“You think you're a real artist? You think you have the right to stand here?” James mocked, gesturing broadly to the sprawling canvas setups inside the Phoenix Hall. “Don't I?” Alistair asked back. James snorted. “Tonight's theme will require a profound understanding of spiritual resonance. I am going to personally ensure that whatever pathetic scribble you produce tonight is thoroughly humiliated. When the wandering sage evaluates the pieces, I will make sure your lack of talent is exposed before the entire province. And the moment we step outside these gates after the closing ceremony… my guards will ensure you never hold a paintbrush again.”Alistair stood completely unbothered, his hands casually tucked into the wide sleeves of his gray robes. Underneath his ordinary disguise, a trace of cold amusement danced deep within his soul. To him, James Morrison’s grand threats were like a toddler waving a wooden stick at a sleeping dragon.“Is that so?” Alistair replied, his voice ent

Several surrounding painters looked over, their expressions disheartened.How could they compete with the raw heritage and resource backing of the Morrison Clan?But in the back corner, Alistair’s easel remained wrapped in an inexplicable, absolute silence.He didn't use colored inks.He didn't invoke flash or flare.His brush, heavy with standard black ink, traced lines that appeared deceptively simple at a distance, yet possessed a terrifying, hypnotic weight up close.He was painting a single, circular motif—a vast, swirling vortex where dead roots seamlessly decayed into rich, fertile soil, giving birth to a fragile, budding sprout.The sprout, in turn, unraveled at its edges back into the dark ink of the void.It wasn't a depiction of life conquering death, like James's loud phoenix.It was the absolute, raw truth of the cycle itself.As Alistair laid down the final stroke, the space around his rosewood easel subtly warped.The air pressure dropped, and for a fraction of a second

The demonic cultivators knew that once the wandering sage regained his strength, they would not be able to go against him.That's why they dared to act while he was consumed with the enlightenment needed for his breakthrough. Meanwhile, Alistair watched them with a deep frown.Beggar John had told him that the demonic cultivators in Haven had gone into hiding and would not act again for a while.He believed this to be true as they had made quite a mess and so would need some time to allow the mess Master Malachi caused to die down.So how come these three demonic cultivators were attacking this competition and why were they after the lotus?Had Beggar John lied to him?No, he would have been able to tell.So how come?As Alistair pondered the situation, he watched as the Beggar sect elders who were accompanying the wandering sage tried to stop the demonic cultivators from claiming the Eternal verdant heart lotus. Unfortunately for them, they were severely outmatched. “Out of the wa

The sheer density of Alistair’s aura didn’t crush the wandering sage; instead, it acted like an absolute sanctuary, instantly stabilizing the volatile, self-detonating core explosion that the old man had been desperately trying to suppress.Under the overwhelming radiance of the golden dragon, the impending cataclysm was reduced to a pitiful, muted hiss.Alistair slowly raised his right hand, his fingers parting slightly.The middle-aged scholar's disguise he wore began to ripple and fade at the edges, dropping just enough to reveal the sharp, peerless contour of his true, aristocratic jawline and eyes that burned like twin celestial suns.“Who I am does not matter,” Alistair said, his voice echoing with a profound, multi-layered resonance that sounded like the striking of an ancient primordial bell. “What matters is that you have a century of life ahead of you, Sage. Do not waste it dying in a collapsed hall.”With a casual flick of his wrist, Alistair directed a stream of his golden

James’s smile froze, his face turning a mottled, angry shade of purple.To be humiliated a second time in front of his peers and his own bodyguards was a bitter pill to swallow.He swallowed his pride, trying to salvage his dignity by redirecting the narrative.“Master Xie’s critique is a lesson I will take to heart,” James forced out through clenched teeth, before pointing a rigid finger directly at Alistair. “But I must ask... why is a penniless, talentless street rat like this allowed to stand in your esteemed presence? Before the competition began, this old rogue was incredibly disrespectful to the Morrison Clan. He belongs outside the gates, not walking beside a living legend.”The surrounding painters gasped, whispering furiously among themselves.The Beggar Sect elders, who had just returned after securing a luxury sedan, froze in their tracks, sensing the sudden spike in tension.Master Xie’s eyes snapped wide. The sheer, unadulterated ignorance of the boy before him was stag