Chapter 38: Inside the Painting

“I feel like I just got home, so how is there only ten days left?”

Su Zhuozhi looked at the time and slumped onto the table in disbelief, almost wanting to hug his head and cry.

In the blink of an eye, more than half of the vacation had passed. He could already start counting down the days until he had to return to the Ten Thousand Swords Sect. Even though it was a break, he couldn’t slack off on cultivation—at least four hours of meditation every day, leaving little time for fun.

While grumbling and complaining, Su Zhuozhi practiced drawing talismans. His resentment was even stronger than when he was forced to get up early, like a thousand-year-old vengeful ghost.

Qingping saw this and really wanted to laugh, but feared angering his master. He forced himself to think of the saddest things in his life to barely hold it in.

Su Zhuozhi glanced at him and said flatly, “Do you think I can’t see? Laugh if you want.”

“Young master, I wasn’t laughing—pfft… really.”

Su Zhuozhi curled his lip and changed the subject: “Where’s Xie Jue?”

Qingping shook his head. “I don’t know either. He’s been disappearing lately.”

“Alright.” Su Zhuozhi’s mouth turned down, a little unhappy, but he had given Xie Jue leave himself, so it was normal for him to go out. Still, he was used to Xie Jue always being by his side. When he turned around and didn’t see that familiar figure, he felt like something was missing.

He didn’t want to draw talismans anymore.

Putting down the talisman brush, he told Qingping to bring some biluoguo fruit. He turned to walk toward the bookshelf, intending to find an interesting novel to relax his mood.

He stood casually in front of a row of bookshelves, randomly pulled out a book he hadn’t read, and started flipping through it.

Seen something similar—skip.

The plot was too cliché; he could guess the ending at a glance—skip.

The protagonist’s family was destroyed at the beginning? Too tragic; even less likely to read.

After rejecting several books, he finally found one that suited his taste.

Su Zhuozhi turned around, ready to walk back to his desk with the novel, when suddenly something hit his head. Something fell from the top of the bookshelf, bumped into his head, and then thudded to the ground.

“Tch… what the hell?”

Su Zhuozhi sucked in a breath. It didn’t hurt much, but it startled him—like when you’re walking on the road and someone suddenly taps your shoulder.

Looking down, he saw a scroll on the floor.

He bent to pick it up and realized it was heavily aged, yellowed and ancient, making him worry that the paper would crumble at the slightest touch.

Out of curiosity, Su Zhuozhi carefully unrolled it to see what was painted.

A magnificent, fantastical landscape painting slowly came into view.

Su Zhuozhi’s eyes widened in awe.

But then the scroll lit up with a blinding white light, forcing Su Zhuozhi to close his eyes tightly…

But he heard no response.

Qingping thought his young master was engrossed in the novel. He set down the porcelain plate and walked to the bookshelf, searching row by row. But strangely, even after searching the entire study, he couldn’t find his master—only a fallen novel and a scroll on the floor.

He picked them up, looking around. “Where did the young master go?”

Little did he know that the young master he was looking for was right inside the ancient scroll in his hand.

A flash of white light, and Su Zhuozhi was involuntarily sucked inside.

When he opened his eyes again, the scent of grass and trees lingered around his nose. Beneath him was a prickly yet soft sensation, as if lying on grass.

What met his eyes was a sky as blue as washed lapis lazuli, layers of white clouds, beautiful as a painting.

…A painting?

Su Zhuozhi suddenly remembered that he was in his study, picked up a scroll, and then—

Where is this? How did he get here?

Frowning uneasily, Su Zhuozhi quickly got up and looked around. The scenery was beautiful, but under these circumstances, he had no mind to enjoy it. Having read many stories, a terrifying thought flashed through his mind. Could he have entered the painting?!

Not far away was a peach blossom forest, clusters of pink and white flowers blooming brilliantly on the branches.

A gentle breeze blew, and petals fluttered down, forming a thin pink carpet.

Su Zhuozhi walked over, catching a faint floral fragrance, as if he were in a paradise.

His steps suddenly halted.

Under a peach blossom tree stood a person.

Beautiful long white hair reaching his waist, eyes and brows cold and clear, skin pale, even his eyelashes were snow-white. His lips were pale pink like peach blossoms, his figure tall, his demeanor noble and elegant, like an immortal descending from the heavens.

Su Zhuozhi was momentarily stunned.

Is this… an immortal?

As soon as he thought this, the icy, snow-like man suddenly gave him a faint smile and said gently, “You’ve finally come.”

When the immortal smiled, the ice melted, stunningly beautiful. Moreover, there was an indescribable sense of familiarity.

Su Zhuozhi was bewildered. “You… were waiting for me? Do you know me?”

A complete stranger, suddenly pulled into a painting—under such circumstances, he should be vigilant and cautious. But for some reason, he felt an inexplicable closeness to the white-haired man, instinctively wanting to approach and trust him.

“I am Su Yanqing.”

The words hit his ears like a thunderclap, startling Su Zhuozhi.

The same surname as his.

He suddenly remembered why he felt the white-haired man’s features were somewhat familiar: because they resembled his own face in the mirror every day, especially the contours of his face.

