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Chapter 42: Preparation

Yu Bai was struck silent when she heard those words, doubting either her own ears or Qian Shen’s shrill voice: “What? Average? Song Xian, do you even know who you’re talking about? Do you know who Yu Bai is—”

“I know.” Song Xian cut her off, her voice calm and detached as ever. She said, “She studied under Professor Bai.”

Qian Shen’s voice rose sharply. “You know and you still call it average? Do you even understand who Professor Bai is?”

Song Xian listened patiently, letting her finish before turning her gaze to Yu Bai. She asked, “Do you know why it’s average?”

There was no aggressiveness in her manner, yet no one could withstand it. Yu Bai, for no clear reason, thought back to that day in the garden. Song Xian had stood before her just like this, speaking in that same quiet, detached tone: “You’re lying. You don’t love Jiang Liuyi.”

Yu Bai swallowed hard. Her heart raced out of control, sweat breaking out all over her body. Qian Shen tried to rush forward, but Jiang Liuyi stepped protectively beside Song Xian, blocking her.

Song Xian asked again, “Do you know why it’s average?”

Yu Bai steadied herself, drawing a deep breath. With so many people watching, she couldn’t afford to falter. Her voice returned to near normal, though a closer listen revealed a faint tremor. “Why?”

Song Xian said, “Because someone helped you alter this painting, didn’t they?”

Yu Bai’s expression changed abruptly. She stared at Song Xian in disbelief, never expecting her to recognize at a glance that someone had altered the painting.

It was true. Professor Bai had helped her revise it. She had imitated the color style of his disciple, Shaniya, and when Professor Bai saw it, he couldn’t resist making a few adjustments.

Even Director Yao hadn’t noticed it right away, yet Song Xian could tell? Yu Bai’s face went pale, her body trembling slightly. She tried her best to suppress her emotions, but it was no easy task.

Song Xian turned her head, gazing calmly at the painting. She raised her hand and pointed to the peak of the mountain. “Here was changed.”

Originally, the peak had been somewhat flat, but after the revision, it was steepened sharply. The brushwork and technique were completely different from the rest of the painting, which was why Song Xian had spotted it instantly.

Not to mention, the one who had modified it was Bai Ye—her own teacher.

She knew Bai Ye’s painting style better than anyone.

The reason she had called the painting average was precisely because, after the revision, Yu Bai’s shortcomings were laid bare. Her own technique couldn’t hold up against Bai Ye’s brushstrokes. The disparity created a disjointed feeling, as if the painting had been split into two separate works.

The longer one looked, the more jarring it became.

Qian Shen, who knew nothing about painting, turned to Yu Bai and asked, “Was it really Professor Bai who changed it?”

The others turned their eyes to Yu Bai as well. She stood frozen in place. After the painting had been altered, she had only felt a rush of excitement—what had once been an ordinary piece now carried a visual impact, with steep mountain peaks and the lively trickle of a spring. 

That was why, after returning to China, she had wanted to showcase it as the centerpiece of the exhibition. On one hand, it could represent her collaboration with Bai Ye; on the other, it offered a chance to formally invite him to attend.

Although Bai Ye had indeed mentioned that the revision wasn’t particularly good, after returning, she had shown it to several people, and all had praised it. Even Director Yao said that for someone of her age to produce such a fine piece was rare—that although it had flaws, they did not overshadow its merits.

That was why she had insisted on using it for the exhibition. She hadn’t expected Song Xian to see through it at a single glance. Wasn’t Song Xian just an illustrator at a magazine?

Yu Bai opened her mouth but couldn’t find anything to say. 

Qian Shen, however, understood now. She noticed the subtle shifts in everyone’s expressions and, flustered, blurted out, “What do you know? Professor Bai helping Yu Bai revise her painting means he sees her talent! Do you think he’s so free that he’ll revise just anyone’s work? There are plenty of people lining up for his help who aren’t even qualified!”

Song Xian nodded.

Indeed, her teacher wasn’t one to casually revise others’ paintings. He would usually offer only a gentle suggestion: “Start over.”

Seeing Song Xian nod, Qian Shen’s expression softened a little. Only Yu Bai’s face remained clouded. This was the piece she was most proud of, yet Song Xian had dismissed it as merely average? No matter how she tried, she couldn’t swallow that humiliation. 

