Chapter 52: A New Canvas

Last night over dinner, Tan Wenbin mentioned there’d be a prize lottery event this weekend in Shigang Town’s central square.

Though lottery tickets had only recently been officially introduced across the mainland, the prize-draw craze had already swept through the population, and its various formats were refreshingly down-to-earth.

Picture a large open space flanked on both sides by rows of vendors in matching uniforms. People milled about, buying tickets individually or by the box, scratching them right on the spot and redeeming prizes immediately.

The grand prize was usually a car, displayed on a high pedestal in the most conspicuous spot.

Li Zhuiyuan often felt that going to sleep each night was like holding a lottery ticket, and waking up was the moment of reckoning.

And every time, he’d at least win a consolation prize—and occasionally, a surprise jackpot.

Take this morning, for instance. When he opened his eyes, he saw Ah Li in a dark gold-patterned riding skirt, paired with a white blouse—elegant and striking.

Perhaps she’d noticed his preferences, because she’d been wearing skirts like that more frequently lately.

It wasn’t without resistance, though. Liu Yumei had tried to dissuade her repeatedly: “Oh, my sweet girl, even if he likes it, you can’t wear the same style every day—he’ll get tired of it!”

A large table had also been added to the room, covered in fine paper, brushes, and an array of pigments.

Ah Li had moved them directly from Liu Yumei’s place.

None of the materials were ordinary—everything from the paper to the brushes was rare, even antique. The pigments were made using ancient techniques. Liu Yumei might not be picky about food, but when it came to everyday items, everything she used was exquisite, bordering on relics.

Of course, she didn’t think of it as extravagance. This was simply how she’d lived her entire life.

Just like how, at their first meeting, her gifts had been jade rings or earrings, and she’d hand over gift money in stacks—not to show off, but because she genuinely intended to give.

Right now, Ah Li was painting.

She no longer had to sit quietly in the room waiting for the boy to wake up.

Li Zhuiyuan sat up and stretched lazily.

The girl looked up from her brush, tilting her head slightly.

Li Zhuiyuan smiled, got up to wash, and was carrying the washbasin back when Liu Yumei waved him over.

“Granny Liu.”

“Come, bring your painting down for Granny to admire.”

“Alright, Granny.”

Liu Yumei smiled as she sat down. The Liu Clan's Art of Observing Qi would have to wait until Ah Li’s health was fully restored and until she formally took this rascal on as a Liu disciple.

But the Four Arts—zither, chess, calligraphy, and painting—those she could already teach.

Well, not chess—this rascal already played better than she did.

Li Zhuiyuan brought down two paintings and spread them on the tea table.

One was his latest piece; the other, Ah Li’s.

Both depicted the early morning view from the second-floor terrace, gazing out at the countryside—a scene that had inspired Li Zhuiyuan to start painting in the first place.

Liu Yumei scanned them, then frowned slightly and said:

“If you had a typical teacher, they’d probably call you a prodigy—because this is very well done.”

“Please, Granny, I’d love your guidance.”

“The problem lies precisely in that. You’ve imitated Ah Li’s technique so closely that there’s barely a difference. But your control—it's too polished, almost deliberately so.

At first glance, it’s impressive. But look closer, and it reeks of craft.”

“You’re right, Granny. That’s my shortcoming.”

Though both paintings captured the same view, and his version was sunnier while Ah Li’s carried a somber tone, hers felt alive—as if it could move—while his, no matter how dynamic he tried to make it, was still lifeless.

“In art, many people spend their lives mastering technique. But the true masters go beyond that. Put simply, they inject emotion.”

Li Zhuiyuan’s eyes dimmed.

“You’re still young—what you’ve achieved is already remarkable. Don’t force yourself to feel sorrow just to sound profound.”

“Thank you for the lesson.”

“It’s not so much a lesson. I’m just nitpicking because it’s you.”

Li Zhuiyuan smiled, nodding, and rolled up the paintings.

Just then, Aunt Liu called out, “Breakfast’s ready!”

At the table, he reached for a salted duck egg to peel for Ah Li, only to have her beat him to it.

He reached for a second. She took that too.

Moments later, she handed him a neatly peeled egg.

His eyes might have healed, but she had no intention of letting go of certain habits.

As he ate, he mulled over Liu Yumei’s words. After a month of practice, his painting was good enough for youth competitions.

But in the eyes of true masters, his work was even more mechanical than those of veteran copyists.

If he kept going like this, his future might lie in becoming a renowned art forger.

But how did one “inject emotion”?

Maybe it was the subject. So why not pick a new one?

He looked at Ah Li, who was carefully separating egg yolk with her chopsticks. A thought formed.

“Ahhhh…”

Tan Wenbin’s yawn rang out, loud and long.

His dad had agreed to let him stay, and to skip early and evening self-study sessions with Zhuiyuan. But that didn’t mean he was slacking.

No matter how many problems he solved, Zhuiyuan always came up with new ones faster. And Tan could tell—Zhuiyuan was getting better at crafting them.

At first, they were brutal. Now, they were balanced—hard but solvable—designed to make him struggle just enough to enjoy the victory.

Even knowing this, he still found joy in it. He felt like a little mud loach, gleefully squirming in Zhuiyuan’s grasp.

His only regret? It had been quiet this past month. No new Dead Sinkers.

He’d asked Runsheng if that was normal.

Runsheng said he used to wonder why there’d suddenly been so many deaths—until Tan showed up. Then things went back to normal.

Tan Wenbin had felt guilty. Maybe he’d messed up the feng shui.

But Li Zhuiyuan didn’t find it boring. He was focused on two things: learning to paint, and studying the Chronicle of the Orthodox Demon-Suppressing Arts. Plus, he was examining the hanging carvings left behind by the dwarf father and son.

He felt fulfilled. Dead Sinkers showing up at a moderate pace was ideal. Anything more—like the Bai Family Matron today, or skinning horrors at the fish pond tomorrow—was just too much.

Li Sanjiang was quiet that morning, sipping his congee.

After breakfast, Runsheng brought out the tricycle.

Two small stools were strapped to it with cloth.

Tan Wenbin rolled out his bike.

That one ride home from school had been torture. He felt he belonged under the car, not in it.

“Great-grandpa,” Li Zhuiyuan didn’t get on just yet. He walked over to Li Sanjiang, his expression shy but expectant.

Most kids at his age had worn that look at some point—especially with their elders.

“Haha, I know what you mean.”

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