisp of the aura of years drifted from Madam Hua, finally detaching and winding around Anle’s fingertip.

Unfortunately, it was a gray aura.

Anle was not discouraged; golden aura was rare. He continued and managed to draw two more wisps.

Suddenly, joy struck him—for one of these was golden.

To draw three wisps from Madam Hua, and gain one golden, was luck indeed. Clearly, the stronger the cultivation, the greater the chance of obtaining golden aura.

Although Anle’s Divine Refinement had reached the fetal breath stage and his spirit was much strengthened, after extracting three wisps from Madam Hua, he could not continue.

He was satisfied and did not hasten to examine the golden aura.

For in Tianbo Waterside Pavilion, everything was prepared: raw rice paper laid on the table, fragrant ink ready, awaiting Anle’s brush.

Outside the pavilion, several oil-paper umbrellas moved like blossoms in the rain.

Lin Zhui Feng and Lin Qingyin, upon learning Anle would paint there, arrived with Xixiang.

All entered the pavilion in silence.

Anle, with the bamboo sword at his waist and his white sleeves rolled up, took up a wolf-hair brush, soaked it in thick ink, and began to splash it upon the rice paper.

Madam Hua sat upright upon the couch, her elegant neck like white jade, watching as the ink spread and diffused.

Her brows conveyed curiosity.

...

...

The spring river’s new rain reached the window’s west; clouds dimmed the mountain light and distant trees blurred.

After the clearing rain in Lin’an, all remained hazy.

A luxurious carriage slowly rolled to a halt beneath the white jade arch of the Academy, going no further.

The burly coachman, wearing a bamboo hat and rain cloak, took up an oil-paper umbrella and handed it to the youth who lifted the curtain.

The youth stepped down, umbrella in hand, his elegant attire revealing nobility.

“I’m going to meet the Second Master. I’ll return soon. Wait for me beneath the arch.”

Luo Qingchen spoke, spring rain streaming from the umbrella’s edge like a curtain.

“Yes.” The coachman nodded respectfully.

Luo Qingchen walked beneath the umbrella, hands clasped behind his back, stepping on the stone stairs toward the Academy’s many pavilions, hidden amidst the misty spring scene.

Last night, the Sixth Mountain abruptly issued its Opening Order—the master would recruit a second guardian. All of Lin’an was stirred.

And Luo Qingchen knew it well.

He was keenly aware: since his duel with Li You’an and devastating defeat, his Dao heart had been clouded, losing both the qualification and courage to ascend the Sacred Mountain and converse with the Sage.

Yet, cultivators of the Central Lands all prided themselves on entering the Sacred Mountain. Luo Qingchen was no exception. The opening of the Sixth Mountain and the recruitment of guardians tempted him.

This was his opportunity; if he could enter the Sacred Mountain, his increasingly belittled status might revive, like withered wood meeting spring.

He climbed eight hundred stairs, following the mountain path. Spring rain splashed dense patterns on the muddy ground. Arriving before a Jiangnan-style building with white walls and black tiles, he closed the umbrella and entered.

Inside, the hall was crowded, the atmosphere lively with discussion.

In contrast to the chilly spring rain outside, the warmth inside was striking.

A charcoal stove heated water, with a page waiting to brew tea for the cultivators in the Academy’s pavilions.

At the main table, two elderly scholars sat, sipping tea and admiring a painting, chatting and praising it.

Luo Qingchen entered and, seeing the two elders, was taken aback.

He had not expected both the Second and Third Masters to be present in today’s lecture hall.

It was rare for them to gather.

Without saying much, he moved quietly inside, seeking a seat.

The excited discussions of the Academy’s scholars reached his ears.

“This painting, an ink bamboo and stone scroll, uses ink to render bamboo, alternating light and dark strokes. The slender stalks show the bamboo’s upright character—truly remarkable!”

“The Third Master brought the painting for us to admire, hoping we’d learn the method of painting ink bamboo. I was astonished by it—never have I seen ink bamboo rendered thus. This painting will surely found a new school.”

“It’s not just the painting—the poem, ‘Though battered and beaten, still firm and strong, regardless the winds from east, west, south, or north,’ perfectly complements the bamboo’s noble qualities. Exceptional, indeed!”

...

The scholars praised and discussed, clearly having viewed the painting.

“Excuse me.”

Luo Qingchen addressed those before him.

Several scholars quickly made room, bowing politely.

Luo Qingchen returned the gesture, listening to their discussion, curiosity stirring in his heart.

As he passed, the scholars continued:

“Though the painting’s underlying intent is faint, as if casually brushed, the sword intent hidden in the bamboo leaves is harmonious. The fusion of painting, poetry, calligraphy, and meaning is unparalleled!”

“I wonder, who created this masterpiece? Could it be Third Master himself?”

“Third Master is renowned for meticulous bamboo painting; this expressive style doesn’t fit his habit. Moreover, look—the painting bears the signature, ‘Anle’…”

“For the painting to reach Third Master’s hands, its creator must be closely acquainted with him.”

“Who is this Master Anle, renowned for bamboo painting?”

...

Outside, spring rain fell like pearls on a jade plate, unable to stifle the fervent voices within.

Luo Qingchen’s steps abruptly halted.