162: mock up

It wasn't until dusk, when the sun had set, that Jiang Hanwen placed the last sheet of paper next to the first, examining them in the lingering glow of the twilight.

The first sheet had a thumb-sized black dot, while the last had shrunk by seventy percent, now only half the size of a fingernail. It was a significant improvement.

Jiang Hanwen glanced at it, leaving the last sheet on the table. This would be the starting point for tomorrow.

"Continue tomorrow."

Without further explanation, the courtyard gate had already closed.

Shifting his gaze, Xia Zhijie looked at the black dot on the table, deep in thought.

The moment he reached out to grab it, his muscles ached, and a sharp, needle-like pain shot through his skin into his head.

"Hiss~"

Xia Zhijie couldn't help but gasp.

Looking closely, his left-hand knuckles were red and swollen, like he had been stung by a venomous bee, with even the joint lines stretched smooth.

Today, he had only focused on sustaining himself with willpower, forgetting to rest.

Now that he relaxed, he felt as if his left hand wasn't his own; he couldn't move it, not even a finger.

Does it hurt?

Yes, but for some reason, he did feel that the chaotic agitation in his heart had lessened.

Xia Zhijie looked at the closed courtyard gate, and involuntarily, the boundless, deep, and tranquil lake surfaced in his mind.

He grinned. With the shopkeeper around, there would be no surprises.

In the basement, Jiang Hanwen was not idle.

Within three meters around him, hundreds of uneven wooden stakes were driven into the ground, each topped with a discarded bitter apricot fruit.

He took out his two-thousand-silver-tael scale-patterned hundred-refined blade; its body was silvery bright, and its back was covered in semicircular patterns like fish scales.

Alchemy was important, but his own Cultivation was even more so.

The best time to plant a tree was ten years ago; the second best time is now.

From today onwards, he would begin his Cultivation of the "Swift Shadow Thunder Art."

"Clang!"

A silver flash.

Bang!

Shattered shells flew.

The blade precisely cleaved the bitter apricot fruit without damaging the wooden stake in the slightest.

Not bad; his previous blade techniques had not been in vain.

Jiang Hanwen sheathed his blade and chopped at another bitter apricot fruit.

The accuracy of that last strike was sufficient, but it was too slow. Again... Early the next morning, Xia Zhijie arrived at the table early, set it up, and bound his right hand.

"Click~" The courtyard gate opened.

"Does your hand still hurt?" Jiang Hanwen asked.

"After soaking it in medicine, it won't delay me."

"Let's begin. Continue writing dots today. There's only one requirement: it just needs to be better than now before dark."

"Alright!" Xia Zhijie picked up the slender brush and began writing dots.

For seven consecutive days, Xia Zhijie wrote dots, from the initial thumb-sized ones to the final half-grain-of-rice-sized ones, beginning to show subtle brush strokes and pauses.

On the evening of the seventh day, Jiang Hanwen held the last blank sheet of paper in his hand.

The sunset glowed crimson in the sky, and in the pale purple twilight, the edges of a few clouds shimmered with brilliant golden borders, a magnificent sight.

Jiang Hanwen pointed to the splendid sky and said:

"Seven days, have you noticed anything?"

Xia Zhijie shook his head, his eyes clear, filled with confusion and a thirst for knowledge.

These past few days, he had labored with his body but not his mind. He had already prepared an answer, but he hadn't expected the question to be beyond the writing itself.

"Although the difference is small, the time of darkness has come earlier," Jiang Hanwen pointed to the stone sundial in the distance.

Xia Zhijie's gaze focused on the sundial; it seemed to have passed the mark.

Long days in summer, short nights in winter – this was common knowledge, yet he truly hadn't paid attention.

Jiang Hanwen took out two blank sheets of paper; one with the dot from the first day, thumb-sized, and one with the current dot, half the size of a grain of rice.

"What do you think I wanted you to understand by having you write for seven days?"

Xia Zhijie's chest involuntarily puffed out, and he confidently said:

"Shopkeeper wants me to know that no matter how difficult something is, as long as I do it little by little, I will always succeed!"

