You rascal, stop right there!

Hearing this, Bai Wan felt suffocated and a cold sweat broke out on his back.

What kind of thrilling thing did he draw back then that made him leave behind such a fatal last words?

"Origin and extinction are all God's will."

Master Liao Chan smiled slightly and sighed at them.

"This is the best painting in the world. It was not announced to the world back then. Perhaps it wanted you, the donor, to complete it!"

Bai Wan stood under the Buddhist temple, his thoughts somewhat confused.

He was originally just a ruffian, but suddenly he became a painter.

Later he learned that he was the Saint of Painting.

Now, I know that the first picture in the world had already been drawn that year.

Travel all over the mountains and rivers to collect folk songs, and risk your life to paint.

Traveling without considering life and death, wasting time and becoming a useless person.

My past life was so wonderful that it was a bit too much to bear.

He looked at the golden Buddha statue in the distance, which stood on a lotus, with compassion for all living beings and seeing through the world.

Bai Wan suddenly felt that the pen in his hand was heavier than Mount Tai.

Why did he paint?

For yourself, or for others?

This is the first time I have thought about this question.

If it was just for self-entertainment, official position, or even to make money, why would I have done so much in the past?

Ling Shumo looked at him and couldn't help but feel complicated.

"Brother Zichen, can you guess what I am thinking and what I want to do?" Bai Wan rarely smiled.

There was no trace of past pressure or pain in that smile.

Even the whole thing is still so shameless and doesn't seem to care.

Ling Shumo sighed inwardly: Does this person have to face others with a smile like this at all times?

So, he stared at the person opposite him in a daze:

"You want to repaint this world's best picture! You want to paint all the beautiful and prosperous scenes in the world!"

"You want to see how the pen in your hand can make people work hard and devote the rest of their lives to it..."

When these words were spoken, Bai Wan was shocked.

As expected, he is Brother Zichen. I can guess what he is thinking.

So, Bai Wan smiled nonchalantly: "Actually, I was wondering if you want to accompany me..."

The person opposite him had his eyelids trembling slightly, and tilted his ears as if to hear more clearly.

Who knows, the next words are:

"Eat with me. I'm hungry and I suddenly want to eat roast chicken!"

"good---"

Ling Shumo felt angry and amused at the same time. He didn't know what he hoped to hear from this person.

……

A separate courtyard of the Minister of Rites' Mansion.

They rushed back overnight, not daring to delay for a moment, because Ling Shumo was going to host a palace banquet on behalf of Daying the next evening.

Bai Wan is a thoughtful person who likes to smile. No matter what kind of pain someone faces, she can ignore it, but...

It won’t work without roast chicken and white sugar cake!

On the way back, he couldn't buy any food from the restaurant and had no place to vent his emotions.

Whenever he felt uneasy, he had to drink or eat.

Even though I know that as long as I drink, I will get drunk and act crazy.

In order to prevent Ling Shumo from seeing his embarrassing appearance, he wanted to lock himself in the room and drive him out...

Ling Shumo smiled slightly, but he closed the door obediently and went out.

He knew that this man who usually smiled as brightly as spring was actually extremely proud and would never let anyone see that he needed help.

This is surprisingly similar to myself.

At this time, you cannot try to comfort or guide him, and even whether to stay with him depends on his mood.

Otherwise, this kind of deliberate companionship is tantamount to an insult.

Ling Shumo watched this man helplessly, and after getting drunk, he cursed his bad fate and the injustice of heaven.

Then, he held a brush in his left hand and drew something on the paper.

This man was dressed in white, more beautiful than snow, holding a brush elegantly, as graceful as the wind, writing down the paper with his brush...

Then he threw the pen onto the bed and fell straight down.

pat-

Ling Shumo couldn't help it, so he walked in, helped her up and put her on the bed.

The man's face was pale, with some ink stains on it, and his whole body was facing the direction of the painting.

Ling Shumo looked at him and felt that he became more obsessed with painting after today, and he would paint more seriously in the future.

"Is painting that picture more important to you than your life?"

He stared at the man's face, his tone becoming weaker.

“Even more important than me?”

Back then, Yuebai painted the best picture in the world without telling himself where he went, or that he was painting in the Jiaye Temple in the capital, or what he was painting.

This is completely contrary to what he said, that he would return to Beijing to find him.

Maybe, I wanted to tell him at first, but I was alone afterwards.

Regardless of life or death, when you return many years later, everything has changed...

Ling Shumo fetched some water and wiped the dirt off his face and the ink on his hands bit by bit, taking over all the work of the servants and maids.

Then, he picked up the mess on the man's desk, the messy paints, pens, inks, and rice paper.

Until one moment, his eyes were brightened by the sketch on the table.

The painting is prosperous, with ordinary people and a humanistic market on both sides of the Jing River.

The structure of the painting is rigorous and not chaotic. It is definitely the work of a master, not a small artist.

He couldn't help but admire that even now, as a man who only had his left hand left to paint, he was still an almost uncanny painter.

In just a short period of time, we have made such progress.

How could such a talent disappear out of thin air back then?

Ah Bai...

The night was deep and heavy, the aroma of wine lingered, and occasionally a ray of moonlight poured down.

Ling Shumo carefully picked up the man's right hand and placed it on the quilt.

He looked at the man's profile gently, stroked his hair, and closed his eyes slightly, as if cherishing...

Although only the thumb of the right hand was cut off, the little finger joints of the other fingers had actually been dislocated long ago.

Therefore, even if I use other fingers to hold the pen with this hand, I am afraid I won't be able to draw at all.

Although his left hand could draw, a joint in his little finger was dislocated and a tendon was broken, so it could not bend at all.

The imperial physician Lin Shiqing also told him that this man's hand must have been hit by a heavy object in the past, with the intention of destroying it.

At the beginning, Bai Wan felt that he was holding the pen with a chicken claw. Most of the time, it was because the joints were dislocated and he couldn't hold the pen like a normal person.

Therefore, Bai Wan must have spent a lot of time thinking about the matter of holding the pen.

Without making a sound, he covered the man's hand with increasing force, and felt the temperature of his fingertips was icy cold.

A person seems to be regretful and depressed...

In fact, compared to Yuebai's talent and memory.

He cares more about this person's life and whether he is happy in his daily life...

Just at this moment.

Ling Shumo saw that the person on the bed had already woken up.

The man looked at him with wide eyes.

I just raised my head slightly and suddenly noticed the careful gaze of the person opposite me.

Ling Shumo didn't expect him to wake up...

The person on the other side did not expect that this person would hold his right hand tightly with one hand and gently stroke his cheek with the other hand...

The two people's eyes met each other, as if they were trying to understand each other's mood at the moment.

咳—

They suddenly turned their eyes away at the same time.