Desolate Devouring Art

Chapter 57 - Slapping Faces

“Has he lost his mind?” cried the onlookers, their voices rising in alarm. The landscape painting was worth a staggering 1,000,000 gold coins, but its true value lay in the martial intent it contained—something that could not be measured in mere currency.

Kuang Zhan’s eyes narrowed, but it was too late to stop Liu Wuxie. The painting had been created by the ancestor of the Kuang Clan, Master Kuang, and its destruction at the hands of an outsider would be a grave insult to the clan.

“Is he insane? Why is he cutting such a valuable painting with a dagger?” cried Wan Yichun, his face contorted with rage. He stepped back, as if afraid that Liu Wuxie’s madness might be contagious.

The crowd watched in horror as Liu Wuxie slashed at the painting with his dagger. Lei Tao slumped in his chair, muttering to himself. “It’s over... it’s all over...”

It wasn’t the loss of the 1,000,000 gold coins that weighed on Lei Tao’s mind. Liu Wuxie’s actions were a direct affront to the Kuang Clan, and he knew that Kuang Zhan would not let him leave unscathed. Only the intervention of the pavilion master could save him now.

Xiao Mingyi watched the scene unfold with a sneer on his lips. He didn’t care about the loss of the 1,000,000 gold coins—he could always seek compensation from Bi Gongyu. What mattered to him was the opportunity to humiliate Liu Wuxie. Xue Chou, on the other hand, watched with glee, his eyes alight with murderous intent.

As the dagger sliced through the painting, a deep gash appeared. The damage was irreparable—even the most skilled craftsman would be unable to restore it. The painting was ruined.

“Brat, how dare you destroy the Kuang Clan’s painting before me! I’ll tear you apart!” roared Kuang Zhan, striding towards Liu Wuxie with murder in his eyes. His rage was palpable, and those with weaker cultivation trembled under the weight of his fury.

“Elder Kuang, isn’t it too early for you to become angry?” Liu Wuxie sneered in disdain. He was in contempt for Kuang Zhan, who couldn’t distinguish the authenticity of the painting as Kuang Clan’s second elder.

The white-clothed youth beside Kuang Zhan stepped forward to examine the painting.

“Brother Liu, what have you done?” cried Du Mingze, looking heartbroken. “You’ve destroyed a painting worth 1,000,000 gold coins!”

Liu Wuxie remained silent, casting a dismissive glance at Du Mingze. He reached out and grasped the corner of the painting, pulling out a strand of silk thread. As he tugged at the thread, the image on the painting began to blur.

With a flick of his wrist, Liu Wuxie severed the thread with his dagger. “Master Kuang’s paintings are made with the finest ink and paper,” he said, “and beneath the surface lies a layer of superior silk threads. These threads should be light green in color and possess great tensile strength, enhancing the quality of the painting. But the threads in my hand are from the Winter Silkworm, soaked in python’s blood. Tell me, did Master Kuang really paint this?”

Liu Wuxie tossed the silk threads at Kuang Zhan’s feet, inviting him to examine them for himself. The only way to determine the painting’s authenticity was to cut it open and examine the layers beneath the surface.

Every painting created by the Kuang Clan was composed of three layers: the surface layer of fine ink and paper, a middle layer of silk threads, and a bottom layer of oilcloth to seal the painting. To the untrained eye, the silk threads were invisible, but Liu Wuxie’s Ghost Eye allowed him to see through the surface layer with a single glance. The painting was a forgery, expertly crafted to mimic Master Kuang’s style and calligraphy.

Elder Kuang picked up the silk threads and sniffed them. The scent of python blood was unmistakable, and he could tell that the painting was no more than fifteen years old. Master Kuang had died over a hundred years ago, and his last painting had been completed long before that. This painting was a fake.

“He’er, what do you think?” asked Kuang Zhan, passing the silk threads to the white-clothed youth for inspection.

The youth took the threads and sniffed them, frowning in concentration. He produced a small bronze mirror from his clothing and placed the threads upon it. As he did so, a strange odor began to emanate from the silk.

“Elder, this silk thread was soaked in the python\'s blood. It isn’t from the Spring Silkworm that we use.” There was a significant difference between the silk threads produced by Spring and Winter Silkworms. The Kuang Clan used silk from the Spring Silkworm, which is nearly impossible to find on the open market. The domestic silkworms raised by the Kuang Clan were fed a special diet of herbs, resulting in silk threads that were faintly fragrant.

“Brat, perhaps Master Kuang was trying something new. You can’t possibly deny that this was a painting done by Master Kuang just from the silk threads\' quality alone!” Xiao Mingyi interjected, questioning Liu Wuxie. After all, the style of this painting was identical to Master Kuang’s, and his words drew agreement from the crowd.

But Kuang Zhan and the white-clothed youth frowned when they heard what Xiao Mingyi said.

Liu Wuxie regarded Xiao Mingyi with a look of disdain. The Kuang Clan had remained silent, yet Xiao Mingyi had chosen to speak out, inviting ridicule upon himself.