“You and I… what is our relationship?” Su Zhuozhi unconsciously used an honorific.

Su Yanqing smiled. “If you trace it back, I am your ancestor, ten generations or more above. You are my great-great-great-grandson.”

Although he guessed there was a blood connection, Su Zhuozhi never expected that this man was his own ancestor!

His arm, resting on the table, trembled and dropped. His mouth opened wide in shock.

After a moment of stupor, he stood up. “Ancestor, let me cook something for you!”

How could he feel so at ease letting his ancestor cook for him? Especially after the ancestor had taught him so much precious knowledge—he should at least show some filial piety.

Su Zhuozhi bustled about, finally managing to prepare three dishes and bringing them to the stone table in the courtyard.

Su Yanqing’s heart softened, his expression gentle. He picked up a piece of meat and put it in his mouth.

“Is it good?”

Facing his descendant’s eyes full of eager expectation, Su Yanqing said with a smile, “You did very well. Don’t make it again.”

Su Zhuozhi’s shoulders drooped, and he looked dejected. “…Is it not good?”

“Zhuozhuo, you must be very pampered, haven’t you cooked before?” Su Yanqing said.

“Mm, I’ve only done it once, and my guard said it was delicious.”

Su Yanqing was silent for a moment. “It seems you have a good relationship with him.”

Su Zhuozhi nodded without hesitation. “Of course.”

After learning Su Yanqing’s identity, Su Zhuozhi grew even closer, like treating his grandmother. He lost all restraint and distance, even chatting about household trivialities.

Half a day passed before Su Yanqing came back to himself. “Although I want to keep listening, it’s time for your sword practice. I still have more to teach you.”

“So soon? I want to rest a bit longer.” Su Zhuozhi blinked, tugging at his sleeve coquettishly.

Su Yanqing looked helpless yet fond. “Then rest for another quarter hour. But I don’t have much time left.”

Su Zhuozhi’s heart tightened. He remembered that the man before him was not a living ancestor, but a lingering wisp of consciousness. After passing on techniques and treasures to his descendants, it was only natural for him to dissipate.

Although they had only just met, Su Zhuozhi felt reluctant. If he didn’t learn, would the consciousness remain?

Su Yanqing was perceptive and saw through his thoughts at a glance. “I’ve already waited five hundred years. If you hadn’t come, I would have dissipated soon anyway. And in the future, you will need this.”

Su Zhuozhi’s mouth turned downward, his cheeks puffed out. He was unhappy and didn’t want to listen.

Su Yanqing reached out and brushed away a strand of hair from his forehead, his gaze tender. “You are a very good child. You have talent, you are kind, and you will protect those around you. I am pleased that I could wait for you.”

Praised by his ancestor, Su Zhuozhi felt a little embarrassed but couldn’t help the corners of his mouth lifting.

“How are things between the righteous sects and the demon realm now?” Su Yanqing asked about the outside world.

Su Zhuozhi replied, “Right and evil cannot coexist, there are constant conflicts, but no major wars.”

“Has the demon lord’s seal loosened?”

“No, I think? I haven’t heard any news.”

Su Zhuozhi was just a junior who had recently entered the cultivation world. Although his cultivation advanced rapidly, he lacked experience compared to senior disciples. If such confidential matters of the cultivation world really happened, the sect leader and elders wouldn’t let him know.

“That’s good, but don’t let your guard down.”

Su Zhuozhi nodded somewhat blankly, not quite understanding. After all, if such a great event truly occurred, he couldn’t do much about it either.

Five hundred years.

That number suddenly struck Su Zhuozhi, and he blurted out in surprise, “Did you also seal the demon lord back then?”

Su Yanqing didn’t deny it. “Yes, so if he emerges again, he might come for you.”

Su Zhuozhi froze, his mind blank.

After saying this, Su Yanqing worried he would be scared. After all, he was still a child, once carefree, now suddenly hearing such bad news—he might not be able to accept it. Even worse, he feared his descendant would blame him.

But in truth, Su Zhuozhi didn’t feel much. He grew up in the ordinary mortal world, rarely exposed to news of the cultivation world. If not for the incident with Consort Jing and the tree demon, which turned him into a little fox, he would never have set foot in the Ten Thousand Swords Sect. He wasn’t like other cultivators who grew up hearing tales of the demon lord; he didn’t know the terror of the demon lord, only a sense of unreality.

Like a dream.

Su Zhuozhi came back to his senses and smiled. “We’ll deal with it when the time comes. The ship will go straight when it reaches the bridge.”

Su Yanqing was slightly stunned, a light dawning in his eyes. “Your mindset is very good. No wonder your cultivation progresses so smoothly.”

Pure and clean, free from dust.

Many people with high talent but impatience and eagerness for quick success eventually fade into mediocrity or even fall to the demonic path. In cultivation, the most important thing is one’s state of mind. With a good state of mind, one can go far.

Su Zhuozhi’s eyes curved, and he smiled proudly. His ancestor really liked to praise him!

Now that this matter had been brought up, Su Yanqing naturally had to tell him a few things about the demon realm. At least, know yourself and know your enemy, to avoid being at a disadvantage.

