Chapter 80: Poetry Contest Prince

The ink on the Painting Board had barely dried when Water Qilin knew better than to touch it—any contact would ruin the masterpiece. She studied the artwork closely, her admiration growing with every glance. The faint irritation that had stirred within her earlier had vanished completely. Her eyes, bright and luminous, turned to Li Hao.

“Did you paint this for me?”

“Do you like it, Elder?” Li Hao noticed the unmistakable delight in her gaze, and with a relaxed smile, he said, “If you like it, it’s yours.”

A radiant smile bloomed across Water Qilin’s face, and the entire Cold Pool seemed to brighten in response. She chuckled softly. “I never thought the human race still harbored someone with such exquisite skill. This is truly well done—I feel as though I’m standing right on the page.”

“Then I’m glad you like it.”

Painting wasn’t merely replication—it was artistry, a kind of aesthetic enhancement, like applying a filter. Of course, it looked beautiful.

Li Hao studied her for a moment, then asked quietly, “Elder, would you mind if I painted you again in your Shape Transformation form?”

This time, she didn’t reject the idea. Instead, her eyes sparkled with curiosity. “You can draw me like this?”

“Drawing’s simple if you’re willing to cooperate,” Li Hao grinned. “I could draw all day.”

“Fine,” she said with a playful smirk. “Then show me another one.”

“Excellent!” Li Hao eagerly agreed—this was a rare opportunity to gain more Experience. “Please stand by the pond, just a slight turn of your body—yes, like that…”

He guided her into a graceful pose, her figure half-turned, her crimson beauty blending perfectly with the Azure Pool’s still waters. She looked like a sorrowful, ethereal maiden standing by the edge of a dream.

With swift, confident strokes, Li Hao began to paint.

After a single incense stick’s worth of time, the second piece was complete.

【Painting Path Experience +1738】

The Experience gain had barely declined—likely due to the unique posture of her Shape Transformation.

Quickly, Li Hao handed the painting to her. Water Qilin glanced at it, and her eyes instantly lit up. The woman in the painting exuded quiet sorrow, her expression filled with melancholy, an aura of transcendent solitude and frost-like purity—like a lotus drifting beyond the world.

This… is me.

She felt a strange, deep resonance. The woman in the painting was even more beautiful than her own reflection. And that lingering sorrow in her brows—wasn’t that exactly how she felt inside?

Alone in the Cold Pool, for a thousand years. Tancheng Palace was human territory, but never truly hers. Among the bustling heart of the human realm, she felt more isolated than ever.

Staring at the painting, she grew lost in thought.

Li Hao, noticing her daze, said nothing. Instead, he subtly adjusted the Painting Board, then captured her entranced expression in another stroke.

In an age without photographs, his paintings could freeze time.

He figured most people would love this.

Soon, the third painting was finished.

【Painting Path Experience +1541】

A slight drop in gain—but still substantial.

Just three paintings, and over five thousand Experience Points earned. Pure profit.

When Li Hao finished, Water Qilin finally snapped back to the present. “Is it done?”

You noticed, huh? Li Hao thought, suppressing a smirk. She had clearly sensed it, yet still played along with her dazed expression—she was clearly enjoying this.

“Yes,” he nodded, turning the board toward her.

Seeing the third piece, the warmth in her eyes deepened. The expression was lifelike—the faint light slanting across her translucent pupils, as if carrying a thousand unspoken thoughts.

Had she just briefly relived memories from a thousand years ago? And he’d caught it?

This human boy… could he truly read her?

She looked at Li Hao, her gaze now far kinder. “Your painting skill is truly remarkable. You’re from the Li Clan, right?”

“Mm.” Li Hao nodded.

Water Qilin tilted her head, intrigued. “The General’s Mansion Li Clan—renowned across the land. But I heard their rules are strict. All clan members are Martial Practitioners. How could they allow you to dabble in such minor arts?”

“Painting isn’t necessarily a minor art,” Li Hao said with a faint smile. “Besides, cultivation and painting aren’t mutually exclusive. Even cultivators need rest.”

“Oh?” Water Qilin raised an eyebrow.

