Chapter Thirty-Six: With a stroke of the young man's brush, sudden rain descends; within his sleeves, the spring breeze flourishes.

Outside, the sharp spring rain released a coldness that pressed ever closer, surrounding everything. It was much like the turmoil in Luo Qingchen’s heart at this moment.

His steps halted, his neck tilted slightly, hair falling at his temples, brows carved like blades drawn together, yet in his pupils shone disbelief, even… absurdity.

“Impossible!”

An Le?! That name… wasn’t it the young painter who had entered the Lin household? The very youth who braved the spring rain and, even under his oppressive presence, stood tall without bowing or breaking, inciting distaste in all who witnessed him!

How could that boy possibly be some grand master of painting bamboo? And his work even found its way into the Academy, where two esteemed scholars admired and praised it, sparking discussion among the Academy’s literati, and he was even addressed as “Master An” by them.

Luo Qingchen felt a little dazed, but his gaze soon sharpened: “It’s only a painting.”

Indeed, just a painting—nothing more. It proved nothing.

He resumed his pace, reached an empty seat, but after a moment’s thought, continued past it to stand before the main table.

“Second Master, Third Master,”

Luo Qingchen performed the disciple’s salute, bowing deeply.

The Second Master stroked his beard, cast a glance at Luo Qingchen, and his smile faded: “Sword intent entwined upon your Dao heart, shrouded once more in dust. The road ahead grows ever more arduous for you.”

Luo Qingchen bowed, speaking softly: “I believe in myself, Master. I can wear away this dust upon my Dao heart.”

The Second Master shook his head: “Enough, so long as you know your own mind. Hua Jie Bing is not Li You An; you may yet wear away her sword intent. If you succeed, you will advance further on your path.”

“Master, I have a request: I wish to view this Ink Bamboo painting.”

Luo Qingchen said.

“Indeed, you arrived late and haven’t seen the painting. Have a look, then.” The Second Master did not refuse, with a wave of his hand, the scroll upon the table floated up, unfurled, and as it rolled down, a fierce sword intent emanated from the painting!

Luo Qingchen’s eyes narrowed as he stared at the scroll—black ink bamboo and rocks leapt from the paper.

It was as if a gust of wind swept through, the bamboo leaves rustling, cascading like a waterfall of swords.

The painting was extraordinary; the ink bamboo stood upright like a gentleman, resilient to winds from all directions, never bending to the world!

This was the youth’s work?!

Such sharp sword intent, not overly strong but perfectly interwoven into the painting, unique and remarkable!

Luo Qingchen suddenly recalled that after An Le’s meditation, he had stood in stillness for three days; perhaps, now, it was through this painting that An Le refined his spirit and cultivated his breath!

It was not, as Luo Qingchen had suspected, that Lady Hua had given the youth some spirit-refining treasure, using external force to hasten his progress!

The boy… possessed poetic talent, artistic skill, extraordinary swordsmanship, and an unyielding will.

Now he stood on the opposite side, a threat… not to be underestimated.

Third Master Wang Banshan, dressed in scholar’s robes and elderly, sensed the sword intent that clouded Luo Qingchen’s Dao heart, and then the sword intent within the painting, and suddenly smiled.

“Luo Qingchen, you have been at the Academy for ten years. You were once spirited and brilliant, entering Lin’an in a blaze, but lost to Li You An, and your Dao heart was shrouded in dust. Your talent is rare, but your Dao heart is indeed too delicate.”

“This painting of Ink Bamboo embodies the steadfast spirit of a gentleman, which suits you well. If you have time, you should learn the bamboo painting technique from Master An Le; it will benefit your Dao heart greatly.”

As soon as Third Master finished speaking, Luo Qingchen’s saluting gesture froze, his expression darkening.

Learn painting from An Le?

Luo Qingchen had his own pride; to seek instruction from a youth whom he once oppressed with his authority and superiority?

Was Third Master deliberately testing his heart?

Luo Qingchen took a deep breath, feeling as though his cheeks had been slapped, but facing a revered scholar of the Academy, he could only swallow his indignation.

“Thank you, Master, for your guidance,” Luo Qingchen replied calmly.

Third Master stroked his beard, gazing at Luo Qingchen, and said blandly, “Your heart is not humble enough.”

“Since you acknowledge my teaching, and we have time today, you shall copy this Ink Bamboo painting before everyone, demonstrating and analyzing the bamboo painting technique.”

Maintaining his bow, Luo Qingchen raised his head to look at Third Master.

Third Master chuckled quietly.

After a long silence, Luo Qingchen softly replied, “Yes.”

…

…

Tianbo Waterside Pavilion.

The rain grew heavier, countless spring raindrops pouring down, striking the black-tiled roof with a crisp, dripping sound.

