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month record rogue 5 3 2
Every year on the 3rd of March, an assembly of scholars, literati, and men and women of culture gathers at the foot of the mountain. This year, the participants in this symposium have even invited Mr. Lu, the most famous painter in the land. From the imperial court to the marketplaces, none do not know his name, and none do not admire his works. He has only just arrived when he is swarmed by those wishing to make his acquaintance. By the creek, he begins to drink as he paints. Amongst the flattering crowd, there is only one who shakes her head and sighs upon seeing his painting.
'And who might you be?'
'Just an ordinary painter.'
'You seemed dissatisfied with my humble painting. What guidance can you impart, oh wise master?'
The 'ordinary painter' sighs once more. Mr. Lu has his chin lifted high. Rather than seeking advice, it is evident he is waiting for her to embarrass herself.
'Your early works had fine ideas behind them, with plenty of promise. You were able to communicate yourself through your art. But now, they grow more vapid and dull with every brushstroke.'
Upon hearing this unfamiliar guest drop such blunt criticisms, the scholars begin to step forward to calm things down. However, Mr. Lu's interest has been piqued: 'Vapid? Dull? I'm afraid I learn much better from seeing an example than being lectured. May I trouble you for a lesson?'
It is clear from how hard he is being on this critic that it has been many years since Mr. Lu had heard even the slightest hint of a barbed remark. However, the 'ordinary painter' readily agrees, and the onlookers, also interested in this impromptu competition, help them lay the tables, grind the ink, and prepare the paper.
The first subject, water. The second subject, fowlbeasts. The third subject, a sunset.
The crowd whispers as they gather around the tables. Mr. Lu's brushwork is exquisite. As he draws mountains, he leaves spaces to act as water, while with but a handful of strokes, he creates a near-lifelike fowlbeast. It is hard to find any fault with his work. But none expected this unknown painter to paint water as if it were rippling, and fowlbeasts so refined you can hear the leaves rustle as they pass. As for her sunset, it is striking enough to provoke an appreciation for life itself, a stirring of the heart that is not easily subsided. But in the end, opinions are split, and neither of the two can claim victory yet.
The 'ordinary painter' says: 'I'll decide our final subject. We will paint people.'
'Who, exactly?'
'You and me. We will each paint our opponent as we see them.'
Mr. Lu sneers, then laughs heartily: 'Is this meant to be a challenge? If this is your choice, then I'm afraid you will be very disappointed. I have no small amount of experience painting portraits.'
He lays flat his paper and grinds his ink, wipes the sweat off his brow, then studies every detail of the 'ordinary painter' across from him. While she has not made a name for herself, her ability is nevertheless exceptional. This fact has been made utterly clear to him during the competition, a fact most startling. It was she who nitpicked his work in front of everyone, she who incited him to challenge her. Her intentions could not be more clear—
If she surpassed him in front of all these learned men and women, then from this day onwards, the greatest painter in Yan would be this complete nobody!
Haha, seeking fame and acclaim by using him as a stepping stone? The audacity! Did she really think it would be that easy?!
Mr. Lu brings all he has learned to bear as he commands his brush to lay ink on paper. His magnificent technique leaves the onlookers gasping in admiration. In the span of a single breath, the portrait is complete. The woman in the painting is near-identical to the 'ordinary painter', though a careful study will reveal one difference. Be it the woman's clothes or her jewelry, they are much more luxurious than the original.
'Do you require more time?', he asks mockingly.
The 'ordinary painter' does not reply, soon stowing her brush as well. The crowd gathers around her, but after a moment of silence, they look at each other as they lightly whisper words of praise. Mr. Lu hastily forces his way past them to look at the portrait, finding himself dumbstruck for a long, long while. Once he raises his head, he sees the 'ordinary painter' long gone, as if she were never here.
The person in the portrait is indeed Mr. Lu, and similarly, is near-identical but for one difference. The Mr. Lu in the portrait truly is a talent to rival the divine, a free-spirited painter unchained by convention. It is him as he was before his name was known by all, an unbridled, unbound sailor of the ink sea.
His lips quiver for a moment, and in shame, he says: 'The one I painted was not her... but myself.'
With those words, he tears apart the paintings. He leaves in utter dejection.
