Chapter 312: Painting 'Thunder'

Despite their surprise, everyone observed Meng Chuan's setup in the world gap: a drawing table, a stool, paper, brushes, and a palette. It was evident he intended to paint.

"How precious is cultivation time within the world gap? Why isn't Senior Brother Meng seizing this opportunity to cultivate, but instead painting?" Yan Chitong wondered aloud.

"Such indulgence and casualness; no wonder his skill level is the lowest among the three Marquis Godfiends," An Haiwang thought to himself. He strongly disliked those who didn't value time, as he himself treasured it immensely. Aside from his duties guarding the city pass, his focus was almost entirely on cultivation. Witnessing Meng Chuan squander so much time even in the world gap, he naturally felt disdain.

True Martial King was also somewhat surprised. "An Haiwang and I are only tasked with protecting these three for a year. After that, we'll need to focus more on treasure hunting. And he's painting during this year? I don't quite understand Junior Brother Meng."

Meng Chuan excelled in the art of painting, using it to probe the secrets of his true self. Very few within Yuanchu Mountain were aware of this.

Even the Yuanchu Mountain Master, who had directly engaged Meng Chuan in combat and knew he had reached the fourth level of Nascent Soul, was unaware that Meng Chuan used painting to inquire into his true self.

None of them truly approved of Meng Chuan's actions.

From a Godfiend's perspective, observing the birth of a world was an incredibly valuable opportunity for cultivation. To paint instead of cultivating seemed overly self-indulgent.

However, as everyone watched Meng Chuan paint, no one felt the need to lecture him. They were all fellow disciples, and Meng Chuan was already a top-tier Marquis Godfiend, not a child who needed their guidance.

Sitting on the stool, with the wind blowing through the world gap, Meng Chuan prepared his paints. Just as he was about to put brush to paper, he hesitated and looked up at the purple lightning.

The purple lightning was domineering and dazzling, with streaks of electrical energy lashing down like a colossal lightning tree. It tore through the gloom, ushering in the world's genesis.

"How should I paint this?" Meng Chuan hesitated, brush in hand. "The lightning in this river of time and space is too immense; it's thousands, even tens of thousands of times more awe-inspiring than common lightning seen in the human world. It's simply impossible to capture it entirely with one brush."

Meng Chuan's talent in painting was indeed far superior to his saber techniques, having long surpassed the stages of "painting the skin, painting the bones, and painting the soul." Even as a youth, Meng Chuan had painted "The Forms of All Beings," which helped him condense his Nascent Soul.

As a grandmaster of painting, when Meng Chuan painted, he naturally aimed to capture the very essence of the purple lightning.

"The essence of this lightning…"

"As a Marquis Godfiend, the river of time and space appears as a vast expanse of gloom to me. The purple lightning I perceive might only be a partial manifestation of its true form," Meng Chuan reflected, acknowledging his limitations. "Even this fraction is immeasurably vast."

"There's no other way; I'll have to break it down and paint it in parts."

As a grandmaster of painting, Meng Chuan naturally found a solution: "I'll divide it into many separate paintings, with each one dedicated to a specific aspect of the lightning."

"For the first painting, I'll focus on the destructive nature of the lightning," Meng Chuan decided. He looked up, meticulously observing the purple lightning that continuously illuminated the distant gloom.

This was different from his past training in saber techniques.

This time, his observation was purely from a painter's perspective, primarily focusing on the lightning's "destruction."

"The destructive aspect of lightning... must also be depicted from various angles," Meng Chuan murmured, gently shaking his head. The more he observed the purple lightning, the more resplendent it appeared, yet it was genuinely difficult to paint, straining even Meng Chuan.

Meng Chuan finally began to paint.

His first painting depicted streaks of purple electrical serpents. Meng Chuan painted with extreme care, showing each serpent connecting and merging, their power steadily accumulating and converging.

Meng Chuan was completely engrossed in this first painting. He meticulously rendered the convergence of three thousand electrical serpents, which ultimately formed a colossal "lightning tree." This single painting took him a day and a half to complete.

"The first one is complete," Meng Chuan announced. He wrote the title in the upper right corner of the scroll: *Endless Form of Destruction*.

After a day and a half of continuous work, Meng Chuan felt invigorated rather than fatigued.

His Nascent Soul was radiating spiritual light.

Evidently, painting the lightning had begun to induce a slow transformation in his Nascent Soul. Meng Chuan paid it no mind, knowing that advancing from the fourth to the fifth level of Nascent Soul was exceedingly difficult.

"This painting, 'Endless Form of Destruction,' has truly pushed the limits of my brushwork," Meng Chuan mused, looking up. The countless purple electrical serpents converged, creating a terrifying display of power that was awe-inspiring. Meng Chuan knew that this painting represented his temporary artistic limit.

"Now, the second painting."

Meng Chuan carefully put away the first scroll, laid out a fresh sheet of paper, and began to paint.

A streak of lightning began to take shape on the paper.

The lightning struck!

It pierced through layers of gloomy obstruction!

This painting depicted merely "a single bolt of lightning piercing through the gloom," but Meng Chuan rendered it with exquisite detail. The lightning resembled a "long spear," penetrating layer after layer of darkness. With each penetration, lightning sparked and dispersed outwards, only to gather again and strike the next layer of gloom.

This painting also took nearly a day to complete. Meng Chuan wrote the title in the upper left corner: *Unified Form of Destruction*.

Meng Chuan painted without rest, as did True Martial King, An Haiwang, Xue Feng, and Yan Chitong. At their cultivation level, eating, drinking, and sleeping were no longer essential; they could even absorb moisture directly from the ambient energy.

Days passed.

Meng Chuan produced painting after painting, each distinctly different in style.

Some evoked hope and profound emotion, others despair, or a sense of trepidation.

*The Form of Life's Quiescence*... *The Form of Void's Selflessness*... *The Form of Void's Nine Heavens*... *The Form of Lightning's Divided Waves*...

Each painting captured a different facet of the purple lightning.

"Yes, it should be this ethereal, this uninhibited," Meng Chuan murmured.

More than half a month later, Meng Chuan was joyfully painting. Streaks of lightning, like dragons and serpents, roamed freely across the paper. When he completed the final stroke, Meng Chuan felt a profound sense of satisfaction. This was the last of his fifteen paintings, and also the most complex and time-consuming, having taken him a full six days.

"Beautiful," he remarked.

Meng Chuan admired his work and inscribed the title in the upper right corner of the scroll: *Wandering Dragon Form of Lightning!*

"Twenty-three days, fifteen paintings," Meng Chuan mused, gazing at his final creation. This painting depicted thousands of electrical serpents and countless flashes of lightning, each following its own trajectory, appearing free and uninhibited, yet perfectly integrated. This *Wandering Dragon Form* radiated beauty; compared to the real purple lightning, the painting truly captured the essence of thousands of dragons and serpents gracefully moving.

Yet, it was undeniably one aspect of the purple lightning.

"There are limits to human capability," he thought.

Meng Chuan looked up at the scene of the world's genesis. "These fifteen paintings represent the utmost I can capture of the purple lightning at this moment. I have depicted all of my current understanding of it."

Fifteen paintings, the "Fifteen Forms" of the lightning.

With a sigh, Meng Chuan, still seated on the stool, waved his hand, and the fifteen paintings materialized, floating around him.

He then produced a pot of wine, took a sip, and contentedly admired his fifteen paintings, growing increasingly satisfied with each glance.