Why do I have so many masters?

Chapter 89: How Can You Distinguish Me? (6,200 words)



In the inn, after everyone had finished lunch, they each dispersed. The flavors of Jianan Road and Jiangnan Road are adjacent, leaning towards spicy and numbing. Though not the spiciest in the world, the numbing flavor is indeed rare. Everyone ate heartily, and Li Qidao and Liu Ling drank several cups of wine, reaching a mild intoxication before staggering upstairs.

During the meal, Wang Anfeng was lost in thought, silently pondering over matters. Taking advantage of the gathering before dispersal, he called Xue Qinshuang over, then raised his hand to envelop them with Qi Mechanism, masking their voices, and softly relayed the situation to her.

Except for the location of the Shaolin Temple, nothing else was hidden.

He explained how enmity was formed with this Qiong Qi, and what his plans were, telling everything in detail. As for where the information came from, he simply said it was an old acquaintance who happened to know and had sent a message by flying pigeon.

Xue Qinshuang realized instantly, saying:

"You want me to disguise as that young man and seize the opportunity to accompany you on this journey?"

Wang Anfeng replied, "Indeed, the old and the young arrived together in Liangzhou City, likely inseparable. I'm worried if a mishap occurs, people might pick up on it, rendering previous efforts in vain."

Upon finishing, he looked at Xue Qinshuang, hoping in his heart she would agree. Xue Qinshuang leaned against the railing, lightly tapping it with her palm as if in contemplation. After a few breaths, she smiled and responded:

"What's so difficult about that? It's just a matter of disguise. Moreover, having not sparred with a formidable opponent lately, this opportunity is perfect."

Wang Anfeng breathed a sigh of relief, a smile spreading across his face.

But then Xue Qinshuang chuckled, "However, this counts as owing me a favor, and you'll have to repay me in the future by doing something for me."

Resolving the biggest issue lightened Wang Anfeng's heart significantly, and he said without hesitation, "What's so difficult about that? Not to mention just one thing, even ten or eight things wouldn't be a problem."

Xue Qinshuang nodded with a serious expression:

"That's good, then you owe me ten or eight."

"An honorable man, the master of the Divine Martial Mansion, should be true to his word."

Wang Anfeng didn't expect her to respond like this and was momentarily stunned, his face blank for a second. Seeing this, Xue Qinshuang couldn't help but laugh and said, "I was just joking with you, and you really took it seriously?"

After thinking for a moment, she added, "Since you want me to disguise as that young man, you'll need to buy some small items for disguise, some rouge and face powder to adjust complexion, and a set of men's clothing. Oh, and also draw the young man's face on paper so I can mimic his appearance for the disguise."

Wang Anfeng agreed to all of this.

Returning to his guest room, he saw the grey pigeon had already settled back in the open cage, bowing its head to drink water and peck at grains. Wang Anfeng felt somewhat at ease, strolled over, and retrieved the rolled-up letter from the cylinder on the pigeon, opening it to see just one word inside.

Possible.

Having corresponded with Wuxin several times, he recognized Wuxin's handwriting, and his heart settled. With everything prepared, only the 'Qiong Qi' needed to be taken. Once the Wooden Sword Spirit's rhythm was replenished, restoring the grandmaster-level skill, he could directly take on 'Qiong Qi'.

Then, even if he didn't take its life, he'd make sure it suffers a good deal.

Wang Anfeng stood there for a while, lost in thought.

Then he glanced down at the letter with just one word, unable to suppress his inner complaints. He had written so many words to Wuxin, expending effort and thought, but Wuxin simply replied with just one word.

Setting aside everything else, even the casually asked question wasn't answered.

He didn't believe that a city as big as Liangzhou City, with seventy-four District Markets and a million people, only had one palatable shop like Qiwei Zhai. Wuxin could easily have started with some small talk like himself before getting to the main point.

A single word, 'possible', what does that even mean?

The Great Qin Ministry of Punishment is wealthy and powerful; surely they aren't stingy with ink?

Grumbling internally, Wang Anfeng tapped the letter with his finger, shattering it into powder, then picked up a small wolf-hair brush, dipped it in ink, and began drawing from memory before it faded to depict the youth's likeness.

Hong Luoyu possessed unmatched painting skills, and learning Qinggong from him, Wang Anfeng also picked up some painting techniques. Though he couldn't compare with his third master, who could create masterpieces on a whim, he reached the level of an artisan at least.

At least he could capture the likeness.

Being a Martial Artist, his keen eyesight, steady wrist, and strong five-fingered brushwork allowed him to create decent work with care. Spending almost half an hour, ruining a total of three paintings before finally finishing. He paused to examine it closely, feeling that although many strokes were incorrect, it nonetheless bore a six or seven-tenths resemblance, clearly recognizable at a glance.

Then he blew on the wolf-hair brush, setting it aside on the rack, planning to let the ink dry a bit before giving it to Xue Qinshuang. During this time, casually glancing at the painting, he spotted four or five errors, which now seemed glaring. Though he couldn't produce much of quality at the moment, he could spot mistakes effortlessly.

Nothing more, he had already made countless such mistakes.

The master's 'guidance' still echoed by his ears.

Recalling past hardships, Wang Anfeng couldn't help but rub his brow, smiling wryly, realizing the saying holds true: prolonged illness indeed turns into skill; it's just that painting requires innate talent more than martial arts. Even children at a tender age can create works that make venerable elders pound their chests and weep, lamenting heaven's unfairness.

It's tough to remedy repeated errors.


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