"Ma Yun, is the design finished? The client is asking again."
The voice of his supervisor broke through Ma Yun's headphones in the open office, interrupting his train of thought. He quickly clicked "save," rubbed his temples, and glanced at the clock—it was already 9 p.m.
"Overtime has become routine," Ma Yun sighed, preparing to endure another hour.
Just then, his phone screen lit up with an unfamiliar number. His intuition told him this was a call he couldn't ignore. After a moment's hesitation, he answered.
"Ma Yun? It's Uncle Ma. Your grandfather passed away this morning."
A few short words, but they struck like a bolt of lightning. Ma Yun was stunned.
The next day, Ma Yun took extended leave and rushed back to his hometown in Xiamen. His emotions were complicated throughout the journey. Although his grandfather was elderly, he had always been robust. How could he have passed away so suddenly? The news felt unreal.
The ancestral home was built along the mountainside, a place where generations of the Ma family had lived. Under the eaves of gray tiles and blue bricks, relatives came and went. The air was heavy with the scent of incense in the mourning hall.
"You're back," Uncle Ma greeted him, placing a tired hand on his shoulder.
Ma Yun nodded and followed him into the mourning hall. He knelt, bowed three times, and silently gazed at his grandfather's portrait. Memories of his grandfather's kind smile flashed in his mind, now replaced by an overwhelming sense of loss.
"Your grandfather passed away so suddenly," Uncle Ma said quietly. "There were things he didn't have time to say, but he left something for you."
Ma Yun looked at him in confusion, but Uncle Ma shook his head. "Let's finish the funeral first. We'll talk about it later."
Three days later, after the funeral concluded, most of the relatives departed, leaving only the immediate family members in the ancestral home. In the evening, Uncle Ma called Ma Yun into the study.
"This is what your grandfather left for you."
Uncle Ma handed him an old wooden box. Ma Yun took it and opened it. Inside were a calligraphy brush, glowing faintly with a rustic luster, and a thick family genealogy book.
"A genealogy book and a brush?" Ma Yun asked, puzzled.
"These are heirlooms," Uncle Ma explained solemnly. "Your grandfather said only you can use them, and only you can uphold the family's legacy."
Ma Yun picked up the brush. Its cool touch sent a strange sensation through his fingertips. He shook his head and placed the brush and the genealogy book back in the box.
"What does this mean?" he asked, bewildered.
"Read the genealogy yourself. As for the brush, you'll understand in time," Uncle Ma replied cryptically before leaving the study.
Late that night, Ma Yun sat at his desk, switched on a lamp, and opened the genealogy book. The yellowed pages documented generations of family names and deeds. In the middle of the book, a particular entry caught his eye.
"Ma Liang?"
The genealogy stated: Ma Liang, the 13th-generation descendant, born in turbulent times, was a painter of extraordinary talent. Legend says he possessed a magical brush that could bring his drawings to life.
"The Magic Brush of Ma Liang?" Ma Yun muttered. He rubbed his eyes, dismissing the entry as an exaggeration.
As he flipped a few more pages, he paused at an ancient painting. It depicted Ma Liang holding a brush with a solemn expression. The intricate brushstrokes made the figure seem almost alive, ready to step out of the frame.
"Could Grandfather's brush be related to this?" Ma Yun glanced at the brush in the wooden box.
Just as he reached out to touch it, the cold sensation from earlier surged through his body the moment his fingers brushed against the pen.
"What…" Ma Yun exclaimed, startled, trying to pull his hand back. But the brush began to emit a faint glow, which grew brighter and brighter.
A deep voice resonated from within the brush, as though it transcended time and space.
"My name is Ma Liang. Do you accept this burden?"
Ma Yun's mind went blank as scenes flashed before his eyes like a movie—vast landscapes, resplendent palaces, and a figure wielding a brush to reshape reality.
"Am I dreaming?" he asked hesitantly.
"This is no dream," the voice replied, grave yet tinged with a plea. "For centuries, my legacy has awaited. You are the only bloodline heir capable of receiving it. Swear to uphold my will and protect the family."
"What if I refuse?" Ma Yun asked, struggling to process the situation.
"Then the soul of this brush will vanish, and the family's legacy will be lost forever."
Faced with the unexpected responsibility, Ma Yun took a deep breath. Images of his family elders' teachings, his grandfather's face, and the brush's mysterious power filled his mind. He made his choice.
"I accept."
The moment the words left his lips, a radiant light engulfed the room. Warm energy surged into Ma Yun's body, accompanied by a flood of unfamiliar memories and skills. He envisioned himself painting objects that sprang to life.
As the light faded, the brush returned to its normal state. Gasping for breath, Ma Yun slumped into his chair, staring at the brush in his hand with a mix of awe and apprehension.
"It seems my life is about to change," he murmured.
Outside the window, moonlight bathed the courtyard of the ancestral home. A gentle breeze rustled the genealogy book, flipping its pages to a blank one.
"The legacy has finally returned," the deep voice whispered again, fading into silence.