Ch. 104 - The Fourth Painting

“Go fetch me a basin of water from your village, and I’ll show you,” Xu Zimo said with a smile.

The child gave him a blank look, then darted off into the village.

Watching the little one disappear into the distance, Xu Zimo shook his head with a grin.

A short while later, the child came running back, panting and holding a small basin of water.

Xu Zimo placed the basin under the sun and adjusted the angle. A reflection of the sun shimmered on the water’s surface.

“Shoot your arrows at that reflection,” Xu Zimo instructed. “That way, you’ll hit the sun.”

This test of shooting the sun was similar to the tale of the monkey trying to fish for the moon, but with a different meaning. The monkey failed, but here, one could strike the sun.

The children glanced at Xu Zimo suspiciously, then nocked their arrows and fired at the reflection in the water.

As the arrows pierced the sun’s image, the surface rippled slightly. Suddenly, a muffled thunderclap echoed from the sky, and the sun itself began to tremble.

Then, incredibly, the fiery orb in the sky fell like a fireball crashing to the earth.

“We hit it! We brought down the sun!” the children cried out, jumping and cheering.

Xu Zimo chuckled to himself. As the sun fell from the sky, the surrounding space distorted once again.

When his vision returned, he found himself back on the open plains.

Before him lay a new painting: children aiming their bows and shooting the sun.

Xu Zimo stored the painting in his ring and continued heading north.

Though the temperature had normalized after the sun was struck down, it began to drop again the farther he walked.

Thick clouds obscured the sky, and snow began to fall.

It came heavier and heavier. The snow piled up, and the cold grew biting.

Even at the peak of the True Meridian Realm, Xu Zimo could feel the chill. It wasn’t just a physical cold, it felt as though it reached into his very bones.

He sat cross-legged, letting the snow fall on him freely.

Soon, his entire body was buried. He looked like a snowman.

Xu Zimo felt his body go numb, his limbs stiff, even his organs frozen. His heartbeat slowed… and slowed.

“Am I going to die?” Xu Zimo tried to smile, but even his face was frozen stiff.

His eyelids closed; his consciousness grew faint. In the darkness, he heard a whispering voice.

“Sleep… sleep, and everything will end.”

Though his body was shutting down, his mind, his will, resisted surrender.

This struggle between death and resolve was brutal.

Time passed, he didn’t know how much. He could no longer feel his heartbeat. His body was ice.

But suddenly, a faint warmth flickered to life in his chest.

Amid the encroaching death, he found clarity, a spark of his true will.

A prairie fire from a single spark.

That tiny warmth spread rapidly, breaking through the frost.

The snowstorm ceased. Xu Zimo opened his eyes. The icy world had vanished.

He was back on the plain. A new painting drifted down in front of him.

It depicted an endless blizzard swallowing heaven and earth. All life was frozen, except for one figure, sitting motionless on the ground like an evergreen tree.

No matter how the storm raged, he remained unmoved, unfrozen.

Xu Zimo stored the painting and continued forward.

The third trial tested resolve, the unbreakable will to never surrender, even at death’s door.

…

After walking for some time, Xu Zimo was drawn to a scene up ahead.

A great mountain loomed close yet seemed shrouded in mist.

Stars sparkled faintly in the blue sky, though it was still daytime.

Ahead lay a vast sea. Giant waves surged but never fell.

Between the waves, a narrow path of cobblestones stretched into the distance.

The path floated above the sea, which reflected the starry sky, the white clouds, and the misty mountains behind him.

In the middle of this path stood a small inkstone and a table.

A middle-aged man in a green robe stood there, painting.

Xu Zimo stepped onto the cobblestones and approached him.

The man painted with a wolf-hair brush, though there was no paper. It was as if he painted on air.

After a while, he lowered the brush. The surrounding spiritual energy rippled.

From the air, a fish jumped forth and leapt into the sea. Then more golden fish sprang out, one after another.

“See anything?” the man asked, smiling.

“I don’t understand,” Xu Zimo said honestly, shaking his head.

“You’re refreshingly honest,” the man laughed. “You’re the first inheritor to reach me. By the rules, if you can draw a painting with true artistic meaning, I’ll grant you my divine brush.”

“I don’t know how to paint,” Xu Zimo said flatly. “And I’m not here for your divine brush.”

The man froze, then chuckled. “Then you must be here for the World Pearl. I’m sorry, it’s not part of this inheritance.”

“I brought a painting,” Xu Zimo said, also smiling. He took out the three paintings he’d obtained earlier.

“These can earn you the divine brush. But the World Pearl? I won’t give it to anyone,” the man replied.

“Then maybe… you should look at this one first,” Xu Zimo said.

He retrieved a fourth painting from his ring, the one he’d gotten from Nie Xingqing.

It depicted a self-portrait of the Wind Ancestor.

The man’s expression changed. “How do you have that painting? Are you… her descendant?”

“That’s not important,” Xu Zimo replied. “But when you painted this portrait back then, you promised the Wind Ancestor that anyone who brought it to you, no matter the request, you would grant it.”

“Isn’t that right… Senior Heartless?”

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