Su Yanqing took his hand again.

A flash before his eyes.

Different scenes rapidly shifted and changed, one after another, grotesque and eerie.

Row upon row of palaces stood tall, the long corridors hung with lanterns, red flames flickering and dimming. Wooden stairs stretched like abysses, with no end in sight. Dark, cold, sunless tunnels thick with the stench of blood and rot. Black-robed figures with strange masks, rotting, maggot-infested corpses in dungeons, huge stone statues with twisted, hideous faces, terrifying like vengeful spirits demanding their due.

Countless experiences from the distant past flooded into his mind, making him dizzy and nauseous.

As he retched, he saw scenes of battle between the righteous and the demonic.

Demon cultivators were shrouded in a thin black mist. When they cast spells, they attacked with the mist. Cultivators resolutely slashed their swords, white light brimming with spiritual energy breaking through the black mist, like parting the clouds to see the blue sky.

“That is demonic qi,” Su Yanqing told him. “Demon cultivators are different from righteous cultivators. They don’t absorb the spiritual energy of heaven and earth, but the black mist that mutates from beneath the earth, born from the negative emotions in people’s hearts: evil thoughts, greed, hatred, resentment, and so on. Some high-level demon cultivators are very good at disguising themselves, concealing their demonic qi, blending into cultivators or ordinary people, and committing all kinds of atrocities.”

A cool sensation imprinted on Su Zhuozhi’s forehead, flowing left and right, covering his eyes.

“I pass this mental technique to you. As long as you silently recite it in your heart, you will be able to distinguish demon cultivators around you through their demonic qi, and not be deceived.”

An icy blue snowflake faintly appeared on his forehead, like a huadian, glowing slightly, then quickly faded beneath the skin.

Su Zhuozhi swept his gaze. Whether it was an illusion or not, his vision became extremely sharp. Even a wisp of black mist as thin as a spider’s silk was crystal clear.

A sharp-faced, monkey-cheeked demon cultivator ambushed a music cultivator holding a pipa. First, he slashed the strings with a wind blade. While the music cultivator was defending, a thin thread of demonic qi coiled behind him, pierced through his back, and struck his vital points.

Su Zhuozhi’s heart skipped a beat. He instinctively wanted to intervene, but the scene before him was a replay of the past, an unchangeable fact. That music cultivator senior had already fallen over five hundred years ago.

Su Yanqing looked away and said calmly, “Seeing demonic qi is only the prerequisite. Your sword speed must be fast enough to block the attack, otherwise it’s futile.”

Su Zhuozhi stared blankly ahead, slowly nodding.

Although he didn’t know when the demon lord would reappear—maybe the seal would hold until his death—he still needed to be prepared. If he couldn’t become so powerful as to protect the mortal world, at least he could protect the family and friends he cared about.

He stayed in the scroll for nearly a year, but the flow of time was different from the real world. Only half a day had passed outside.

For the first half year, he practiced swordsmanship. For the second half, Su Yanqing created phantom demon cultivators for him to simulate battles, putting theory into practice to quickly gain experience.

Before leaving, Su Yanqing also gave him some magical tools and treasures.

Back in the study, Su Zhuozhi felt as if he had woken from a great dream, dazed and unable to distinguish what was real from what was false.

Until he saw the lifebound sword in his hand, the hilt carved with magnificent phoenix patterns.

…He really had gone into the painting.

He unrolled the scroll again. In the peach blossom forest, the white-haired, cold cultivator looked back at him, a faint smile in his eyes.

Su Zhuozhi smiled back, then carefully rolled up the scroll and put it together with those magical tools into his storage pouch.

He walked out from the bookshelf and returned to his desk.

Qingping happened to run in, saw the young master, froze, and exclaimed in surprise, “Young master, you’ve been in the study all along? I couldn’t find you anywhere.”

Su Zhuozhi smiled and teased, “Yeah, it feels like I haven’t seen you in a long time.”

Qingping was confused. “How could it be a long time? It’s only been half a day. By the way, young master, the fruits you wanted are still uneaten. Wanying made some flower tea on the side to help you cut the grease.”

Su Zhuozhi casually picked up a lotus seed cake and took a bite.

Qingping added, “Xie Jue just returned to the mansion. He also asked where you were. I told him I didn’t know, and his expression completely changed.” More accurately, it wasn’t just a change of expression—it was terrifying, like his wife had run away.

“Oh, I’ll go find him after I finish the fruit,” Su Zhuozhi said while eating.

“Young master, don’t be in a hurry. It’s only right that he waits for you, or I can call him over,” Qingping said, rarely seeing his young master talk with food in his mouth, as if he hadn’t eaten in ages. It must be that the food in the cultivation sect was bad, making the young master suffer.

But there was no need for Qingping to go, because Xie Jue’s tall figure passed through the door and walked in.

Su Zhuozhi looked up and was about to speak to Xie Jue when he first saw the vast black mist churning around him. It was far thicker and more terrifying than the demonic qi he had seen in the scroll.

Thud.

The lotus seed cake in his hand fell to the ground, rolling and bumping against Xie Jue’s black boot before stopping.

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