“What are you thinking?” William frowned and said, “This is just the normal process of your body expelling impurities through the energy within you. You don’t seriously believe that you have a terminal disease, do you?”
“Huh?” Alice had a bewildered look on her face before asking, “It’s normal?”
“It is normal! If you don’t believe me, look at yourself in a mirror; your complexion and skin have improved a lot.” William didn’t know what else to say. She had been learning with him for so long and had even become a mid-level Soulmancer, yet she seemed to know nothing at all.
“Really?” Alice took a small mirror out of her bag and looked at herself from different angles. Her face was still red, but her skin seemed to be better than before.
“Are you not scared anymore? If you’re not, then come here and pay close attention.” William said, feigning harshness, “If the names you write later on are still as bad, I will break your hand.”
“…”
Alice became completely stiff with fear.
If someone else had said something like this, she would think they were joking, but coming from William, she believed it might actually happen.
Break it, then mend it, break it, then mend it…
Oh my God, that was terrifying.
William picked up the brush and started to paint once more.
This time, he personally mixed the colors, putting a bit more heart into it. The moment the brush touched the canvas, Alice was once again brought into a wonderful realm.
William was still painting an eagle, but this time, a male eagle.
With a stroke of the brush, a grandeur filled the air, as if the brush tip was flickering, encompassing the spiritual energy between heaven and earth.
Alice stared at the brush tip, seemingly witnessing everything from the ancient era of the gods, influenced by William’s spirit and intention.
It was a memory from the eternal past, carrying a desolate and primitive aura, where a male eagle soared in the heavens, devouring all things.
Endless ferocious beasts roared, while gods across the sky were suppressed by this single eagle, struggling to breathe.
William inexplicably recalled the palm strike that ended the era of the gods all those years ago, and couldn’t help but write down a line of text to express his feelings.
The sky cracks, the gods fall.
Before Alice’s eyes, a magnificent scene gradually unfolded: she saw a powerful man standing on Mount Olympus, holding a staff of lightning, his face filled with desperation as the sky churned with wind and clouds, as if the end of the world was imminent.
She saw the vast Titan giants appearing immensely lonely and despondent in the tragic setting, their roars reverberating through heaven and earth. Temples crumbled, the earth shattered, as if the entire universe was wailing. All the catastrophe and chaos stemmed from the wrath of a deity, plunging the whole world into tragedy and despair.
When William lifted his brush, Alice was still immersed in that grand, magnificent, yet tragic scene; her pupils contracted, she was trembling all over, and all the color had drained from her face.
“That was close to a disaster,” William picked up the brush and hurriedly struck through the line of text he had written earlier.
Only then did Alice regain her senses, looking at the painting of the soaring eagle on the paper, unable to suppress an inexplicable fear welling up inside her.
“Sigh.” William’s hand fell on the painting, forcibly suppressing the spiritual energy contained within it.
Alice looked at William in disbelief, “Master, what did I just see?”
“A hallucination.” That was all William could tell her.
He had never spoken to anyone about having lived for a billion years.
The painting wouldn’t aid Alice in advancing her abilities in any way.
If William didn’t restrain the spiritual energy within the painting, Alice would fall into endless fear forever. Now that it was fully suppressed, aside from the artistry, there was probably only a weak energy mixed in it.
After pondering for a moment, William picked up the brush again and wrote — “To my disciple, Alice.”
At this moment, Alice vaguely felt a certain connection between herself and the painting, as if they were linked by blood. .
“I’ll give you this painting, I’ve written your name on it. Write your name on another painting,” William said, “After you write it, sell it. 10,000 dollars will be fine. I’ll give it to that David.”
For William, the painting he had just made of the young eagle was merely a doodle. Letting it circulate out there wouldn’t be a big deal.
“Oh! Thank you, Master!” Alice beamed, feeling truly grateful that William was giving her a painting; she knew she had to preserve it carefully.
As for the one to be sold…
Why choose, when you can have both?
She would fiercely argue with anyone who dared to challenge her on this.
“Let’s start,” William stepped back, watching Alice attentively. Alice noticed the slightly artistic flair in William’s handwriting. Although it was quite good, she felt fortunate that William hadn’t opted for a more complex and abstract artistic style, which would have made her feel incapable of reaching that level.
In reality, Alice had a foundational knowledge in the arts, largely thanks to her upbringing in a well-educated and cultured family that afforded her access to better education. However, compared to a super art master like William, she had a long way to go.
Alice took a deep breath, subconsciously thinking of her friend Bella, a woman with a notably curvaceous figure and a very large chest.
She suddenly found herself feeling a bit envious, wondering why her own chest wasn’t as large.
Noticing that she was lost in thought, an somewhat annoyed William asked, “What are you thinking about? Start writing your name!”
“Oh,” Alice responded, her head shrinking back as she picked up the brush to start writing her name, attempting to emulate William’s previous handwriting style. Glancing at the name she had written, William could see that although she had indeed captured some artistic elements of his style, it still largely lacked self-expression and power. It was merely an imitation.
“After you go home, practice writing your name every day,” William said, sounding somewhat disappointed as he felt she lacked comprehension and creativity.
“Okay,” Alice replied, puffing out her cheeks in a slightly despondent manner and nodding without offering any counterarguments.
“Alright, let’s head out, bring the painting with you,” William said, picking up his copy of “Sapiens: A Brief History of Humankind” as he headed toward the door.
Alice hurried back to the table, examining the still not fully dry oil painting before saying, “Teacher, this painting isn’t completely dry yet, should we frame it before taking it out?”
“Do as you see fit,” William replied, already at the doorway. As the front door opened, York Brimstone and several others quickly entered.
Before York Brimstone could speak, Lucas sneered, “You really have the guts, daring to paint at a gathering where so many master painters are present!”
William completely ignored him, walking past everyone to settle down on a sofa at the side, immersing himself in his book as if all of this had nothing to do with him.
Lucas became even more furious, his plan had been to embarrass William, yet the man blatantly disregarded him. It felt as if he had mustered all his strength to throw a punch, only to hit thin air, even dislocating his hand in the process.
The painters around them began discussing animatedly; some criticized William for being arrogant, while others secretly mocked Lucas.
Indeed, William was a madman, daring even to critique York Brimstone’s paintings. Hadn’t Lucas basically humiliated himself with his recent actions?
York Brimstone, however, managed to maintain his composure on the spot. He hadn’t yet seen the painting and naturally wouldn’t dare to make rash judgments. If William indeed had an exceptionally high level of skill, any overreaction from him at this moment would only lead to greater embarrassment once they viewed the artwork.
As the group entered the art studio, Alice stood by the table and said, “Could someone please frame the painting? The paint is still not completely dry.”
The first thing York Brimstone noticed was the painting of the small eagle that William had drawn.
He then stood there, stunned, unable to speak for quite a while.
Lucas rushed over even faster than his father, and when he saw the painting of the small eagle, he couldn’t help but burst into laughter: “That’s it? That’s it? A painting of a little bird with no background whatsoever, what is this supposed to be?”