Chapter 94 — One Stroke Dots the Dragon's Eye

The moment these words were spoken, the villagers all gasped in admiration. The Village Head nodded and said with a smile, "The Deaf Elder is remarkable indeed. This is a contest in the grandest of tastes.

A single touch of spiritual insight bestows a soul, seizing the creative power of heaven and earth — it is no more than this.

"

Shen Mu stepped forward and bowed to the Deaf Elder, offering the salute of a disciple. The Deaf Elder's expression shifted slightly. He hurriedly dodged aside and said, "You and I are in a contest; the seniority of master and disciple does not apply.

Right now we are both students, so use the salute of equals.

Only after the contest is done am I your teacher.

"

Shen Mu knew his ways were somewhat eccentric, so he at once offered the salute of equals, and the Deaf Elder returned it in kind. Each of them took up a brush and stood before a painting, each gazing at the painting before him. To transform magic power into a divine art and bring the dragon in a painting to life was already a rare and admirable feat.

But to lack sufficient cultivation in magic power, and yet to dot the dragon's eye with artistic conception, to endow the painted dragon with a soul — that touched upon the creative power of heaven and earth. Shen Mu had once studied calligraphy and painting under the Deaf Elder, reading and writing. Though the Deaf Elder had taught him much, and he had painted a great many paintings, and his skill with the brush was already considerable, to dot the dragon's eye and give life to a painting was still a first for him.

A single touch of spiritual insight to bestow a soul upon the figures and things in a painting — the Deaf Elder had indeed taught him this, but Shen Mu had never once succeeded in the attempt. This round was far more difficult than the rounds before.

Shen Mu fixed his gaze on the dragon in the painting before him.

The dragon was painted so true to life that as his eyes rested on it he felt the painted dragon slowly swimming, its posture shifting without cease. The Deaf Elder's skill was truly extraordinary; before the eye was even dotted, the dragon in the painting seemed ready to rend the sky and fly away!

Shen Mu raised his brush, yet for a long while did not set it down.

The dragon was right before him — but how was he to dot its eye?

He found that no matter where he placed the dot, he could not bring the dragon to life; wherever he placed it, it was wrong.

Grandmother Zhu could not hold back.

Lowering her voice, she said, "Shen'er, tear up the Deaf Elder's painting and you win! "

The Deaf Elder gave her a pair of sidelong glares.

"A crooked, heretical trick.

I have taught Shen'er to read the books of the sages; Shen'er keeps the sages in his heart, and would never stoop to such devilish behavior as yours. "

Grandmother Zhu was furious.

The Village Head said with a smile, "Granny, do not interfere with Shen'er's contest.

This trial of the Deaf Elder's is most ingenious. "

Grandmother Zhu had no choice but to restrain herself. In Shen Mu's eyes there was only the dragon in the painting.

The village no longer existed for him; only the painting floated before his eyes. After a moment, even the painting vanished, leaving only a dragon painted in ink and water. The dragon swam in his eyes, now rising, now sinking, now left, now right, at times crawling low, at times rearing and soaring, at times coiling, at times crouching.

It lifted its head, lashed its tail, walked as dragons walk, sported in water, spat fire, breathed thunder — a hundred wonders of nimble spirit. Shen Mu felt as though he had become the dragon in the painting — only, from where he stood, all before him was darkness; he still lacked eyes.

He strove to break through that darkness, but did not know how to open his eyes.

He thought of the dragon pillar of Crimson Dragon City, of the dragon bones and dragon soul in the Dragon Palace of the Surging River, of the stone statues in the village, of the strokes carved by divine hands. The carving of divine images by divine beings was a kind of painting too; that wondrous brushwork, that profound spirit, seemed to endow the statues with souls, so that they guarded the ruins like gods.

After a long while, Shen Mu sensed a thread of light slowly appear in the darkness, as though the dragon were gradually opening its eyes. When all the darkness before him dispersed, a spark of spirit burst forth in Shen Mu's eyes, and he raised his brush and dotted the dragon's eye!

A single touch of spiritual insight bestows the soul! The instant his stroke fell, the dragon in the painting came alive upon the paper, shaking its head and swaying its tail, and suddenly it flew off the paper, soared into the sky, and sported among the clouds — while the painting was left a blank sheet of white, without the least trace of ink! Shen Mu was stunned for a moment.

He had actually succeeded!

He had truly brought a painting of a dragon to life! The dragon swam in the air a while, then quickly turned back into ink, dyeing that cloud black. Shen Mu hurriedly looked toward the Deaf Elder, and saw that he had long since washed his brush and hung it on its rack, and had not dotted the eye of the dragon in his painting.

Shen Mu understood at once.

"Grandpa Deaf, you let me win?

"

The Deaf Elder shook his head.

"I did not let you win. When I was your age, I had no such depth of attainment.

My trial does not turn on victory or defeat.

A teacher's task is to transmit the Way, impart learning, and resolve doubts. What I am doing now is transmitting the Way to you — why should I care about winning or losing? "

The Alchemist said in praise, "Deaf Elder, that is the heart of a true teacher; I am filled with admiration.

Shen'er, my trial is not a contest with you either, but a task of refining medicine. Go to the herb garden outside the village and gather thirty kinds of highly toxic things, and refine them into a single greatly nourishing pill. When it is made, take it yourself. If it nourishes you, you pass. If you die of poison, you may stay on in the village.

"

Shen Mu was caught between laughter and tears.

If he died of poison, how was he to stay in the village? The intent of the Alchemist's trial was plain enough: to refine a greatly nourishing medicine from thirty highly toxic things required an exceedingly thorough mastery of pharmacology. The amount of any single ingredient, whether leaf or root and stem, pollen or petal, whether decocted raw or roasted, all had its fine points.

Moreover, the Alchemist had not told him the prescription, but left him to calculate by pharmacology how much of each was needed and how it must be refined, so that each poison checked the next, link by link, and the whole became a great tonic. In the refining, the heat was likewise crucial: when each ingredient was added, whether as powder or in lumps, how great the flame, how long the decoction — all of it Shen Mu had to judge from his own experience in refining medicine.

A hair's breadth of error, and the loss was a thousand li. If any single step went wrong, Shen Mu might see all his work undone and refine a medicine of deadly poison that would kill him. Shen Mu stood at the edge of the Alchemist's herb garden, looking at the various medicinal plants within, pondering long.

In his heart he calculated the toxicity of each, how to proportion them, how to assign the roles of sovereign, minister, assistant, and envoy, how to subdue the dragon and tame the tiger, how to harmonize yin and yang. After a long while, he entered the garden and began to gather the herbs with the utmost care.