That had to be Zhong Yin. But this… this was the last kind of setting Li Xun expected to meet a legendary figure like him.
Strangely enough, he found some relief in not having to face those infamous eyes right away—those piercing eyes said to see straight through the soul. But still, this quiet, almost casual scene somehow made him feel more uneasy.
If he hadn't steadied his mind earlier, he might've already embarrassed himself.
Instead, he just stood respectfully, arms at his sides, and watched the man paint.
Li Xun didn't know much about art, but even he could tell Zhong Yin's brush moved with astonishing speed. A few swift strokes and the image emerged—clean, confident, like it had always existed, just waiting to be revealed.
Seven bamboo stalks. That's all he painted before stopping, leaving a large portion of the paper completely blank.
Li Xun didn't understand. He knew just enough to know that proper composition was the heart of any painting, and even though he'd heard of the "leave it blank" technique, this… leaving an entire corner untouched? It had to be some kind of mistake, right?
What was Zhong Yin planning?
As he puzzled over it, the man suddenly lifted his head.
Their eyes met.
Li Xun had zero time to prepare. His mind went blank—and then, in the next breath, a cold rush flooded his chest and shot straight up to the crown of his head. Like a bucket of ice water dumped over him, shocking him into awareness.
No hesitation—he dropped to his knees.
"Disciple Li Xun greets the Immortal Master! May I ask… are you the Sixth Granduncle?"
Zhong Yin was of the same generation as Qing Ming and others, ranked sixth among them. Li Xun was afraid of getting it wrong, so he threw in an extra check just to be safe.
"I am Zhong Yin." His voice was calm, smooth—almost soft—but carried a quiet weight that demanded attention. "You're from the third generation? Stand up and speak."
Li Xun rose as ordered but still didn't dare look up. His eyes stayed locked on the tips of his boots.
"You carry the Azure Jade," Zhong Yin said. "And the Phoenix Feather Needle. So… are you Lin Ge's disciple or Ming Ji's?"
"My Master is indeed Master Lin," Li Xun replied—his tone a bit too formal, betraying his nerves. He rushed to clarify himself, "It was Immortal Master Qingyin who asked me to come meet you, Sixth Granduncle…"
"Qingyin?" Zhong Yin seemed to murmur the name under his breath, then said, "Lift your head."
Li Xun didn't know what to expect. Heart pounding, he raised his head, and their eyes met again.
He couldn't hold the gaze—Zhong Yin's stare felt too sharp, too still. But just before he looked away, he caught a clear view of the man's face.
Compared to his fearsome reputation, that face was… surprisingly plain.
Not ugly, certainly, but not striking either. Delicate features, yes, but no bold lines or fierce presence—nothing that would instantly mark him out in a crowd. He looked clean, almost ordinary.
But his height was remarkable. A full head taller than Li Xun, he stood like a pillar among the bamboo, upright and unbending, at ease yet proud. There was something regal in his posture—subtle, unspoken.
And strangely, standing in front of him didn't feel as suffocating as it had with others like Qingxu. The usual pressure that Immortal Masters exuded—it just wasn't as heavy here. It almost made Li Xun question—
Is this really Zhong Yin?
But before that thought could settle, he noticed the slightest shift in the man's expression. Something subtle… flickering, like a ripple on still water.
"You're… Li Xun?"
The voice was almost airy, as if Zhong Yin were uncertain.
Li Xun didn't dare slacken. He realized this face—his face—might be stirring something in the man. Hastily, he affirmed, "Yes, I am!"
Zhong Yin gave a faint shake of his head. "The mark of solitude, is it?"
Li Xun laughed dryly. "Immortal Masters Qingxu and Qingyin both said the same," he answered honestly.
At that, Zhong Yin sighed softly. Just a sigh—but it unsettled something deep within Li Xun. The delicate threads of composure he had barely pieced together nearly unraveled again.
But at that moment, the jade amulet he wore chilled faintly on his chest. A coolness spread from the center of his chest outward, calming his pulse and steadying his breath.
Zhong Yin changed the subject. "However you came, it seems fated that you should see me paint."
Was… was that a gesture of goodwill?
Li Xun dared to hope. If he really had passed the test, then the next step was building rapport with this great sword immortal master. But how? They'd just met—how could he show his sincerity?
He didn't have the answer, but his feet moved on their own. He stepped forward, coming to stand beside the bamboo desk.
Zhong Yin picked up his brush again and resumed painting. A few more bamboo stalks appeared… and then, a figure.
Now the composition was clear.
The first seven stalks formed the foreground. The new bamboo and the lone figure—those were in the distance. Someone half-hidden among the stalks, peering forward, as though glimpsing the world beyond.
The scene was quiet, filled with swaying bamboo shadows. The figure was barely defined. And yet, despite the simplicity, Li Xun could almost feel moonlight spilling across the clearing, illuminating the quiet harmony of man and nature.
He wasn't trained in painting, but even he could tell something was off. The overall layout felt like it had shifted mid-process. The strokes in the second half were good—but lacked the strength and spirit of the earlier ones. Still, the pairing of figure and bamboo, with the soft play of implied moonlight, was quite clever. Not a masterpiece, perhaps, but… not bad.