She glanced at Song Xian, uncertain whether she had guessed correctly by pure luck or had genuinely recognized the alterations. Deep down, though, she still doubted that Song Xian had the skill to see it.

Thinking this, Yu Bai managed a slight nod, easing her expression as she said, “Miss Song is right. This painting was indeed revised by Professor Bai.”

The reporters’ eyes shifted subtly, their gazes no longer the same as before. Originally, they had intended to build her up as a prodigy in their coverage, but after Song Xian’s comment, a note of hesitation crept in. If the work was truly just average, then hyping it might only invite future embarrassment.

Yu Bai, noticing their reactions, grew even more frustrated. She stepped in front of Song Xian and said, “It seems Miss Song is quite knowledgeable about painting. I wonder—would you happen to be free later?”

Song Xian looked at her. “Why?”

“It’s nothing really,” Yu Bai replied, forcing a light tone. “It’s just that it’s been a while since I’ve painted. I’m feeling a bit restless. I’d like to exchange a few techniques with you.”

Song Xian asked, “How would we exchange?”

Yu Bai suggested, “How about a memory sketch?”

It was a common method of exchange in the academy—and one of Yu Bai’s specialties. Jiang Liuyi immediately frowned and said, “No.”

But at the exact same moment, Song Xian said, “Sure.”

Jiang Liuyi turned to look at Song Xian. The lines of her profile were sharp and clear, her eyes calm and still, carrying a quietly reassuring presence. In a flash, Jiang Liuyi thought of the way Song Xian looked when she painted at home by the bay window—so serene, so composed. In that moment, her own anxious heart strangely settled into peace.

She trusted Song Xian.

Song Xian, noticing her hesitation, frowned slightly and said, “Sorry, I forgot to ask my wife’s opinion.”

Jiang Liuyi paused, caught off guard. Song Xian walked over to her and asked, “If I win, will you be upset?”

What kind of question was that?!

Yu Bai was practically exploding with anger.

She gritted her teeth, taking a deep breath to stop herself from glaring in their direction. Jiang Liuyi lowered her gaze and said softly, “No.”

Song Xian nodded. “Then I’ll go.”

The group, like a small procession, moved to a studio beside the exhibition hall. As the host, Yu Bai said, “Do you know the rules?”

Song Xian wasn’t familiar with her specific rules and asked, “What are they?”

Yu Bai nearly rolled her eyes. She thought it ridiculous—challenging her without even knowing the rules.

She explained, “We each choose a painting, study it for half an hour, and then recreate it from memory. Whoever captures the most details and produces the most complete work within the allotted time wins.”

Song Xian nodded. “Understood.”

Yu Bai said, “You pick the painting.”

She led Song Xian to stand before several paintings: Travels Through Mountains and Rivers, A Thousand Li of Rivers and Mountains, and Snowy Landscape—all renowned as some of the most difficult works to copy in the country, let alone recreate from memory. Especially A Thousand Li of Rivers and Mountains; its complexity was daunting even for seasoned artists.

Without hesitation, Song Xian chose the highest difficulty. “Let’s do A Thousand Li of Rivers and Mountains.”

Yu Bai asked in surprise, “Are you sure?”

Was she really that naive, or did she just not understand? A Thousand Li of Rivers and Mountains took her at least four hours to copy in full even during regular practice. Yet Song Xian had chosen it without a second thought?

Still, Yu Bai didn’t mind. This was a piece she had recreated countless times—every detail etched clearly in her mind.

Song Xian nodded. “I’m sure.”

Yu Bai exchanged a glance with Qian Shen. Their eyes met briefly, and Qian Shen gave a cold, hidden laugh. Even she, who knew little about painting, could tell how difficult it was. Song Xian really had nerve.

Or maybe she just didn’t know any better.

Either way, there was no chance she could outmatch Yu Bai.

Confident in the outcome, Qian Shen stepped forward, volunteering to stand between them and keep time. All eyes focused on Song Xian and Yu Bai. The reporters, keenly sensitive to tension, quickly sensed something unusual. They exchanged glances and sharpened their attention, missing entirely that a few more people had gathered outside the glass room.

