Nineteenth Painting: Master Boya, the Guide on the Path of Art

“Familiarity means affection? Stop making things up.” Sang Sang flicked his finger against Little Gold’s forehead, sending him sprawling on his back.

“Then why do you think he feels like an old friend at first meeting?” Little Gold clung to Sang Sang’s finger, still anxious.

“Time and space. He carries the power of time and space, but it’s very well concealed, and it doesn’t seem to be his own.”

Sang Sang’s right hand traced a mysterious arc through the air; invisible ripples shimmered across the space. The flowers blooming on the nearby potted plant closed their petals and formed a bud. Sang Sang plucked the bud, held it to her nose, and inhaled deeply. Suddenly, her fingers clenched, crushing the bud into pulp, her eyes shining with an eerie light.

“It’s the power of the past,” Sang Sang said, as the crushed flower dissolved into water, its flow soothing the lingering temporal ripples.

“The records say the former First Saint Son’s attribute was space. He did indeed study time as well, but he could not merge the two. He could only use space to condense his origin and ascend to the Profound level. Many people regretted that at the time.” Little Gold’s hand became a vacuum, erasing all traces of the flower water touched by those temporal shifts. “If what you say is true, then he’s hiding something.”

“Is he really recuperating at the Sanctum headquarters?” Sang Sang was doubtful. The power of time and space is borne by the soul, so the destruction of the body is less devastating than for ordinary people; perhaps he’s already recovered.

“I’ll accept a mission from the Sanctum headquarters and find a way to investigate,” Little Gold said, itching to act.

“No,” Sang Sang stopped him at once. “He has power and influence. If my guess is wrong, then fine. But if I’m right, and they discover we know their secret, taking down a mere candidate who isn’t even a Saintess yet will be effortless for them. Not even Grandfather Anthony could protect us then.”

Little Gold looked up. “Sang Sang, you’re afraid too?”

“Of course I’m afraid,” Sang Sang admitted. “We’re weak and alone right now. We can’t provoke such giants. Since our teacher’s problem has persisted for two centuries, it doesn’t seem likely to worsen soon. I’ll wait until I’m stronger.”

Little Gold nodded vigorously. “When the Celestial Emperor arrives and you’ve all reached the Profound level, you can help Aslan check his wounds then.”

Sang Sang, however, fell silent for a moment before replying, “Who knows if we’ll even last that long? Perhaps he’ll come to us first—if he really possesses the laws of time and space. After all, such laws can allow one to foresee things.”

The next time Sang Sang saw Aslan, she couldn’t help but observe him closely. She confirmed that he did indeed carry a faint ripple of time and space, cleverly disguised as the unmerged states of time and space. If she herself didn’t possess the essence of time and space, making her exquisitely sensitive to such fluctuations, she would never have noticed—at most, she would have sensed traces of both powers. Since Aslan himself had trained in both laws, not even the most sophisticated instruments could discern whether the fluctuations originated from him or an outside force.

Sang Sang didn’t tell Little Gold her true suspicion: that Aslan’s origin had never been destroyed at all, but had been banished in time, imprisoned in the past, rendering him unable to reforge his star core.

If the origin still exists, how can the star core be reformed?

Perhaps Sang Sang’s scrutiny was too obvious. Aslan realized she knew about his injury, and said directly, “I’ve failed to reform my star core after two hundred years. While I can still guide you through condensing your own, if you don’t trust me, there’s still time to request a new mentor. With your top score in the purification trials, there are plenty of excellent tutors who would gladly take you.”

“Are you joking, teacher?” Sang Sang looked at him as if he’d lost his mind. “Why would I give up such a brilliant, versatile mentor as you, just to squeeze in with a bunch of rivals under another teacher? I’m not feverish. Besides, my physical training is nearly sufficient, and I’m almost finished with the Saint’s skills. If you let me go now, you’re the one losing out.”

Aslan didn’t insist. He simply nodded and turned his attention to her progress. “Come, let’s test your inner energy flow.”

In the testing chamber, Sang Sang followed Aslan’s instructions, moving from the forty-nine basic sequences to the hundreds of variations and internal energy patterns she’d derived—over eighty percent of which she’d picked up by observing others. For instance, basic movement training branched into agility, speed, spatial-jump, stealth, and other types, while elemental energy manipulation divided into defense and offense.

“Very good. The range of variations exceeds my expectations. Your physical technique is basically up to standard; now it’s just a matter of practice. There’s a month and a half until the preliminary selection on the first of Water Moon. During this time, continue honing your techniques. You’ve already succeeded in condensing the law of life—so, devote a third of your time each day to Saint’s skills and soul magic, a third to physical refinement, and a third to studies of faith, under your new mentor.”

As Aslan finished speaking, the door to the testing chamber opened. A young elf with green eyes and pointed ears stood outside, nodding gracefully to them both.

“We meet again, Little Red Leaf. From today, I’ll be guiding you in your studies of faith. I like clever students; I hope I never have to repeat a question to you more than three times.”

Sang Sang glanced at Senna, then at the elf. “I’ll do my best, Mentor Boya.”

So much for “you can still change mentors”—it was clearly just lip service. Boya, who’d once delivered her the purification elixir, was Aslan’s friend; this had all been arranged in advance.

Elf Boya—the former Second Saint Son from two centuries ago. After the Battle of Weian, he could have been promoted to First, but instead resigned and joined Aslan as an instructor at the Academy. Though more diligent than Aslan, he’d only ever taken on a handful of students, the last time being fifty years prior.

More importantly, Elf Boya was a healer renowned across the cosmos, known as the Life Painter. Sang Sang was truly fortunate to become his student.

“Our main topic today is the Mark of Faith.”

Elf Boya lived in a vast treehouse, its surroundings adorned with energy crystals of all sizes. Within each crystal, a miniature world of blossoming plants and trees thrived, radiating vitality even through the crystal walls.

“What is a Mark of Faith? It comprises six aspects: the faith medium, the law mark, the purified will, the refinement of faith, the channel of faith, and the storage of faith. Only works that meet all six standards are true Marks of Faith; otherwise, they’re merely faith mediums—like your healing paintings.”

Elf Boya opened his palm, and a healing card called “Awakening Lotus” appeared—a talisman for restoring mental energy.

Sang Sang blinked, quickly rummaged through her card pouch, and drew out a card. In her hands were two identical “Awakening Lotus” cards; even she couldn’t distinguish the real from the imitation by sight alone, except for the faint difference in the imitation’s energy fluctuations.

“Pigments refined from natural minerals, paper crafted from plant essences—your two-dimensional artwork is distinctive. That’s an advantage, but you must also learn new techniques and improve. Watch my movements—this is the mainstream painting method in the universe today. Even if you don’t specialize in it, you need to understand and master it.”