"I was too impatient before and couldn't calm my heart. From now on, I need to be patient in doing things."

"Though the road is long, walking will lead to its end;"

"Though the task is difficult, doing it will ensure success!"

"Anything else?" Jiang Hanwen's face showed no emotion as he calmly pressed on.

Anything else?

Xia Zhijie's expression stiffened. With that look on the shopkeeper's face, could it be that he had misunderstood?

"I... I didn't think of anything else," Xia Zhijie said, lowering his head awkwardly, his gaze fixed on the ground.

"I ask you, how have you slept these past few days?"

"I've slept well," Xia Zhijie nodded. It had been a long time since he had slept so refreshingly.

In the past, as soon as he closed his eyes, his mind would replay everything he had seen during the day, those dirty faces biting and fighting each other in his dreams.

Even when sleep finally came in the latter half of the night, it was a hazy, half-asleep, half-awake state.

Unlike these past few days, where he was tired and sore from head to toe during the day, and as soon as his head hit the pillow at night, he would start snoring.

Waking up refreshed in the morning made him feel as if he had a new body.

"Good. Do you think this brush is heavy?" Jiang Hanwen asked, pointing to his roughly made brush.

Looking at the brush on the table, Xia Zhijie's left hand trembled. It was muscle memory resisting the soreness.

This time, Xia Zhijie did not rush to answer but recalled from the first time he picked up the brush.

This brush, in his hand, transformed from an untamable wild horse, charging wildly, into a cooperative friend, working together;

Finally, he largely mastered it, and it returned to its original form as a brush.

The brush was still the same brush, but his attitude towards it had changed so much. This was the human heart, point one.

Was he holding a brush?

No, it was persistence.

The brush itself was very light, but the prolonged holding made his left hand's burden heavier and heavier, eventually even injuring his muscles. This was point two.

It was like the things he saw; if others were unfaithful to their families, that was their business. What did it have to do with him?

Why did he keep all the things he saw in his heart, forcing himself to believe that all couples in the world were fake?

He even forced himself to pessimistically believe that he would also be like this, and even if he wasn't, his future wife might be.

What if others were ruthless and lived by deceit? Why should he feel that the world was all false?

Where there is Yin, there is Yang; the human heart is the most unpredictable.

Why did he fill his heart with these insignificant things, suffocating himself?

He could see through the truth and falsehood of people's hearts, and he was always fixated on truth and falsehood, forgetting that in this life, truth and falsehood are but fleeting clouds.

If a person with a hypocritical heart does good deeds all their life and dies before having a chance to do bad deeds, are they a good person or a bad person?

Holding a cup of water is easy, but holding a cup of water for a whole day without moving makes it feel heavier than a thousand catties.

The human heart is limited and should not be filled with garbage.

The human heart is changeable and should not be stubbornly opinionated.

Explosive rock music transitioned into a piano nocturne, and his chaotic heartbeat found its rhythm, becoming regular and powerful.

Inspiration struck, and a gentle spring flowed into his heart; the long-standing haze blocking his vision dispersed.

Dark clouds vanished, and the evening breeze revealed the bright moon in the sky. The earth was bathed in silver light, clear and vast for thousands of miles.

Xia Zhijie's eyes sparkled, and he articulated clearly and precisely:

"It's not heavy to pick up, but it's heavy to hold for a long time!"

After saying that, he looked up.

Where was the shopkeeper's face? He turned to look, only to see a retreating back pushing open the door to leave.

"Rest well. I have something for you to do tomorrow."

Snap!

The courtyard gate had already closed.

"Shopkeeper, thank you!" Xia Zhijie shouted excitedly.

Jiang Hanwen, who had closed the door, grinned. "Little guy, still trying to submit early?"

What Xia Zhijie said at first was, of course, what he wanted him to understand.

Doing things patiently, completing them one by one, was more important than any plan, more important than any thought.

But a mountain looks like a ridge from the side, a peak from the front, far and near, high and low, each different.

Who said that a sharp insight could only have one interpretation?

The ultimate right of interpretation always lay with him. The first rule of being a leader was to always maintain superiority.