At the front of the group stood a middle-aged woman, her hair meticulously styled into a sleek bun. She wore a tailored beige suit with a white lace-trimmed blouse underneath. Several companions stood around her. One of them moved to push open the studio door, but Director Yao blocked them.

“Wait,” she said. “Let’s observe a bit longer.”

The others remained by her side. Director Yao turned back to watch Yu Bai and Song Xian studying the painting intently, their heads lowered in concentration. She then asked the people beside her, “Who do you think will win?”

The group didn’t recognize Song Xian, so they answered without hesitation, “Yu Bai, of course.”

“Yu Bai’s shown a lot of promise. I heard she was already famous for her memory sketches when she was still in school.”

Director Yao glanced sideways at the man who spoke, smiling faintly and shaking her head.

The man was puzzled. “Director Yao, what’s your opinion?”

“I think the one standing opposite her will win.”

The others looked at Director Yao in surprise, frowning slightly, while she simply gazed deeply at Song Xian.

She still remembered the first time she had seen this child—it had been at the Song family home. Song Xian’s parents were having dinner while she sat quietly off to the side, drawing. Out of curiosity, Director Yao had walked over and asked, “Did you do something wrong? Your parents aren’t letting you eat?”

Song Xian had turned her head, shook it, and said, “No. I’m not hungry. I’ll eat after I finish drawing.”

At the time, Song Xian had been no more than five years old, yet she spoke with clarity and structure far beyond her years—so calm, so composed, it was almost unsettling for a child. Then again, given the kind of couple who had raised her, it wasn’t all that surprising.

Director Yao had smiled and asked, “What are you drawing?”

“A landscape painting.” The five-year-old Song Xian had looked up at her and said, “From Daddy’s study.”

Director Yao knew that painting well. Mr. Song had just recently acquired it at auction, and she was there for the follow-up business. She hadn’t thought much of it at first, until she caught a glimpse of the paper in Song Xian’s hand.

It was a rough pencil sketch, simple and unpolished, with no formal technique behind it. Yet the resemblance was unmistakable—the spirit, the rhythm, the essence of the brushwork were captured with seventy to eighty percent accuracy. It was, without exaggeration, a scaled-down version of the original landscape painting—only this one was done in pencil.

Director Yao had stared at Song Xian in shock and asked, stunned, “You drew this?”

Song Xian didn’t understand why she was so surprised. She simply nodded. “Mm.”

Director Yao had been overjoyed. Such a rare talent! A natural-born artist! A born painter! She immediately took the sketch to Song Xian’s parents, exclaiming, “This talent is extraordinary!”

Her voice even cracked from excitement, but Song Xian’s parents merely gave her a calm glance. She suppressed her emotions with effort and carefully said, “Mr. and Mrs. Song, would you be interested in letting Song Xian formally study painting?”

Song Xian’s mother set down her chopsticks and said, “Ask Song Xian. She can decide for herself.”

Let a five-year-old make such a decision???

If it had been anyone else saying that, Director Yao would have thought they were insane. But coming from Song Xian’s parents, it felt strangely natural. So she turned back to little Song Xian and asked gently.

Song Xian replied, “Okay. But it can’t interfere with my schoolwork.”

Director Yao: …

After marveling at the strength of Song Xian’s genes and the unique approach of her parents, Director Yao had reached out to Mr. Zhang He. Relying on what connections she still had, she had hoped that the retired master might offer a few words of guidance. After all, in all her years working in the art world, this was the first true genius she had ever encountered—a natural-born artist!

However, Mr. Zhang had something urgent come up that day, so instead, he sent his student, Bai Ye, to take a look. And in the end, Song Xian became Bai Ye’s final disciple.

A startled exclamation snapped Director Yao back to the present. She saw that the contest had already begun, and it was immediately obvious—Song Xian’s speed was much faster. She barely needed to think before putting pencil to paper. What’s more, she didn’t start from the center as most would; instead, she began from the edges.

This approach was rare. Typically, only the utterly untalented—or true prodigies—would work this way.

Director Yao shook her head with a soft laugh. She turned to the person beside her and said, “Notify all departments. Get ready.”

Still stunned, the person beside her blinked and asked, “Wh-what? Get ready for what?”

Director Yao looked at Song Xian and said, “Get ready. Professor Bai is coming back to the country.”