Shui Dongliu watched Meng Hao leave, then, after a long moment, turned and walked back into the depths of the Rebirth Cave. To people like Choumen Tai and Da Nu, the Rebirth Cave wasn’t very big. But to Shui Dongliu, it was limitless.
He walked and walked until finally he reached a room carved from stone.
The stone room was empty except for a half-painted canvas.
The painting depicted a countryside village. A white-haired old man stood there with his hands clasped behind his back, looking off into the distance. Next to him was a boy who appeared to be pleading for something. In return, the man shook his head.
Shui Dongliu looked at the painting, and a look of reminiscence appeared in his eyes. Finally, he closed his eyes.
In that instant, the old painter sitting cross-legged in the Eastern Lands suddenly opened his eyes. He smiled at the rich man standing in front of them, and then cleared his throat.
“My mental journey went well. Now, let me start that painting for you.”
—–