When Serena Feng put down her brush, the Crown Prince and Old Master Yan were both amazed—a three-dimensional anatomical chart seemed to leap off the paper, clear and lifelike.
Though rendered only in black, white, and gray, the entire painting didn’t feel monotonous—of course, it lacked artistic flair and spirit. Serena’s work was simply a faithful reproduction of reality, more craftsmanship than artistry, with little mood or beauty to speak of.
From the perspective of technique and aesthetic appreciation, Serena’s anatomical chart truly wasn’t remarkable—at least, not as lively as Wendy Summers’ Butterflies in Love with Flowers. Any normal person would think a field of blooming flowers looks better than a skeleton.
Wendy’s painting was nearly finished as well. She depicted a vibrant scene of blooming flowers and butterflies dancing among them, so vivid that, from a distance, the butterflies seemed ready to fly off the paper.
Wendy’s painting was even better than her calligraphy; in terms of artistic skill, Serena was bound to lose.
Just when everyone thought Serena was finished and ready to pass her work around, she picked up another pen and a ruler.
“What is Serena Feng doing now? We may not be doctors, but even we can tell this anatomical chart is already perfect.” The three judges from Jixia Academy, unfamiliar with Serena, were puzzled and worried she might ruin her work with unnecessary additions.
At this moment, Master Marcus Wynn’s insight became clear: “If I’m not mistaken, Serena intends to add labels. Since she’s drawn an anatomical chart, she clearly isn’t concerned with artistic mood.”
If she cared about artistic mood, she wouldn’t have painted something so unsettling. Judged purely as art, Serena’s work was just a skeleton—utterly devoid of beauty, even a bit chilling.
Master Marcus Wynn truly understood Serena. As soon as he finished speaking, Serena used her ruler to draw fine lines across the chart, carefully labeling each part from left to right, top to bottom.
On the left, the labels read in order: parietal bone, nasal bone, temporal bone, mandible, clavicle, scapula, humerus, costal cartilage, ulna, radius, hip bone, coccyx, femur, pelvis, fibula, tibia.
On the right: frontal bone, zygomatic bone, mandible, cervical vertebrae, sternum, ribs, thoracic vertebrae, lumbar vertebrae, sacrum, carpal bones, metacarpal bones, phalanges, tarsal bones, metatarsal bones, toe bones.
Serena’s brushwork wasn’t elegant, but her tiny charcoal script was neat and square, almost like printed text—small yet perfectly legible.
Once Serena finished labeling every bone, the painting lost any trace of beauty—it was purely a teaching diagram. The Crown Prince, first to receive Serena’s chart, was left speechless after his initial amazement, unable to find words to praise her work.
In the end, he could only compliment Serena’s charcoal technique, saying she’d drawn the anatomical chart so realistically that it was indistinguishable from the real thing. Staring at the image, he couldn’t help but think of bare bones—and the longer he looked, the more it felt as if the skeleton might step right off the paper.
“Thank you for your praise, Your Highness.” Serena accepted the compliment without a trace of false modesty. Her open and straightforward manner was oddly endearing.
Next, the painting was passed to Prince Terrence Valen. “The content is impressive, but today’s contest is about painting, not medicine. Miss Feng, your work is too much like a craftsman’s, and the subject matter is far too grim. I really don’t care for it.”
Prince Terrence wasn’t wrong—Serena’s painting was so realistic that seeing it at night could genuinely scare someone.
“Everyone has their own tastes—it's perfectly normal that you don’t like it, Your Highness. I understand.” Serena accepted praise easily, and took criticism just as calmly. That was her way—no need to argue or defend, simply accept and let it be, with a touch of solitary pride.
Old Master Yan, Master Marcus Wynn, and the three Jixia painters nodded almost imperceptibly, satisfaction flickering in their eyes. For someone so young to be so composed—Serena Feng truly had the makings of greatness.
When Old Master Yan received the painting, he carefully examined every line and label, going over them several times. Serena’s chart was already detailed, but with the added labels, everything was instantly clear—even a layman like him could understand the position of every bone.
Even from a distance, the chart was astonishing. Up close, Old Master Yan realized just how extraordinary Serena’s work was. Of course, it couldn’t be judged by artistic standards—if you tried to appreciate it as art, you’d miss its true value.
“Serena Feng, did you draw this chart to life-size scale?” Old Master Yan recalled seeing Serena measure and calculate as she worked.
Serena’s eyes lit up. She’d always known true scholars were perceptive and broad-minded, but she hadn’t expected Old Master Yan to catch on so quickly. Excited, she nodded. “Master Yan, you have a keen eye.”
That kind of excitement could only be understood by someone who truly grasped her intent—this was meeting a kindred spirit, someone who understood her heart.
“Hahaha, it’s all thanks to your skill, young Serena. I once had the fortune to see a doctor’s anatomical drawing, but it wasn’t nearly as realistic or detailed as yours.” Old Master Yan laughed, putting on a modest front, but everyone could tell he was proud to have guessed correctly.
Serena’s heart skipped a beat. How could she have forgotten? In this era, death was a solemn matter—even doctors rarely saw a complete corpse.
Even if a doctor did receive an intact corpse, no one would dare dissect it. And even if they did, bones wouldn’t be visible. Most people were buried after death, and it was unthinkable to exhume a body, arrange the skeleton, and use it as a reference for drawing.
Her anatomical chart was so detailed that it seemed suspicious. If anyone started asking questions about its origin, she’d be in trouble—someone might even reveal how Imperial Physician Sun once procured corpses for her to practice on.
Just in case, Serena offered a casual explanation: “Thank you for the compliment, Master Yan. I was only able to draw such a complete chart thanks to my teacher’s guidance.”
When she first studied medicine, her teacher required Serena to memorize every acupuncture point, bone, and organ within a month.
Serena struggled to remember everything. As the deadline approached, she had no choice but to draw and label as she memorized, reviewing bit by bit. Over time, with more sketches and more patients, her understanding of the bones deepened and drawing them became second nature.
She’d always drawn just for herself before—a few quick strokes, enough for her own reference. This was the first time she’d made such a detailed chart.” By the end, Serena even looked a little embarrassed, showing a rare touch of girlish shyness.
“Young Serena has a fine teacher.” Old Master Yan’s eyes gleamed with wisdom as he passed the painting to Master Marcus Wynn, silently admiring Serena’s clarity—she instantly understood his subtle warning.
Master Marcus Wynn didn’t examine the chart as thoroughly as Old Master Yan, but he wasn’t as cursory as the Crown Prince or Prince Terrence either. After reviewing it, he remarked, “Serena Feng, your chart is excellent, but it stands little chance in this competition. Do you understand why?”
“Thank you for your advice, Master Wynn. I understand.” Serena muttered inwardly—did he really think she wanted to compete?
“If you understand, why did you still choose this painting for the contest?” Marcus Wynn was genuinely perplexed—Serena’s mastery of black, white, and gray was so strong that she could have created something even more dazzling with another subject…