Having cultivated myself into an immortal, all I want to do is raise female disciples.

And this inverted dragon sister, under the influence of a pot of wine, slowly spread, slowly spread.

What was finally presented to everyone was no longer the upside-down dragon sister.

It is a painting.

A painting that, after being soaked in alcohol, spreads rapidly outwards, seemingly taking shape automatically.

That was a dragon.

A majestic dragon soaring amidst the mountains and rivers!

With a huge dragon head, roaring and howling, it is a long, dark dragon that is more vivid and more soul-stirring than the "Dragon Play" painting above!

The surrounding mountains appeared blurry, yet their shapes were vaguely outlined. The continuous mountain range resembled a swiftly twisting lightning bolt, and a vast and powerful pressure emanated wildly from the painting.

All of this, under the overlapping of wine and ink, presents a dreamlike and illusory effect.

The moment everyone saw the painting, it was as if they saw an ancient dragon flying in the clouds. They froze on the spot, the terrifying pressure emanating from the painting... reaching straight to their souls.

This is the realm of art... This is the realm of painting!

Yes.

Yunping didn't want to prove anything.

He only wanted to prove one thing—

The dragon sister he drew...

It will turn into a real dragon.

13. Bewildered

Like the art of playing the zither, painting has different levels of attainment.

A painting or a piece of music, the melodies of which can often captivate the listener's soul, transporting them into the scene and imagery conjured up in the mind of the performer or composer—this is the realm of immersion.

The realm is directly connected to the soul. Unless one has sealed their soul, almost anyone who hears the repeated sounds of the zither will be drawn into that mysterious realm.

The same applies to painting.

However, painting differs from music in that painting makes it difficult for people to feel as if they are actually there. But in terms of the soul, the realm of painting has a greater influence. A painting with a profound realm can often directly affect the viewer's mind and spirit.

There is a legend that during the peak of Emperor Wen's painting skills, his seemingly casual strokes of the brush could completely captivate viewers, making it impossible for them to distinguish between illusion and reality.

Even more so, when people first see Emperor Wen's original work, they are awestruck by the ancient objects in the scroll. Those with low cultivation levels, unstable souls, or volatile tempers are particularly affected. There are quite a few who have even gone mad from their cultivation and are so frightened that their souls tremble.

This hazy painting of mountains and rivers dancing with dragons is a masterpiece of artistic conception.

The reason is simple—

Because the elders of the Painting Sect, who held considerable influence and represented the sect's authority, felt as if they had been struck by lightning. Their faces turned ashen, like puppets on strings, their expressions blank, their eyes filled with nothing but terror.

Terrifying, so terrifying.

Others who are not very familiar with painting may not be able to understand the mystery behind it.

Their gazes seemed to be drawn by a vortex, fixed on the hazy landscape and dragon painting. Gazing at the indistinct painting formed by the intertwining of wine and ink, they felt a sense of terror for the first time in their lives.

Although the dragon was not real, every whisker and scale appeared perfectly natural, as if an ancient dragon were truly roaming in the world of the painting. Even through the painting, they could feel the terrifying pressure emanating from that ancient dragon.

This is a state of being, and they know very well that this is a state of being.

From the moment they saw the painting, their souls were captivated by it.

Completely locked down.

That's not even the scariest part—

The most terrifying person was that young man, who wore a strange mask and remained calm and composed throughout.

How did he create such a masterpiece?

The elders of the Painting Sect still remember that he casually painted a woman's portrait in less than the time it takes for an incense stick to burn. At that time, they mocked the painter, saying that he was not even as good as a first-level painter, that he was shameless, and that he was there to cause trouble.

What now?

The other party didn't even use any spiritual energy. He casually flipped the scroll over and then sprinkled wine on it. Every step was so ordinary and effortless.

and many more? !

No spiritual energy was used?!

The elders of the Painting Sect looked at each other, bewildered.

The unspoken fear was magnified to its extreme at this moment—because it was utterly impossible!

Without using spiritual energy, how did he control the direction of the wine's penetration, how did he control the ink and wine to blend together, and how did he make the scene finally stop at that moment?

I can't figure it out.

This is a phenomenon that is completely beyond the realm of common sense!

buzzing-

They felt a deafening, violent shockwave in their brains, and even their consciousness began to blur.

Inside the venue.

You could hear a pin drop.

The silence was profound because everyone present was captivated by the artistic conception of the painting.

Chen Ran didn't move, the little monk didn't move, they just stood there blankly, staring at the painting in disbelief, looking at the person in disbelief.

All eyes turned in a striking unison to Yun Ping, their gazes filled with a chilling intensity.

