Chapter One Hundred Twenty-One: True Qi Connecting with the Divine

Chapter 121: True Qi Transcending the Divine

Wu Songran was left stunned by the stout man’s artistic prowess. In such a public setting, for him to openly gift her such a miraculous and legendary painting could only mean one thing: he had taken a fancy to her.

Furthermore, the figure of herself in the painting was so vivid, so lifelike, as if she were truly standing there. Had she not already met Wu Hong, she might have been moved by such a romantic gesture.

Wu Songran glanced at Wu Hong, who remained calm, his thoughts unreadable.

“Miss Songran, I am but a humble man. Please, accept this painting as a memento,” the stout man said. Despite his coarse appearance, his tone and demeanor were remarkably elegant and refined.

“I, no…” Wu Songran began to decline, but seeing the man’s expression cloud over, she faltered.

“Sister Songran, such a magnificent piece is the result of his painstaking effort. You should accept it,” Wu Hong said with a smile.

Though she truly loved the painting, Wu Songran had been concerned about Wu Hong’s feelings. Seeing his smiling face, devoid of any jealousy, she beamed. She snatched the painting from the stout man without a word of thanks and ran to Wu Hong, unfurling it. “Brother Hong, what do you think? Do I look beautiful?”

“My sister Songran is naturally beautiful,” Wu Hong replied with a smile.

Wu Songran was so excited she nearly jumped for joy.

The stout envoy stood rooted to the spot, thinking to himself, *I gave that painting to you—why are you showing it to him for his appreciation?* Feeling dejected, he turned to leave, but Wu Songran called out, “Thank you for the painting! It’s wonderful. If only you were the court painter at my Wuwei Prince’s Mansion, I would have you paint every day!”

Hearing her casual, excited thanks, the envoy felt a strange surge of emotion and returned to his delegation, lost in thought.

Wu Hong walked onto the vast military training grounds. In the center, the people of the Great Qian Dynasty had already prepared everything.

A canvas was set up, though it was merely ordinary paper—roughly the same size as the ten-meter-wide animal hide canvas from earlier. The table was laden with painting tools and pigments.

Wu Hong ignited his protective True Qi, projecting it outward. It was vast and magnificent. The pale golden energy rippled like a surging river, its momentum as powerful as a thousand armies.

At this sight, the envoys from the four nations and the generals of Great Qian were struck with awe. Those who held grudges against Wu Hong, such as the Minister of Rites, felt a chill run down their spines.

The training grounds, capable of holding a million people, were flooded with Wu Hong’s pale golden True Qi, reaching every corner.

The True Qi of a Post-Heaven Great Perfection expert was a hundred times more potent than that of a beginner at the Marrow Refining stage. Moreover, they could communicate with the spiritual energy of heaven and earth, granting them nearly inexhaustible stamina. If a Great Perfection master were to face a hundred Marrow Refining warriors, they would surely win. However, if they faced ten thousand, they would be crushed into dust—unless their cultivation techniques were exceptional.

Back when Wu Hong had just reached the early Marrow Refining stage, he had held his own against ten thousand Royal Guards and dozens of Great Perfection masters. Now, at the Great Perfection stage himself, his power was unfathomable.

The energy Wu Hong released was merely a tenth of his total, yet it far exceeded the combined energy of the ten thousand Royal Guards, filling every corner of the field.

Yang Wei knew Wu Hong was formidable, but he had never imagined such ferocity. It was far beyond any ordinary Great Perfection expert.

“This is terrifying—without reaching the Innate Realm, can human power truly reach such a level? What is he doing? Isn’t this supposed to be a painting competition? Why create such a spectacle?” high-ranking officials whispered in the tense atmosphere.

“Hey, I didn’t realize your little lover-brother was so powerful! Truly impressive. But if you ask me, your brother is going to lose this painting match,” a girl in green from the Great Tang Empire suddenly sidled up to Wu Songran.

The girl was dressed provocatively, exuding a wanton charm that made the officials blush. Wu Songran frowned, disliking her immediately. Knowing she was of high status, she chose not to provoke her, remaining silent.

“Oh, sister! Don’t tell me you’re disappointed in your lover-brother? Why not go with that talented fat man instead and let me have your brother for two months?” the girl teased, becoming more brazen.

The stout envoy, who had been resting nearby, was listening in. Upon hearing this, he spat out his tea onto the official sitting next to him. The taller envoy, seemingly the leader of their group, did not get angry; in fact, had they not been in public, he likely would have patted the stout man on the back.

Suddenly, the True Qi filling the field shuddered. Dozens, perhaps hundreds, of pigments flew into the air, suspended and enveloped by the pale golden energy, converging toward a single point.

“What is he doing?” Everyone with even a basic knowledge of painting was baffled, a giant question mark appearing in their minds. *Is he mixing the colors?* someone whispered.

But such a method was wrong. Mixing dozens of colors, especially with black in the mix, would only result in a dull gray. How could one paint with such a monochromatic palette?

Yet, as they watched, they fell silent, their eyes widening. While a Great Perfection master could manipulate objects with True Qi, controlling pigments in mid-air to change form indefinitely was unheard of.

“Oh my, your brother-lover is truly amazing. No wonder you’re so obedient to him! I’m starting to like him more and more,” the girl in green said, her words dripping with suggestiveness.

Wu Songran was shocked, snapping, “Tell me, do you have no shame? What are men to you? I suspect you’re just a male lecher wearing a beautiful face!”

In the air, the pigments held by the True Qi began to take the shape of a human figure. Those who had known Wu Hong in the past were stunned. “Isn’t that how Wu Hong looked back in the capital?”

The gray pigments stained the pale golden screen of True Qi. The image shifted—the arrogant, flamboyant Wu Hong of the past, roaming the capital, appeared on the screen. Then, the death of the Prince of Wuwei, the severing of his tendons, his life as a beggar—each scene flashed by, depicting the simple yet poignant journey of Wu Hong’s past few years.

Wu Songran burst into tears, looking pitifully beautiful. As her clothes grew damp, a plump hand offered her a delicate handkerchief. She took it to wipe her tears, murmuring a thank you.

The owner of the handkerchief was the stout envoy from the Great Han. Hearing her sorrowful tone, his heart shattered—she was grieving for him.