“Elder Kuang,” said Liu Wuxie, turning to address the elder. “The paintings of the Kuang Clan are made with ink from profound inkstones. One of the benefits of using this type of ink is that it does not smudge when it comes into contact with water. Even if the entire painting were to be submerged, it would not be damaged when retrieved. Am I correct?”

It was widely known that the use of profound inkstones was a closely guarded secret of the Kuang Clan, and they had only a few remaining. By adding a special herb to the ink, they were able to create a formula that was resistant to water damage. The identity of this herb was known only to the members of the Kuang Clan.

“That’s right. The painting of my Kuang Clan is done with the ink from the profound inkstone.” Kuang Zhan nodded. Even if he didn’t want to admit to it, he couldn’t refute what Liu Wuxie said.

“Lei Tao, bring me a bowl of water!” Liu Wuxie yelled.

Lei Tao sprang to his feet and hurriedly fetched a bowl of water. As Liu Wuxie poured the water over the painting, a strange thing happened—the ink began to smudge and run, obscuring the image until it was impossible to tell what had once been depicted.

“This...” The onlookers were stunned. It was well known that the paintings of the Kuang Clan were resistant to water damage, yet the ink on this painting had begun to smudge at the slightest touch of moisture. The lower half of the painting was now a blur, ruined beyond repair. This only served to confirm that the painting was not, in fact, the work of Master Kuang but rather a skillful imitation.

Xiao Mingyi froze in place with his mouth wide open. Did this mean he spent 1,000,000 gold coins to buy a fake painting?

Each word that Liu Wuxie had spoken earlier now felt like a slap in the face to Xiao Mingyi. The faces of the onlookers were also flushed with embarrassment. They had mocked Liu Wuxie earlier, but he had been able to discern the painting’s true nature with a single glance. It was a bitter pill to swallow.

Du Mingze turned away, unable to meet Liu Wuxie’s gaze. He now realized that there was something unusual about Liu Wuxie. Even Kuang Zhan had been unable to detect that the painting was a fake, yet Liu Wuxie had somehow been able to see through its deception.

“Brother Du, aren’t you going to express your opinion?” Liu Wuxie suddenly turned to look at Du Mingze with a smile.

“Brother Liu is truly talented,” said Du Mingze, turning back to face him. “We were all fooled by this fake painting. I apologize for my earlier words. Du Mingze’s sudden change of attitude surprised everyone. Just moments before, he had been demanding an apology from Liu Wuxie. Now he was like a venomous snake, ready to strike at the slightest provocation.

Wan Yichun and Xue Chou took a step back, their faces red with embarrassment. They, too, had joined in mocking Liu Wuxie earlier, and now they were afraid to speak up for fear of becoming a laughingstock.

“Brother Xiao, I apologize for ruining your painting.”

Xiao Mingyi wore a fierce expression as though he could devour Liu Wuxie with one bite. After all, 1,000,000 gold coins were gone just like that.

“Brat, even if this painting is a forgery, it’s still worth tens of thousands of gold coins for the artistry alone,” said Xiao Mingyi through gritted teeth. “So what do you mean when you say it’s not worth ten gold coins?”

Xiao Mingyi knew that it was no easy feat to imitate another artist’s style and that only a skilled painter could produce such a convincing forgery. The painting was done in the same style as Master Kuang, and there were few who could replicate it so accurately. This meant that a famous artist must have created the painting, and it was, therefore, not without value.

“Since you’re still not giving up, I’ll make sure you’re convinced,” sneered Liu Wuxie, determined to crush Xiao Mingyi’s pride.

His words piqued the curiosity of the onlookers. Even they had to admit that the quality of the forgery was impressive. Not even Kuang Zhan could have replicated the painting so perfectly with his skills.

Kuang Zhan had nothing more to say. It had been proven beyond doubt that the painting was not the work of Master Kuang, and even the Kuang Clan had been deceived.

“Does anyone have a brush and paper?” asked Liu Wuxie.

“I do,” said the white-clothed youth stepping forward. He produced a brush and paper from his interspatial pouch and placed it on the table before stepping back.

Liu Wuxie took the brush and wrote down ten-odd materials, all of which were common items in the market. He said, “Lei Tao, go buy everything listed on this paper. Come back quickly.”

Lei Tao took the list and hurried out. As more people gathered around, they whispered excitedly about the events that had just transpired. Liu Wuxie’s sudden reversal had taken everyone by surprise, leaving Xiao Mingyi and his companions stunned.

In less than fifteen minutes, Lei Tao returned with all of the items on the list. Aside from the rice paper, he placed them neatly on the table.

“Painting doesn’t always have to be done stroke by stroke,” said Liu Wuxie, picking up a copper basin and pouring the materials into it. “There’s another method—sketching!” The onlookers were baffled, unsure of what Liu Wuxie meant by ‘sketching.’

Each of Liu Wuxie’s steps looked ordinary without any skills, but everyone watched quietly, fearing they might miss out on any steps.

Even Kuang Zhan’s gaze was fixed on Liu Wuxie’s hands. He could achieve photographic memory as he was in the Spirit Cleansing Realm.

But it was a pity that sketching wasn’t profound, and they would soon know about it.