The rain fell into the large pond before the pavilion, raising ripples that blended together, so that one could not tell if it was rain or water.

Inside the hall, An Le was painting, utterly focused, untouched by spring wind or rain.

He painted bamboo once again, using ink to layer shades—dark and light—creating depth. The main stem was drawn in one flowing stroke, a lift of the brush marked the bamboo joints, simple, clear, precise. Then came the leaves, each brushstroke infused with the sword-waterfall intent from his meditative state, the leaves sharp as unsheathed blades.

Painting bamboo, then rocks, his brush moved like clouds and flowing water.

Outside, wind and rain lashed, mirroring the mood of those watching him, Lin Qingyin and Lin Zhuifeng; observing An Le paint bamboo, the bamboo in the painting seemed to face the storm with unyielding pride!

Lady Hua had long since left her couch, stepped to the table in embroidered shoes, and fixed her gaze on the painting, utterly absorbed.

A fine painting has a soul. Lady Hua, knowing An Le’s trials, felt something special for the bamboo—new shoots boldly standing upon the rock, just as the youth once stood tall under Luo Qingchen’s oppressive aura in the spring rain.

Lady Hua studied intently; the painting held An Le’s not-so-strong but steadfast spirit, and in this moment, her own vast and deep heart resonated with his.

Her spirit spread uncontrollably, and suddenly, the pavilion transformed into a bamboo grove, dense green stalks swaying, the sound of bamboo waves was like music, chaotic and overwhelming.

An Le finished the last stroke in one breath and, looking up, witnessed this wondrous scene.

Turning, he saw Lady Hua’s beautiful face close at hand, eyes like stars, seemingly drawing his spirit into them, threatening to plunge him into endless illusion.

The “Innate Swordsman” Dao fruit trembled, as if a sword’s light cut through An Le’s vision, and he withdrew his gaze, exhaling deeply, shaken.

Lady Hua’s cultivation was unfathomable.

Feeling her spirit had overstepped, Lady Hua pulled back, and the bamboo sea vanished instantly.

“Impressive,” she said, seeing that An Le had cut through her sword-intent realm, unable to help but praise him.

This fleeting insight had strengthened Lady Hua’s spirit even further; though she had not crossed a critical threshold, her power had noticeably increased.

An Le, receiving her praise, simply smiled and dipped his brush in ink.

He then wrote in the style of Banqiao on the painting:

Though the stone is silent, it loves this new bamboo;
Though bamboo cannot speak, it loves these mountain slopes.
A youth, sleeves full of spring wind,
Has forged this scene for you.
An Le gifts to Lady Hua.

As he finished signing, the brush lifted swiftly, and in that instant, spring breezes circled the pavilion.

Lady Hua, seeing the inscription, her red lips curved, her brows opened in delight.

Receiving the youth’s gift brought her joy; today she finally saw the ink bamboo that could conquer the elder, and she began to understand why the old man would gift his sword to this boy.

Because when the youth painted bamboo, it was as if he wielded a sword.

There was sword energy in his heart, sword energy beneath his brush, sword energy within his painting!

Lady Hua’s gaze sparkled.

A sudden thought struck her: the Sixth Mountain Lord possessed a sword chest, said to hold three thousand swords, claiming to contain all the swords of the world.

Perhaps, after viewing the painting, he chose to select the mountain’s guardian.

Or perhaps, he founded the mountain just for this youth before her?

Lady Hua pondered thus, falling into contemplation.

The fierce spring rain suddenly calmed.

Now it fell softly, gentle as a beautiful woman, carrying a tender spring breeze, soothing to the soul.

Lin Qingyin and Lin Zhuifeng had also watched An Le paint, sensing an indescribable meaning—it seemed the youth had transformed, radiating extraordinary confidence.

Lin Zhuifeng leaned over to the table to examine the Ink Bamboo painting, her own grasp of painting limited, and couldn’t help but exclaim, “This is amazing!”

Lin Qingyin’s eyes were full of admiration, and her heart conflicted; she wanted to learn this bamboo technique… but hadn’t mastered sketching yet, leaving her regretful.

Lady Hua returned from her thoughts, mood bright, her eyes falling upon the painting, then sweeping over An Le.

The youth, having finished, stood in the hall in white robes, bamboo sword at his waist, exuding the warmth of spring wind, neither arrogant nor impatient.

“You have gifted me an Ink Bamboo painting, and as your elder, I cannot accept it without reciprocating. I should give you a treasured sword, but you already possess the bamboo sword gifted by your senior, and all other swords pale before it, lacking sincerity…”

Lady Hua smiled broadly, eyeing the youth with mysterious delight.

“After much consideration, I have decided to return your gift with something special.”