Novel Full Chapter 293 Hold That Pose, Junior Sister! The Dao of Ink Demands It!
Chapter 293: Chapter 293 Hold That Pose, Junior Sister! The Dao of Ink Demands It!
“Fine.” Lin Feng said. His voice carried a trace of lazy satisfaction, as though he had just been presented with something unexpectedly entertaining.
“I’ve been thinking… it wouldn’t be so bad to have someone attend to me personally.”
His eyes lingered on her, unhurried, curious.
“Perhaps you could serve as my personal attendant and bodyworker.”
A brief pause.
Then…
“A daily massage from the esteemed Daoist Falling Snow…”
His smile deepened, faintly teasing, faintly dangerous.
“That does sound rather appealing.”
There was no hostility in his tone.
No aggression.
Only amusement.
As if the stakes she had just laid out were nothing more than a game to pass the time.
Daoist Falling Snow’s expression remained cold, but a faint chill passed through her heart.
This man…
He was not reacting the way he should.
He wasn’t angered.
He wasn’t pressured.
If anything…
He was enjoying this.
“Very well,” Lin Feng said, his fingers idly tracing the rim of his cup. “Since you’ve gone this far… and I can see how much you care for my bedwarmer, Tang Aining, it would be rude of me to simply refuse. I’ll give you one chance. Just one.”
He leaned forward slightly, his presence fully pressing against hers.
“Tell me…”
A pause.
“What kind of game do you want to play?”
His smile widened just a fraction.
As though he had already begun anticipating the outcome.
And perhaps…
Already decided it.
“Painting. I want to compete against you in painting,” Daoist Falling Snow said, her voice calm but carrying a quiet authority.
She could not hope to match Lin Feng in combat or raw power, but in the realm of art, she had confidence and the kind of skill that could rival the great masters of the sects.
She had devoted years of her life to brush and canvas, each stroke guided by discipline, practice, and heart. In this, she had capital. And she would use it.
She did not believe Lin Feng held any superiority in this field, though if he refused, she had a plan to strike at his pride and ego, forcing him to accept.
After all, young masters from ancient clans were notoriously susceptible to challenges to their skill.
To her surprise, Lin Feng did not react with annoyance or disdain. He simply tilted his head slightly, his expression amused but curious.
“Painting, huh?” he said lightly, a trace of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “This is the first time anyone has challenged me in such a field. Interesting.”
Without another word, he rose smoothly to his feet. Calm. Composed. Yet there was a glimmer of excitement in his eyes that suggested he welcomed the challenge rather than dreaded it.
“Then let’s start, Daoist Falling Snow,” he said, his voice carrying a teasing lilt. “I’m quite eager to win this game… and you, at the end.”
A faint chill ran down her spine, but Daoist Falling Snow suppressed it immediately. This man was infuriatingly confident, almost casual in the face of danger and challenge alike.
She reminded herself to stay composed. This was not a battle of force but it was a battle of skill, focus, and heart.
They made their way to the training ground, the afternoon sun glinting off the stone floor.
The rules were simple… ten minutes, and the judge would be the artwork itself. The beauty, the technique, and the expression would decide the winner.
Daoist Falling Snow set up her canvas, arranging her brushes and paints with careful precision.
She ensured that Lin Feng’s canvas was ready as well, placing a brush and palette before him with quiet deliberation.
Daoist Falling Snow had brought everything she needed for the contest, and seeing that Lin Feng did not even have any painting equipment of his own only bolstered her confidence.
Moments later, she began.
Her hand moved with a grace that was almost hypnotic. Every stroke was confident, deliberate, controlled.
The brush swept, dipped, and glided, leaving behind streaks of silver and white that began to take the form of a sword. Every line was precise, every shade skillful.
Tang Aining, standing nearby, could not help but speak in admiration, her voice barely above a whisper.
“Be careful, Master Lin Feng. Sister Yun Wanqing is a master in this field. She’s been painting since she could hold a brush, and she puts her heart into every stroke.”
“Don’t spill my secrets, Sister Tang Aining,” Daoist Falling Snow replied without looking up, her focus absolute. “You’re supposed to support me, not reveal my strengths to him. Remember, I’m doing this for your sake.”
Her concentration was palpable. She poured everything she had into the canvas, and as the silver blade slowly emerged, it seemed almost alive.
The sword shimmered, and the intent radiating from it could be felt by anyone with even a basic understanding of swordsmanship. Its edge looked impossibly sharp, gleaming with lethal precision.
Even without picking up a sword, a cultivator could sense the strike force, the flow of energy, and the intent embedded in every line.
It was more than a painting… it was a weapon, a living expression of power.
Lin Feng observed quietly at first, a faint smile tugging at his lips. Then, without hesitation, he began his own work.
His brush moved with effortless precision, as though the art he was painting had been born from his very soul.
Each stroke carried weight, elegance, and subtle aggression. Shadows, light, and energy all seemed to flow naturally from the tip of his brush.
The courtyard, once silent, now seemed charged with tension.
But almost as quickly as the contest had begun, the spectators Tang Aining, Li Zhiyan, and Ye Jian could hardly believe their eyes at what Lin Feng had done.
In less than a dozen breaths, he had completed his piece. Without hesitation, he set down his brush, as calm and composed as if nothing remarkable had just occurred.
Daoist Falling Snow, on the other hand, had poured her focus and skill into the painting for the full ten minutes.