At first glance, the clothes of this painting madman appear to be crude, even tattered. Large clumps of cotton wool came out, stained with layers of unknown dirt. If you put it on the street, it will definitely look like a beggar.
"A beggar in poor clothes looks like a god." Yes, a beggar looks like a god in his shabby clothes. Just now he felt a chill all over his body. It must have been what he was thinking at that moment. It completely matches the description in Shoumei's poem!
He subconsciously touched the letter in his arms, but then put his hand down. He has memorized Shoumei's poems by heart and no longer needs to read them out.
So... could it be that the "immortal beggar" Shoumei mentioned back then is related to the painting mania? Could it be him?
The hesitation in his heart was like a fleeting fire. Dongfang Shiming temporarily suppressed his inner speculation, intending to calm down and make a conclusion after observing for a while longer.
Meng Susheng, an avid painter, was still writing like a flute, and Yunlong was amazed.
Countless ink spots were sprinkled on the table, and the ground looked like dark stars. Meng Susheng held his breath and concentrated, as if even his breathing had stopped, leaving only a pair of sharp eyes focused on a piece of drawing paper.
Gradually, as his messy lines were completed step by step, the content of his painting gradually emerged.
Hearty, joyful and chilling, quiet, two extreme artistic conceptions are blended in the painting.
The snow is flying like catkins, and the horse's hooves are flying. It is the endless night over the mountains and the endless snowfields. The flying snow is rolling away like crazy, the vast sky and earth are as solemn, and the vast and pure atmosphere is brewing with an indescribable emotion, deeply breaking into the hearts of onlookers.
Then, at the end of the snowy field, there was a small, rough but extremely powerful horseman. There is only one person in the painting, riding a horse and bending his bow, about to shoot down a flying eagle flying into the sky.
The majestic scenery and the majestic artistic conception penetrate straight into the mind. In the end, Meng Susheng dropped the pen hard and dropped a fine wolf hair to the ground, shattering it into pieces.
Like the storyteller's last sleeper, everyone's obsession with the painting returned to their hearts. No one in the audience spoke. After a few seconds, everyone applauded.
"I didn't expect to see such an expert here...!"
"This trip is really a feast for the eyes..."
There was a lot of praise and thunderous applause. However, Meng Susheng, who was in the middle, was obviously not interested in this. It was like a necessary catharsis. After the catharsis, his whole body was like dead wood, and he gradually withered, and his eyes were dark.
As he turned to leave, someone suddenly walked out of the crowd and said loudly: "Painting maniac, wait a minute!"
Meng Susheng was slightly startled when he heard someone calling him and turned to look.
I saw a man in simple clothes slowly walking out of the crowd. The painters who were watching couldn't help but take a breath when they saw the person in front of them.
"I didn't expect...Mr. Zheng has already arrived." Bai Yikao was also a little surprised and whispered.
Dongfang Shiming and Bai Hao both turned to look. The man who came out had gray hair on his temples, but he still had some remnants of his prime. He was about forty years old, but he was simply dressed and his face was dusty. He looked like a long-term employee of the Bai family.
"Who are you...?" Meng Susheng scratched his scalp dully, seeming to have some impression, "They called you...Mr. Zheng, eh."
"It's me, Zheng Miaobi." Mr. Zheng grinned, "You forgot about me again. But this time I'm here, why don't you come and look at their paintings with me?"
"...It can't be done." Meng Susheng shook his head, "Looking at paintings...I don't know how."
As soon as this statement came out, it caused a lot of discussion among laymen. But there are also experts who explain it slowly to them.
"Actually, Hua Kuang has never had any professional painting skills. It is said that he paints entirely based on a moment's fantasy and impulse, and his strokes seem to be divinely assisted." Bai Yikao also explained to the two of them in a low voice, "It can be regarded as a peculiar flower of the plaque painter. Yes, it’s really enviable.”
Dongfang Shiming smiled silently, and then turned his gaze back to the picture.
A momentary fantasy... Dongfang Shiming stared at the rolling snowfield, slightly lost in thought. Such a snowstorm and such a dark night touched his heartstrings, and seemed to resonate with the poem and letter in his arms.
Zheng Miaobi and Meng Susheng were still talking, and the two of them spoke quickly and slowly, like swaying chimes.
"Forget it..." Finally, Meng Susheng seemed unwilling to stay here for a long time, so he compromised half a step, "Let's do this...I'll show you the way."
As he spoke, he slowly took out six small stones from his coat pocket and put them in his palm.
"I'll save you some trouble... I'll count it as your earnings." Meng Susheng muttered in his wrinkled lips and walked back to the table.
Such an action attracted everyone's surprised eyes. Zheng Miaobi was also shaken up, and his face was particularly happy.
"Ah, thank you so much for letting you help me with this." Zheng Miaobi laughed and also leaned on the table.
"What is this?" Bai Hao couldn't understand, so she tugged on her eldest brother's clothes and raised her head to ask.
Bai Yikao looked straight at it and didn't even hear the little sister's question for a while. It wasn't until Bai Hao asked for the second time that he slowly said: "This is another unique skill of the painting madman, fortune telling."
"Is fortune-telling considered a skill? There are many in front of my house." Hearing what he said, an ignorant man nearby couldn't help but interrupt.
Bai Yikao ignored his questions. Everyone was staring at the stone in Meng Susheng's hand, waiting to see what would happen next.
All eyes were focused on Meng Susheng as before. I saw him clasping his hands together and slowly shaking the stone in his hands. At the same time, his feet were walking back and forth regularly, his eyes were closed.
There was silence. You can hear Meng Susheng muttering something like a spell in his mouth, as if he was talking in his sleep.
His "method" was quickly over. Meng Susheng opened his eyes and stopped in the middle of the table. Then he spread his hands and six stones fell on the table.
It doesn't look any different. But Meng Susheng looked at it for a while, then took out a small wooden stick from his arms, gently moved the position of the stone a few times, and then stared at the stone intently.
Onlookers were confused. The painters did not dare to say anything, but the audience who came to see the paintings were obviously complaining.
Zheng Miaobi looked at it with a slight bow. Although he didn't understand the key, he did not dare to disturb it like other painters.
Fortunately, Meng Susheng didn't waste too much time. He seemed to have understood the essence of this hexagram. He supported the table with both hands and looked around lazily at the surrounding painters and audience.
Under the gaze of everyone, Meng Susheng slowly raised his small wooden stick. He glanced at Zheng Miaobi next to him, signaled him to pay attention, and then slowly pointed out.
"...You, come out."