Li Hao concealed the Ten Thousand Aspects Attribute for a moment, then released the aura of Fifteen Li. After a heartbeat, he resealed the attribute.

Water Qilin froze. Her eyes widened slightly—shock flickered across her face.

Fifteen Li?

Yet his Qi constitution still looked so fresh, so young.

“Elder,” Li Hao smiled warmly, “you’re free today. Shall I paint a few more for you?”

Water Qilin glanced at the stack of paintings in her hand, already having used her Power to dry them. She nodded. “All right.”

Li Hao’s inner smile grew. He led her back to the Azure Pool’s edge and began painting again.

One after another, the artworks flowed from his brush. Eleven paintings completed. By the twelfth, the Painting Path Experience had only increased by 351 points.

It was less than before, but still far more than what he’d gain from painting ordinary scenes.

“Today’s enough,” Water Qilin said, taking the final painting and gazing at it with a radiant smile.

“Did you not like it?” Li Hao asked, pen still poised.

She shook her head. “My attire today was too plain. With your skill, I’d like to dress properly next time—then you can paint me again.”

Li Hao blinked, then chuckled. Even a Great Demon King had her vanity.

So she thinks she’s not beautiful enough today?

But in his eyes, she was already beyond mortal beauty.

“Alright,” he said, not pressing. After all, time was on his side.

“May I ask your name?” she inquired.

“Li Hao.”

She paused, a flicker of surprise crossing her face. That name carried boldness—fitting for a royal, perhaps, but not for a commoner.

“And you?” Li Hao asked, seizing the chance to build a connection.

“I take my name from the First Palace Master,” she smiled. “I am Song Qiumo.”

Song Qiumo.

Li Hao nodded. “Elder Qiumo, I’ll visit again when I have time. How should I call you then?”

“Simply touch the water,” she said with a soft smile. “I’ll sense it.”

Li Hao committed it to memory. “Farewell, Elder.”

Song Qiumo waved gently, then drifted away—fifteen paintings held tightly in her hands, returning to the Azure Pool. The papers were sealed with her Power, wrapped like thin membranes, untouched by the water.

That jump… must be a perfect ten.

Li Hao watched her vanish into the Cold Pool without a single ripple. He couldn’t help but admire the grace.

He didn’t immediately pack up the Painting Board. Instead, he continued sketching the Cold Pool and the cliff face—no Water Qilin, no Song Qiumo—but the scenery alone was breathtaking.

He’d tried painting grand, mythical landscapes or monstrous beasts in his mind, but the results brought little Experience. He couldn’t explain why—perhaps it lacked some essential detail, some soul.

Still, he painted four or five more solitary scenes of the cliff and the pool.

Gaining around six hundred Experience, he judged it time to leave—when suddenly, a voice began to recite poetry.

“Lonely peak, steep cliff, weary and worn,

White clouds drifting, like tears from the sky.”

“Path through the hills—where does it lead?

Who truly understands my heart?”

A figure walked slowly into view. When he saw Li Hao by the Cold Pool, he paused—just as Li Hao turned and met his gaze.

They recognized each other instantly.

Prince?

Li Hao’s mind raced. This was one of the two Class A Academy Princes—Jiang Hanxing.

Jiang Hanxing recognized him too. Among all the students in Class A Academy, who had been the most talked-about today? Undoubtedly, this very Li Clan Young Master.

He’d noticed Li Hao and Wang Han during their arrival at the Academy, but kept his distance.

Now, recalling his own poetry as he approached, Jiang Hanxing felt a sudden heat rise to his cheeks. Damn it—why is someone here?

But… the boy was a Martial General’s son. He probably wouldn’t even know good poetry from bad.

After a brief silence, Jiang Hanxing forced down his embarrassment and smiled.

“Young Master Li?”

“Hello,” Li Hao replied, polite but distant. He had little interest in the Imperial Clan heirs.

The other Prince—Jiang Ye—had approached him and Li Yuanzhao just days after enrollment, eager to befriend them. But that boy’s ambition was too obvious. Li Hao had no patience for the tangled politics of the Imperial Clan. He’d made it clear to Yuanzhao not to get close to such people—this was water far too deep for them.

