Chapter 51: Bamboo of Banqiao and the Horse of Beihong—A Youth’s First Entry into the Lesser Sage Ranking

Clouds trailing, rain severed, soaring through the high heavens; red blazes spill from the setting sun, and the sword’s gleam arcs like a rainbow!
Unnoticed, dusk crept in, the wind gradually stilled, and the evening glow pressed aside the drifting clouds, flooding the world in resplendent light.

Upon the grassland, the Stolen Steed moved at a slow pace, bathed in sunset hues. Its brown-black coat glimmered faintly, reflecting the light as though a celestial stallion had descended to earth.

The essence of heaven and earth, the power of the mind, and the faint sword aura…

All slowly circled around An Le’s body, dispersing gently.

At the table, An Le finished his careful chiseling and refinement of the horse’s hooves. The hooves seemed simple, requiring only a few strokes, yet he had spent considerable time perfecting them.

A horse’s hoof, much like a woman’s high-heeled shoe, is difficult to depict; it is the core of the horse’s strength and balance, and the key to agility and movement. Thus, precise carving and proportion are indispensable.

As for the tail and mane, they were swept with a dry brush—combining wet and dry, perfectly natural—so that the steed seemed ready to leap from the paper.

A single painting, and the wind seemed to stir through the entire garden!

Master Lin stood nearby, his eyes already brimming with boundless joy.

He had not expected An Le to bring him such a surprise; the mastery with which he painted horses rivaled his famed ink bamboo.

What astonished Master Lin even more was that ink wash was not limited to bamboo—it could capture horses as well!

Not only did it embrace the expressive, but also the realistic!

Compared to the meticulous style, it lacked nothing, and even more vividly conveyed the Stolen Steed’s wildness, untamed spirit, freedom, and defiant nature!

“With this painting alone, the name of Grandmaster An is well deserved!”

“With this work, you have surpassed the ninth rank and reached the eighth, qualifying as an Eighth Rank Spirit-Forging Painting, comparable to an eighth-rank spiritual artifact!”

Master Lin was full of praise.

He loved horses, and naturally, he was utterly captivated by An Le’s art.

Withdrawing his spirit from the painting, An Le felt a touch of fatigue; the sword pool within his Mud Pill Palace also slowly settled.

Yet the work was not done.

Dipping the brush in ink, An Le paused in thought, and then inscribed a poem in the blank space of the rice paper:

“Barbarian steed, famed since old,
Sharp bones, sinews bold.
Ears like split bamboo rise,
On wind-borne hooves it flies.
No expanse can hold its course,
Worthy bearer of life and death’s force.
Such a charger, fierce and grand,
Could roam a thousand miles of land.”

For the inscription, An Le chose the Banqiao script—bold and upright, arranged with natural ease. Though not meticulously plotted, it formed a harmonious whole, carrying the edge of a sword and the integrity of a gentleman.

Master Lin recited the poem, momentarily entranced.

Once finished, An Le considered for a moment, then solemnly added three characters below the inscription: “Horse of Sorrow and Splendor.”

He took the demon-refining jade from his belt, stained it with red clay, and pressed it as a seal upon the painting; at once, a special crimson mark bloomed on the paper.

Laying down his brush, An Le exhaled a long breath and stepped back, gazing at the galloping steed rendered before him, his expression bright with satisfaction.

His rising spiritual cultivation had rendered his mastery of painting even more skillful.

He infused the work with his own vision, borrowing the techniques of a master horse painter from his previous life, thus completing this masterpiece.

“An Eighth Rank Spirit-Forging Painting?”

Only now did An Le recall Master Lin’s praise, a faint gleam passing through his eyes.

The old man of the Imperial Temple had once told him that certain court painters, pouring their spirit into their works, could create pieces that nourished the soul, rivaling spiritual treasures.

He had not expected that today, his own painting would reach such a realm.

Suddenly, the ink pool at An Le’s waist quivered, emitting a gentle pull. From the painting, an intangible aura and lingering fragrance of ink seemed to drift forth, drawn into the pool.

The Ink Pool was the sword of painting and calligraphy; nourishing it with art elevated its rank.

Today, by creating the Galloping Steed for Master Lin’s wish and using it to feed the Ink Pool, An Le had achieved two goals at once.

His heart soared, and he felt his spirit grow stronger in that instant—he was one step closer to transcending into the next realm; if fate permitted, the breakthrough would come naturally.

A single painting, nurturing both sword and soul!

“Master Lin, I present my humble work.”

In the waning sunlight, An Le cupped his fists in salute, a smile playing on his lips.

Master Lin regarded him with admiration and gratitude, knowing full well that An Le had poured all his effort into this Galloping Steed.

Xixiang, standing by, gazed at the painting; the horse seemed about to leap from the paper, its bearing grand and unyielding!

Young Master An’s art was truly divine!

The spirit and character of Master Lin’s Stolen Steed had been captured in full.

“Worthy indeed is Grandmaster An; first the ink bamboo, now the galloping horse—peerless in poetry, calligraphy, and painting alike. The line ‘Let the wind come from any direction’ on the ink bamboo, and this new poem, both leave one in awe.”

