"Agreed!" Granny Sue and the others echoed in unison.
Deaf reached into the depths of the City of No-Regrets abyss, surging with power. A column of magma shot skyward. Deaf seized his giant brush, using magma as ink and the earth as canvas, painting with strokes that twisted and danced like dragons and snakes.
His brush was made from the tail hair of a fire wolf that had cultivated to the Spirit-Communion Realm, and the shaft was a god-bone found in the ruins of the Great Ruins. When Quinn was young, he often played with it, only to have Deaf rap his palm in reprimand.
This fire wolf tail hair could bathe in blazing flames without harm, and the god-bone could channel power freely, letting the writer unleash their art with abandon!
Deaf was usually gentle and refined, even a bit pedantic. When wealthy, he acted with princely flair, as if a high-born royal playing among commoners. But when broke, he was down-and-out, squatting on street corners selling paintings, barely daring to hawk his wares.
But now, as he gripped his brush, its tip suddenly turned wild and unrestrained. Deaf himself transformed—radiating the unique vigor and madness of a scholar wielding his art with reckless abandon!
"Deaf, let me help you!"
Butcher, seeing Deaf's brushwork and the fiery painting blazing amid the flames, couldn't help but feel a surge of heroism. He swung his saber, leveling the ground so Deaf could unleash his art without restraint.
He raised a pillar of yuanqi, stirring the magma overhead so it wouldn't freeze into stone, and sang aloud: "Brush dances like dragons and snakes, words tilt the Milky Way, virtue and skill united in youth! The Imperial Court presents, personally bestowing the crown upon the elite. Who else but the dragon's head should claim it? Straight ahead, glory and achievement shine!"
"Against all odds, fortune pours in—a name to resound through the ages! Remember, back in the days of reverence, the old Heavenly Diagram, now the City of No-Regrets. Lament the white-haired scholar, yet still forging grand halls. I offer a scroll of poetry and prose, hoping the immortal wind carries it to Penglai!"
"Returning to the earth, breathing in fragrance and beauty—just an old scholar at heart!"
Butcher's poem overflowed with inspiration, a bold and heroic flavor that captured Deaf's entire life: from Heavenly Diagram Crown Prince, peerless in skill and fame, to the fall of his kingdom, poverty and hardship, selling paintings to survive. It stirred both pride and sorrow in all who heard it.
"Aba!"
Mute Smith gave a thumbs-up. A thunderous boom erupted from his dantian, blazing like a great sun; the iron furnace on his back erupted like a volcano, pouring roaring fire into the magma.
Flames roared. Butcher wielded a pillar of yuanqi, stirring the magma; firelight illuminated his face and chest, turning them crimson.
Deaf laughed heartily, as if drunk, growing even more uninhibited—his steps staggering, his brush strokes wild and unpredictable: like dragons, snakes, phoenixes in flight, dragonflies skimming water, young swallows learning to fly, old oxen plowing fields.
Behind him, his Primordial Spirit appeared, painting with him, pouring all his passion into sweeping, grand works and landscapes.
Nearby, Quinn, Libationer Barrett, Granny Sue, and the others were left speechless, staring in awe.
They had never imagined that Deaf—always so stern and honest—could have such a passionate, wild, and uninhibited side.
Using magma as ink and earth as canvas, Deaf quickly covered dozens of acres in blazing magma and fire. The painting glowed gold in the firelight, almost blinding to behold.
Who could have guessed that such unbridled heroism would burn in the heart of an old scholar?
Deaf painted nonstop—he drew sky and earth, leaving the heavens blank and the land lush and green, painted wind, clouds, thunder and lightning, towering mountains and rivers, countless gods and demons each with unique forms, endless armies bristling for battle, their bodies and muscles like steel, blades and swords gleaming bright.
He painted battlefields, leaping figures; Quinn and the others only had to glance to feel the gods, demons, and fierce armies might leap straight out of the painting!
The explosive power of those muscles, the swinging blades, the lightning and thunder bursting from the clouds, the looming downpour, the howling hurricanes, raging tornadoes, collapsing mountains, boiling seas—it all felt so real!
Deaf was painting a vast, magnificent world—bringing it to life before their eyes!
Butcher's poem ignited Deaf's inspiration and stirred his emotions, unleashing the heroism and creative force in his chest. He was lost in the madness of creation, expressing his heart with abandon and letting his imagination run wild.
After who knows how long, Grandpa Blind said anxiously, "The demon army is almost here! Only a hundred li away!"
Deaf paid him no mind, continuing to paint.
Grandpa Blind frowned. "Eighty li left!"
Quinn looked toward the distant eighty li. There, black demonic miasma surged like a fast-moving fog. He opened layer after layer of formation runes in his eyes, heart pounding, and saw countless enormous demon monsters flooding over the mountain peaks, charging wildly, wielding bizarre weapons, roaring as they rushed this way.
Grandpa Blind shouted, voice taut with anxiety, "Deaf, are you done yet? Thirty li! Prepare for battle!"
No sooner had he spoken than Deaf suddenly stopped, stabbing his brush down with a heavy dot—activating the painting, sending fire roaring across its hundred-acre expanse.
Deaf wielded his brush like a spear, lifting the massive painting upright. As it rose, an inexplicable aura began to emanate from the vast canvas.
The painting merged with heaven and earth, vanishing from sight before them.
Boom, boom.
Thunder rumbled overhead; bolts of lightning startled everyone. They looked up to see the sky suddenly fill with dark clouds, streaming with fire—intense beyond imagination.
The fiery storm clouds spread wider and wider, covering more and more ground. Suddenly, hurricanes erupted, and massive tornadoes blazing with fire descended from the heavens—one, two, three...
In an instant, countless fire-tornadoes—like dragons from the gods—lashed down, tearing and igniting the earth, surging madly forward!
Whoosh—
Rain fell from the sky, but it was not water—it was a rain of molten lava. Huge chunks of magma, trailing fire, slanted down like raindrops from the heights, smashing into the charging Netherworld monster horde, sending countless monsters tumbling!
Countless tornadoes howled into the army, everywhere bodies twisted and torn, hurled skyward, then shredded by the raging winds or struck dead by thunder from above.
Suddenly, gods and demons, leading thousands upon thousands, burst from the clouds, plunging earthward in a slanted charge, their battle cries deafening.
Millions of gods and demons clashed with the surging monster army—limbs flew through the air, the scene both bloody and magnificent.
Quinn, Grandpa Blind, and the others stared, stunned. They didn't need to join the fray or risk their lives—the demon vanguard was stopped.
Stopped by a single man!
Deaf kept painting, sending more gods, demons, and soldiers surging from his brush onto the battlefield, fearless before death. Wind, rain, and thunder swept the sky, but none touched the painted army—only the demon horde was struck.
All these armies of gods and demons were born from the painting; the storms within belonged only to the painting, leaving them untouched.
"Did the Netherworld demon horde just charge into Grandpa Deaf's painted world?"
Quinn's heart stirred with a sudden idea. Deaf's painting must have boundaries—so where, exactly, was the edge of this painted world?
He looked all around but could see no boundary to the painting.
Deaf's painting-dao was awe-inspiring—so profound that Quinn realized he needed to study it anew!
"The Imperial Preceptor of Everpeace once said Grandpa Deaf alone could block a million troops—and he was right!"
Quinn thought, "And that was only after Heavenly Diagram Kingdom was destroyed, the capital turned into eighteen layers of hell—just the Imperial Preceptor's evaluation of Grandpa Deaf."
Note 1: The ci-poem is adapted from Song dynasty poet Shi Xiaoyou's 'Manting Fang,' with minor changes by Zhai Zhu.