“Why are you here?” Jiang Hanxing asked, eyeing the Painting Board. If Li Hao were training, it wouldn’t surprise him. But holding brush and ink?

Then he recalled Li Hao had been admitted beyond the usual rank—into the Black and White Hall. He must already be at the Continuation of Soul Realm.

His expression darkened slightly.

“Just sketching the landscape,” Li Hao said casually, already turning back to mix his ink.

Jiang Hanxing raised an eyebrow, curiosity piqued. He’d been secretly observing Li Hao since the Academy’s opening—after all, his name had been bestowed by the Emperor himself.

He’d heard the tale from his mother since childhood. And today’s performance had confirmed it—this wasn’t just a spoiled heir. He’d been mistaken earlier, thinking Li Hao was merely pampered. But now, from what Su Yehua had said, he was clearly a hidden genius.

“Sketching the landscape?” Jiang Hanxing stepped closer, watching Li Hao paint. The Lonely Mountain and Cold Pool came to life on paper—vivid, poetic, deeply evocative.

He was stunned.

Born into royalty, he’d trained in martial arts from childhood, but his heart had always leaned toward Poetry and Classics. He knew—this was no amateur’s work.

When Li Hao finished, Jiang Hanxing couldn’t help but ask, “Young Master Li… you can paint?”

Li Hao didn’t even look up. “You write poetry, don’t you?”

The mention of poetry made Jiang Hanxing’s face flush.

He liked poetry—deeply. But “being able to write” was another matter.

That poem he’d just recited? It wasn’t crafted—it was just a spontaneous release of emotion, not polished at all.

“Do you know poetry too?” Jiang Hanxing asked, genuinely surprised.

“Passably,” Li Hao replied.

“Really?” Jiang Hanxing’s interest sparked. “Then why not compose a poem yourself? Let’s have a little Poetry Contest. You use your painting as inspiration—how about we both write one?”

He wanted to compare himself to Li Hao. To redeem his earlier, careless verse and prove he wasn’t as bad as it seemed.

Li Hao glanced at him. “Cold Pool, you say? Then you go first.”

“No, you should,” Jiang Hanxing insisted. “I’m still gathering my thoughts.”

Li Hao didn’t think he was being humble. That poem? It hadn’t even rhymed properly.

“Fine,” he said, unconcerned. He began to recite:

> “Li Bai sailed his boat, about to depart,

> Suddenly heard singing on the shore.”

> “The Peach Blossom Spring runs deep a thousand feet—

> But not as deep as Wang Lun’s friendship for me.”

He finished, still painting.

Back in the old days, quoting the Poet Immortal would’ve earned him over a hundred Experience points. Now? The bar was full. Nothing. Not even a flicker.

He hadn’t changed a word—respecting the original.

Does it fit the setting?

Pfft. Who cares.

Jiang Hanxing stared, stunned. That poem… had real depth.

“Wait—was that your original creation?” he asked, voice tinged with disbelief. “The scene doesn’t match at all.”

“Tell me,” Li Hao said, “is there a pond here?”

“…Yes.”

“Then there’s water.”

“…But where’s the peach blossoms? There’s not even a single one!”

He hesitated. “So… you didn’t write this?”

His eyes narrowed with suspicion.

“Anyway,” Li Hao said calmly, “you won’t find another author in this world.”

Jiang Hanxing blinked, surprised by the confidence. “Then… who’s this Li Bai?”

“His surname is Li. Naturally, he’s an Ancestral Spirit of the Li Clan.”

“…And Wang Lun?”

“Ancestral Spirit’s number one fan.”

“…What in the world is a ‘number one fan’?”

Jiang Hanxing was utterly bewildered.

“Your turn,” Li Hao said, glancing at him.

Jiang Hanxing snapped back to reality, speechless. But he wasn’t entirely helpless—he’d secretly prepared a poem earlier, one for the Cold Pool’s waterfall. It wasn’t perfect for the scene, but at least it wasn’t ridiculous.

Compared to Li Hao’s absurd poem, it was a masterpiece.

(End of Chapter)

Chapter end