“But what is the meaning of ‘Horse of Sorrow and Splendor?’” Master Lin asked in puzzlement.

An Le smiled. “The verses are ones I heard in my hometown, composed by a reclusive scholar. As for the inscription ‘Horse of Sorrow and Splendor,’ like the ‘Banqiao Bamboo’ on the ink bamboo, it is… a sentiment of the heart.”

A sentiment? Master Lin pondered, then could not help but smile.

Gazing at the painting, the burdens in his heart melted away. The horse’s unshackled freedom after breaking its bonds was fully revealed.

Was this not the very state of mind Master Lin longed for?

How fortunate to receive such a work!

“The highest art lies in seeking harmony with nature,” Master Lin recalled An Le’s words before painting. Once a horse is saddled and reined, it is bound and can no longer taste true freedom.

No wonder Grandmaster An had removed saddle and bridle before painting.

Master Lin felt profound respect. Though An Le was so young, his incisive analysis and masterful technique inspired both awe and admiration.

He could see that the skills An Le had used to open the Lin estate’s gates with a sketch had been infused into this Galloping Steed.

No wonder the literati claimed he could found his own school—his reputation was well earned!

Master Lin’s expression turned solemn. Lifting his scholar’s robe, he bowed deeply to An Le in a gesture of utmost respect.

“Thank you, Grandmaster An, for the Galloping Steed!”

“Lin Sihlang owes you a great debt. Should you ever require anything of me, say the word, and I shall do all in my power to help.”

The promise was grave and heartfelt.

An Le hurried to help him up. “Madam Hua has shown me great kindness, and the Lin estate has always treated me generously. If this painting can ease your cares, it is my joy—please, there is no need for such formality.”

Master Lin rose, saying little more.

“I will not dwell on it, but I shall remember this favor. My sister-in-law told me you received the Lesser Saint’s Token and intend to challenge the peak of Central Plains’ prodigies, to converse with the Saint.”

“Having the Lesser Saint’s Token puts you on the Lesser Saints Ranking. This booklet contains the latest rankings—take it and read at your leisure.”

“Whenever the ranking changes, the guardian of the Second Mountain of Sacred Mountain announces the new list, which the Academy then records and publishes.”

“This is the most recent update; you gained the token yesterday, and today you are already on the list.”

With that, Master Lin drew a yellow-covered booklet from his sleeve and handed it to An Le.

An Le immediately took it and began to read.

“Lesser Saints Ranking No. 1: Zhao Xianyou, cultivation: Sixfold Body Tempering, Fivefold Spirit Refining.”

The first name leapt out at him.

“Who is Zhao Xianyou?” An Le asked curiously.

Master Lin, still admiring the painting, answered absently, “The Ninth Prince of Great Zhao; second place, Zhao Pei, is the Second Prince.”

An Le caught his breath. Nobles, indeed.

He read on.

“Second: Zhao Pei, cultivation: Fivefold Body Tempering, Fivefold Spirit Refining.”

“Third: Qin Hua’an, cultivation: Fivefold Body Tempering, Fourfold Spirit Refining.”

“Fourth: Ye Wenxi, cultivation: Fivefold Body Tempering, Fivefold Spirit Refining.”

…

“Eighteenth: Wang Qinhao, cultivation: Fourth Body, Third Spirit.”

“Nineteenth: An Le, cultivation: Second Body, Second Spirit.”

Finishing, An Le exhaled softly. As expected, he was at the bottom.

But this was no surprise; after all, his true cultivation was still shallow. Making the list at all owed something to the help of benefactors—and luck.

Before he was added, there were only eighteen names, including princes of the highest birth and heirs of great martial families like Ye Wenxi. Anyone with the confidence to claim the Lesser Saint’s Token and make the list was hardly mediocre—even those who used family resources were extraordinary and ambitious.

To converse with the Saint, An Le would have to reach the top three.

Even the famed Ye Wenxi was only fourth; it was clear how difficult it would be.

At his current level, he was far from qualified.

Yet a smile touched his lips, and the fire of resolve burned in his eyes; the tiger in his heart roared.

He might be weak for now—

But he was still cultivating, bearing the Dao Fruit. Who’s to say he would not one day surpass them all?

Master Lin had been watching his expression. Seeing that the youth, though listed last, showed no discouragement but rather a calm spirit and blazing will, he nodded in approval.

An Le did not linger at the Lin Estate. After thanking Master Lin and receiving the Lesser Saints Ranking, he left the Clear Breeze Garden.

Guided by Xixiang, he departed the Lin Estate.

The setting sun, crimson as blood, painted the world.

Crossing the stone archway of the Lin family, An Le stepped onto Quiet Street, where the evening bustle of Lin’an enveloped him.

Arriving at Swallow Spring Lane, he bought his usual flask of old wine.

Intending to head to Dingya Alley for some beef, he had just left the lane when—

At the mouth of the long street, a resplendent carriage emerged from the surging crowd, its wheels rolling over the blue stone with a soft rumble, halting before him.

The setting sun cast long, slanting shadows.

The opulent carriage and the youth carrying his wine were both stretched into narrow lines.

The silk curtain at the window was lifted.

Young Lord Qin looked down from above at the youth with the old wine in hand.