Sure enough, Zhong Yin let out another sigh, placed the painting aside, and reached for a fresh sheet of paper.
The next piece was noticeably better.
This one had bamboo shadows layered with just the right spacing and density, each stroke breathing with quiet clarity. There was a flowing rhythm, as if the viewer could walk straight into the forest within. The bamboo curtains parted with elegance, drawing the eye onward, beyond the edge of the page.
Li Xun let out a quiet sound of admiration.
Zhong Yin paused, turned to look at him. "You like this one?" he asked. "Then it's yours."
Li Xun blinked. Then his eyes lit up with joy.
Zhong Yin's paintings were priceless—even without a single sword technique written on them, they were treasures. The man's reputation alone made it a work worth displaying.
What a lucky turn.
Li Xun wasn't one to pretend humility. He quickly bowed, offering his heartfelt thanks.
But then, Zhong Yin added, "Still… I'm curious. What do you think of the brushwork and composition?"
An exam? Li Xun's heart tensed. His understanding of painting was barely what he'd learned as a child, from a tutor in the royal court. Would that even be valid here in the world of cultivation? What if he made a fool of himself?
Still, nerves or not, he didn't hesitate outwardly. He stepped up to the painting, composed himself, and took a careful look.
He'd barely traced a couple of strokes before letting out a quiet "Hm?"
Zhong Yin smiled gently from the side. "Well?"
But Li Xun didn't seem to hear him. His fingers were trembling slightly, and soon, he began sketching in the air, mimicking brushstrokes—each motion sharp and precise, almost audibly slicing through space.
Even Zhong Yin paused in surprise, letting out a soft murmur of praise. But Li Xun was far beyond hearing it now. His entire mind had been seized—no, engulfed—by the painting before him.
This wasn't just a painting of bamboo.
It was clearly a sword manual—hidden within the form of a painting.
Li Xun's sensitivity to symbols and strokes had long since reached an extraordinary level. He never overlooked the subtlest variation in line or pressure. He had cultivated an instinct so sharp, he could often trace the strength and trajectory of a brush simply by glancing at a piece of work. That was why, with just one look, he understood the profundity of this piece.
At his current level, he could already see beyond the material painting to the intent behind the strokes. As his eyes followed the painted path, his inner qi responded, resonating with the rhythm encoded within the brushwork.
He was only halfway through the painting when his internal energy began to boil—like clouds surging, mist rising, flooding his meridians in harmony with the painting's flow.
Then, as the qi calmed again, it condensed into something more refined. Sharpened by its earlier forging, the qi now coursed like a sword, piercing through blockages and storming through his body, swift and relentless.
Before he realized it, he had studied the painting a fourth time. His mind buzzed with insight—flashes of inspiration cascading into coherence. He stood there in a daze, completely consumed…
Until a hand suddenly landed on his shoulder.
A jolt ran through his body. The spark in his mind scattered like stars fading at dawn. The brilliance was gone—vanished before it could crystallize.
He was just one step away…
Li Xun froze. Then a rush of frustration surged through him, almost overwhelming. He whirled around, ready to argue.
But what met his eyes was the calm, jade-like gaze of Zhong Yin.
A wave of cold clarity crashed over him. He immediately bowed, and the simmering anger vanished without a trace.
"Do not look any further," Zhong Yin said softly. "Digging too deep like this will only harm you."
Li Xun blinked, still disoriented.
Zhong Yin smiled faintly, rolled up the painting, and placed it into Li Xun's hands.
"Do you know what your greatest flaw in cultivation is?"
Li Xun shook his head dumbly.
"Your grasp of theory is razor sharp. Among the mountain's disciples, few can match your understanding. But your sensitivity to real-world flow—context, timing, awareness—is painfully immature. If you only pursue one and neglect the other, all you're doing is sitting in meditation, waiting to die. You'll never reach the Dao that way. In simple terms: you know how to wield a sword, but not when."
Li Xun blinked. "Aren't those the same thing?"
"They're worlds apart. Take this painting, for example. You know how each stroke is heavy or light, thick or thin. You understand rhythm and variation. But if I gave you the brush—could you actually paint it?"
"…No."
"Exactly. Cultivation can work from the inside out, but it must connect. You understand talismanic theory so well that your internal practice has advanced far ahead of your physical form. The imbalance between the two is too great—it will only hurt you in the long run. Do you understand now?"
A sense of clarity dawned in Li Xun. He bowed deeply. "This disciple will work hard to strengthen his physical training going forward."
Zhong Yin nodded. "Good. You have the eyes to see, but your gaze is still narrow. You could trace the inner energy flow from this painting—but you missed the accompanying body movements. Next time, observe more closely. See how the qi matches the shifting of the limbs. Only when both inner and outer are trained together can you walk the right path."
He went on to point out several potential pitfalls in interpreting such works—subtle traps and misleading forms. Li Xun listened intently, nodding over and over, completely convinced.