Every stroke had been deliberate, every shade precise. When Daoist Falling Snow finally laid down her brush, she felt a quiet pride welling inside her.
Her sword, gleaming in silver and radiating intent, looked every bit the masterpiece she had envisioned.
Then her gaze fell upon Lin Feng's creation.
Shock flashed across her features, quickly followed by disbelief and then, unexpectedly, amusement.
Out of everything she could have imagined, she had never expected to see this.
He had drawn… a stick chicken.
It was crude. Awkward. Barely resembling the graceful forms of the world. Every line was simple, almost childlike, lacking any trace of technique or finesse.
Daoist Falling Snow's eyes widened, her mind racing. His complete ignorance of art… it's obvious to an absurd degree!
And yet, beneath the shock, a tiny, grudging smile tugged at her lips.
