Chapter Ninety-Seven: Xiao Zi Becomes a Genius Artist

High in the heavens, a red moon blazed with a dazzling crimson radiance. From that light emerged the faint outline of a colossal red figure, as though it were looking down upon the desert below.

Stray tendrils of scarlet light spilled onto the ground, bathing the entire wasteland in a ghastly blood-red hue.

And upon that red desert stood two gunmen, faces stern as they stared each other down, eyes narrowed, both poised to strike at any moment.

Beneath their feet, the sands concealed countless bones, along with rusted guns buried among them.

For reasons no one could quite explain, the scene carried an air of deep unease.

But that was not its most unsettling quality. The true horror of the painting lay in the fact that the moment you saw it, you could not help but connect the two gunmen locked in duel above with the remains beneath.

In the end, one of them would become yet another skeleton and sleep here forever. Or perhaps both would remain here, never to rise again.

To render in a single painting the desert gunman's readiness to face death and the terror beneath the red moon, and to do so so vividly, how could the teacher not be impressed?

"Fernando, I think you're a genius!"

The teacher stared at the painting in shock as he patted Fernando on the shoulder.

Yet Fernando showed no excitement, nor the slightest embarrassment. Instead, he gazed deeply at the red moon hanging outside.

He looked like a genius who had already fallen too far into darkness.

Seeing his expression, the teacher made a decision at once: he would recommend him to the principal, a man famous in the art world.

It was already late, and it was time to let the starving students out for dinner.

After everyone had left, he planned to take Fernando to meet their principal.

"Listen to me," he said. "Our principal's mind is a little... off. When you speak to him later, just go along with whatever he says. If he claims he's a genius, you must agree with him. Under no circumstances should you contradict him. Understand?"

Fernando merely nodded slightly.

Then the two of them arrived at the principal's office.

"Is the principal in?"

The teacher stood at the door and knocked perfunctorily.

"Come in."

After receiving permission, the two of them went inside one after the other.

Inside the office, a middle-aged man in formal attire stood behind a desk, holding a writing brush and writing something on the paper before him.

"What is the principal doing?" the teacher asked.

"Practicing calligraphy."

"Practicing calligraphy?" The teacher was completely baffled. He stood on tiptoe to take a look. "Isn't that the calligraphy of Great Xia?"

"Mm. A few days ago, wasn't there a calligraphy master from Great Xia who came to our school? I asked him for guidance."

As he spoke, he nodded and slowly set down the brush in his hand.

"I really am a genius. I've only been learning for a few days, and I can already write this well."

"Exactly. The principal really is that legendary child of heaven, able to learn anything in no time."

At that moment, the spirit dwelling within Fernando, Silas, could no longer hold back. He stepped forward to take a look as well.

What he saw was that so-called calligraphy, which was really nothing more than a pile of pitiful, half-dead... earthworms on the paper?

Those wriggling lines seemed unwilling to accept their fate, struggling hopelessly across the page as though twisted into a tangled mass.

"Ugh..."

Silas could not bear it and retched outright.

That alone would not have mattered, but it drew the principal's displeased gaze.

"What is it? And who are you?"

Before Silas could even speak, the teacher stepped in front of him at once. "Ah, this is my student. He just finished a very exquisite painting, and I wanted to bring him to show you. Aren't we going to promote our school in the neighboring countries in a few days..."

"Enough!" The principal raised a hand and cut him off. "I asked why he made that sound just now!"

His expression darkened as he strode up to Silas. "Can you explain yourself?"

A smile appeared on Silas's face, full of scorn and mockery.

"What did you just say this was?"

He walked over to the so-called writing and pointed at the earthworms on the page.

"This is calligraphy!" Even now, the principal remained utterly confident.

"This is garbage. It isn't even fit to be called garbage!"

At those words, both the principal and the teacher were stunned.

"Fernando! What are you saying? Apologize to the principal right now!"

The principal's face turned sullen. He said nothing, seeming to wait for Silas to apologize.

But Silas only sneered at the teacher. "Weren't you acting so mighty in the classroom? Why do you suddenly look like a different person in front of the principal? Are you a chameleon?"

Then he looked at the principal.

"And you had better not go around telling people this is calligraphy from Great Xia. If the people of Great Xia ever hear about it, you'll disgrace the entire Painting Kingdom."

That barrage of words earned him two faces burning with rage.

"Fernando! I thought you had real talent and even wanted you to represent our school in the competition for outstanding students, and now you..."

He had not even finished speaking before the louder voice of the principal cut in.

"You say this isn't calligraphy? Fine. Then tell me: what is calligraphy?"

He placed heavy emphasis on the words "calligraphy." From the tone alone, anyone could tell how furious he was.

Silas merely smiled faintly, then spoke slowly.

"By coincidence, I have studied Great Xia calligraphy a little. Great Xia calligraphy values proper structure in each character: neat and balanced, with appropriate length, moderate width, and equilibrium between density and spaciousness.

"Only then can one remain upright while also allowing for graceful variations and living movement, until the final result feels natural and alive."

He picked up the principal's writing from a moment ago, shook his head in visible disgust, and said, "And what is this supposed to be? It isn't anything at all."

"Enough!"

Silas's words actually shattered the principal's composure. His cheek twitched as he pointed at Silas. "Since you claim to know calligraphy, write something for me to see. If it's good, fine. If it's not, get out of Saint Mildor Academy!"

Silas shook his head lightly. "Isn't that a little unfair?"

"Then what would count as fair?"

"If my writing is worse than yours, I'll leave Saint Mildor Academy on my own and disappear from sight. But if not, can I represent Saint Mildor Academy in that competition you mentioned?"

The principal, already burning with anger, nodded without hesitation.

"Fine! No problem!"

His thinking was simple. There were only three people present: Silas, himself, and the teacher. He had no need to worry about himself, and the teacher would certainly side with him.

Even if this student truly produced something remarkable, the two of them could simply call black white and refuse to acknowledge it, insisting the writing was no good. Then the student would have no choice but to be expelled.

So what if he was gifted?

A stain like expulsion would follow him for the rest of his life. After that, all the principal would need to do was use his connections to suppress him, and the boy would never rise to prominence.

Just as he was thinking this, Silas had already begun grinding the ink.

"Hmph. He does have a bit of style."

Even now, his face was still full of contempt. In fact, he had already imagined the student kneeling before him in tears, begging not to be driven from the school.

But before even three minutes had passed, a flicker of disbelief crossed his eyes.

"This can't be. Why do I feel like what he's writing is even better than what that calligrapher who came to our school a few days ago wrote?"