"Old Wei, I don't have many hobbies—just a love for studying calligraphy and paintings."
Fang Chu bowed slightly to Wei Jingzhi.
"These days, young people like you are rare indeed."
Wei Jingzhi looked genuinely impressed, then pointed at the scroll before them.
"Tell me then, what do you think is the highlight of this piece?"
Fang Chu gave Xu Mu a disdainful glance before turning his eyes to the landscape painting spread across the table.
"This piece uses a variety of brush techniques, but if I had to say which is the strongest—it's the outlining!" Fang Chu said, staring intently at the painting.
"Excellent!"
Wei Jingzhi clapped and looked at him in admiration. "You really do understand painting. Old Jiang's greatest strength has always been his linework—unmatched in the world!"
"Exactly! The lines are fluid, balancing strength and grace. The contours of the mountains, the posture of the figure—they're vivid and lifelike."
Fang Chu nodded confidently.
The people around them were full of admiration, including Xu Shou.
Why did they come to this birthday banquet every year, anyway?
Let's be honest—it was for Wei Jingzhi's connections.
Even though he'd stopped accepting gifts, back when top officials attended his birthdays, it proved he still had influence.
Since he no longer accepted bribes or presents, businessmen like them could only show up each year to keep their faces familiar.
No one expected the Guo family's son-in-law to steal the spotlight this year.
Guo Xiao's heart was pounding with excitement. If she could get close to Wei Jingzhi and meet some of the big figures still in office, the Guo family business would soar.
Xu Shou sighed inwardly. What a pity—his multimillion-yuan bottle of wine wasn't worth as much as a few flattering sentences from Fang Chu.
Jiang Huihui popped a bubble with her gum, in good spirits—after all, they were praising her grandfather.
"I wouldn't say that," Xu Mu suddenly interjected. "That showy linework actually ruins the painting."
His words instantly drew everyone's eyes.
They all turned, wondering who was so bold.
When they saw it was Xu Mu, sympathetic looks turned toward Xu Shou.
This Xu family wastrel—being arrogant elsewhere was one thing, but showing off here, in front of Wei Jingzhi? That was basically slapping him in the face.
"Xiao Mu, don't be rude," Xu Shou said quickly, regretting bringing him. Even he, an amateur, could tell this painting was top-tier.
And he knew very well that Wei Jingzhi loved art, especially traditional Chinese painting. His house walls were practically covered with them.
No way could his son outshine him on this topic.
Xu Ningbing rubbed her forehead helplessly. Her foolish brother again.
Sure, his pen-drawn sketches of rare herbs and treasures were impressive—but traditional ink painting was a whole different world.
"Oh? Xu Mu, let's hear your thoughts," Fang Chu said, trying not to laugh.
He came from a reclusive family and had learned painting appreciation since childhood. His own skill was limited, but his eye for art was decent.
This good-for-nothing Xu Mu couldn't possibly know anything—and he dared to act wise in front of him?
"You wouldn't understand even if I told you," Xu Mu replied calmly.
"You're the Xu family's boy, aren't you? If you don't explain, how do you know we won't understand?"
Wei Jingzhi gave him a cool glance—his face calm, but irritation flickering beneath.
He'd heard of Xu Mu before. In his mind, this behavior was the result of Xu Shou's over-indulgence.
"Actually," Xu Mu said, hands in his pockets, looking over the painting, "the artist's skill is undoubtedly first-rate—but the flaw lies in being too flashy."
He gestured lightly. "Chinese painting techniques are mainly outline, texture strokes, rubbing, dots, and washes. Wei Lao was right—the linework here is strong."
Wei Jingzhi's irritation eased a bit. Most people couldn't even name those five techniques. Maybe this young man truly knew a little.
"This painting's linework is top-tier, but compared to that, the rest feels unbalanced. And what's the most important aspect of Chinese painting? Harmony."
Xu Mu spread his hands. "This piece feels like someone tried to paint a beautiful woman—with curves in all the right places—but gave her short arms and legs. It's just… off."
The crowd went silent, staring at him in astonishment. They didn't fully understand what he meant, but somehow it sounded convincing.
"Hahaha! What nonsense," Fang Chu sneered. "Xu Mu, you've got a sharp tongue. This painting is perfectly balanced! Your analogy doesn't even make sense. Can't you and Old Wei tell what's beautiful and what isn't?"
Wei Jingzhi nodded slightly—after years of studying art, his sense of aesthetics was refined.
"That's because you've never seen a truly great one," Xu Mu said flatly.
"Then you do it! Why don't you paint something better?" Fang Chu laughed. "Talk is cheap. Let's see your skill."
The onlookers nodded in agreement. Anyone could nitpick—but proving it was another matter.
"Alright. Do you have brushes and ink?" Xu Mu asked, smiling faintly.
This was exactly what he'd been waiting for.
"You bet. I'll bring them," Wei Jingzhi said, curious to see what the boy could do.
As Wei Jingzhi went to fetch the materials, Xu Shou leaned close and whispered, "Son, are you sure about this?"
"Relax, Dad. I know a thing or two about painting," Xu Mu said with a reassuring grin.
Xu Ningbing's eyes widened.
Oh no. There it was again—his infamous 'I know a little'.
Did he actually know Chinese painting? She'd never seen him draw one before.
Fang Chu stood with his hands behind his back, already guessing Xu Mu's plan.
Judging by his expression, the guy probably could paint a bit—he wanted to show off in front of Wei Jingzhi.
But his skill couldn't possibly match that masterpiece.
The only one who stayed calm was Jiang Huihui.
She had full confidence in her grandfather's work. Xu Mu was just courting humiliation.
It fit the intel she'd gathered about him perfectly.
Before long, Wei Jingzhi returned, placing the brushes, ink, and paper on another table.
Fang Chu smirked. "Go ahead, Xu Mu. Let's see your performance."
Xu Shou clenched his fists nervously. Please don't screw this up, kid.
"Then I'll just make a few small improvements to this piece," Xu Mu said.
Relying on muscle memory, he picked up the brush and began to draw.
With just a few strokes, Wei Jingzhi's eyes narrowed. Something was off—no, extraordinary.
Those brush movements weren't something an amateur could imitate.
As time passed, Xu Mu's technique became even more fluid—his brush dancing unpredictably, his ink full of rhythm and life.
By the time he was halfway through, the entire room had fallen silent.
Because what Xu Mu was painting looked exactly like the original.
He continued, and finally set down the brush. Before everyone's eyes, a new landscape had taken shape.
At first glance, it was identical to the original.
But on closer look, Xu Mu's version felt alive—perfectly balanced, utterly natural.
And as they stared longer… they could see it.
The robed figure in the painting—his sleeves fluttered slightly, as if stirred by wind.
"Holy crap! The painting moved! It's moving!"
A middle-aged man pointed at the scroll, shouting in disbelief.