"What's wrong? Has everyone suddenly become mute and stopped talking?"

Yunping leaned against the wooden board pressed against the painting with one hand, a smile spreading across his handsome face hidden behind his mask. "Weren't you just mocking my painting of Xiaofang as a piece of trash? Now, shouldn't you apologize to our Xiaofang one by one?"

Waste paintings?

The people in the audience exchanged glances, but no one dared to speak.

Now who dares to jump out and say this painting is a piece of trash? Even the elders of the Painting Sect were so shocked by this painting that they couldn't speak, their faces pale and bloodless. How could they possibly have the ability to mock such a masterpiece?!

They dared not, the elders of the Painting Sect dared not, and neither did the other fifteen painters present!

The second silver fox painter and the ninth Buddha-face painter stood frozen in place, dumbfounded. Of all the people who had mocked Yun Ping's painting, they were the only two who had shouted the loudest.

What now?

They remained silent.

Chen Ran still remembers calling Yun Ping a clown and mocking his paintings as garbage.

He lowered his head and glanced at his own painting, which he had been so confident a few minutes ago that he thought it would definitely be in the top three—the ancient dragon floating in the sky—before looking at Yunping's masterpiece.

The difference between the two is immediately apparent; it's clear to anyone who sees who is trash and who is a clown.

"I remember, we made a bet, didn't we?"

The gaze beneath the cloud-masked mask pierced Chen Ran's frail chest like a sharp sword.

Even he himself didn't know why, but when stared at by that horrified gaze, Chen Ran subconsciously took a step back. He had never encountered anything like this in his life.

He was afraid.

Because he still remembered the details of the bet.

That's two hundred heads! Kowtowing in front of such a large audience is one thing, but two hundred heads? Wouldn't that cause head injuries and even brain damage?!

"I...I..." Chen Ran's timid and trembling voice echoed throughout the hall. He was truly terrified. "I was blind to your greatness...Your Excellency, with such extraordinary painting skills, how could I dare to compare my work with yours..."

Yunping found it somewhat amusing. "Didn't you just say that my Xiaofang is a work that anyone could paint? How come you're saying now that I have extraordinary painting skills?"

"No, no, no, I was just saying it offhand, just joking..." Chen Ran smiled, but the smile looked worse than a grimace.

Thinking about what he had just said, Chen Ran felt like he wanted to find a block of tofu and smash his head against it to die!

"A joke?" Yun Ping's tone suddenly turned stern. "If everything can be called a joke, then what's the point of mediation, or morality and ethics?! I could twist your head off, tell you it was a joke, and put your head back on, and that would be the end of it?!"

"You have to accept the consequences of your bets. If you make a promise, you have to keep it. Otherwise, you're not even qualified to be a decent human being."

Yunping stood beside the painting, his hands behind his back.

He gazed at Chen Ran before him, his words resounding like a deep bell, echoing throughout the entire venue.

"Your Majesty!"

At that one word, the elegant young man seemed to be controlled by some force, and he couldn't help but kneel down on the ground!

Chen Ran felt his knees slam into the ground, his kneecaps shattering completely, and a large amount of blood gushing from his legs.

The pain was so intense that his whole body was spasming, but he couldn't move or scream. For some reason, at this moment, he could only kneel down.

The fear in his heart erupted again. His eyes widened, and he was panting heavily, drenched in sweat. Even his will to resist was suppressed by his anxiety.

Just because he said "kneel down"

Inside the arena, no one stood up to speak for him, not even those who knew him well or knew his identity; they remained slumped in place, seemingly possessed.

Those city lord's cultivators who were originally ordered to capture him were frozen in time, each maintaining a forward-moving posture, and some were even suspended in mid-air.

"And you, are you going to kneel down yourself, or do I have to?"

Yunping's gaze fell on the little monk not far away. The little body trembling all over seemed to show the frantic panic in the little monk's heart.

Upon hearing this, the little monk glanced fearfully at Chen Ran, who was kneeling motionless beside him.

He didn't understand. He didn't understand why this person could render a cultivator powerless with just a few words. He also didn't understand why no one in the audience stepped forward to stop him. He was even more confused about why this person possessed such profound artistic skills.

This guy's never been to the Painting Sect, has he?! Could he be lying to me?!

If that's the case, what is his real purpose?!

He didn't understand, but he no longer had the time to figure these things out.

Because Zhuang Hai understood that he had to kneel down.

thump--

Kneeling on both knees, the little monk was unable to offer any resistance, his eyes fixed on Yunping, his fear evident.

Inside the arena, everyone stared at the two artists who had knelt on the ground.