Blue tiles, grey pavilions, the rich scent of ink—when Zhan An turned his attention back, the undulating city before him suddenly lost its original colors.
It was a series of ink brush strokes, clearly delineated, that sketched out the charm of the entire Red Lotus City, even the distant rolling hills and a few ancient towers had become the farthest few touches of scenery…
The sugar gourd seller was merely a few simple strokes.
The tea house waiter hailing customers was no more than a cluster of ink shadows.
The hurriedly walking horses and travelers, though still, were finely depicted in their toilsome hustle and bustle.
Zhan An touched himself with his hand, wanting to know if he had also become an ink painting, but he still had flesh and blood, and warmth.
"Which expert has set up a banquet here to wait for someone like me? To paint this city for my arrival, I am truly flattered," Zhan An spoke to the Painted City within the painting.
