Chapter Thirteen: Young Lady, Do You Know a Palm Technique That Descends From the Heavens?

This is a brush.

A brush so enormous that it left one utterly astonished.

Its shaft was as thick as a tree trunk, black as obsidian, devoid of any superfluous ornamentation, yet exuding an ancient, majestic air. At the top hung a delicate purple cord, quietly hinting at its extraordinary nature. The bristles at the tip were even more remarkable—so white they seemed almost blinding, fashioned from a kind of hair Wang Ran had never seen before. The very end of the bristles bore a touch of black ink, as if the brush itself was born with it, appearing from thin air, inexhaustible, ready to flow with but a single stroke.

Wang Ran had never laid eyes on such a giant writing brush. If it were merely a common brush, that would be one thing, but the aura emanating from it was so sharp and imposing it seemed less a brush and more a sword. Even a blind man, without the aid of sight, could sense the extraordinary nature of this brush.

Standing beneath it, Wang Ran seemed tiny beyond measure, smaller even than the bristles at its tip. One could only imagine the true scale of this brush.

But why was it built to such proportions—could it be meant for giants? Clearly impossible. Drawing on all the stories and novels he’d read in his previous life, Wang Ran suspected this brush was no ordinary object; surely it possessed the power to grow and shrink at will.

“Could it be that it needs a drop of blood to recognize its master?”

The thought struck him, and he sliced his palm, stepping forward to let a drop of fresh blood fall.

With a soft plop, the blood struck the brush’s shaft, then slowly slid to the ground. Nothing happened—no mystical absorption, no fabled bond sealed by blood.

Wang Ran blinked and tried another method. His voice rang out as he recited, “By decree of the Grand Supreme Elder Lord, heed my command, small, small, small...”

Yet the brush remained utterly unresponsive.

“Damn it, Journey to the West is such a lie. I thought you’d be just like the Golden Cudgel.” Wang Ran rolled his eyes and abandoned the somewhat foolish attempt.

He tried several other approaches, but none bore fruit.

At last, growing frustrated, Wang Ran leapt onto the shaft, summoned all his strength, channeled the “Sole Self Transformation” technique within him, and attempted to hoist the massive brush.

But just then, a sudden change occurred—the brush seemed to sense something. It slipped from Wang Ran’s control and began to soar through the air on its own!

In an instant, it carried Wang Ran out of the great hall, out of the thirteenth floor, and up... toward the sky!

Considering they were deep underground, Wang Ran could only marvel at the brush’s swiftness. The wind howled past his ears as he clung desperately to the shaft, terrified of being flung off.

Straight up the brush shot, heading for the ceiling of the subterranean chamber. As it approached the rock and earth above, it showed no sign of slowing—collision seemed inevitable!

Wang Ran’s heart pounded wildly. He hastily activated his Diamond Glazed Body to brace himself. But then, something wondrous happened: just before the brush struck the stone, a circle of ink appeared on the wall, conjured as if from nowhere, creating a void.

The brush carried Wang Ran into that void, and both vanished. When they emerged again, they were in the spirit sea of the fiery red bamboo forest.

Wang Ran looked down in amazement. The ground at the center of the gathered spiritual tides was unscathed; there was no giant hole from their passage. Clearly, this was no ordinary brush—its ability to traverse the void far surpassed the earth-burrowing arts of the Luoyang Spade.

As Wang Ran pondered this, he suddenly realized he was rising ever higher. The brush beneath him showed no sign of slowing, but instead gathered speed, shooting straight toward the heavens!

The gales intensified, making Wang Ran’s face tremble. Instinctively, he gripped the divine brush even tighter. Looking down, he could see the entirety of the Sole Self Sect laid out beneath him.

Strangely, no one in the sect seemed able to perceive the brush or Wang Ran atop it, letting them soar unimpeded.

The giant brush seemed to be reveling in its freedom, darting and whirling through the sky in wide, joyous arcs, like someone who had been caged for years and was suddenly breathing fresh air. After a time, as if sated, the brush slowed, leveled out, and began to drift leisurely through the high clouds.

Wang Ran’s spirits gradually calmed. He stood upright atop the shaft, hands behind his back, as if riding a sword.

Before him stretched endless clouds. Above them hung a bright full moon, bathing the land in silver, with countless stars scattered across the sky—a scene of breathtaking beauty.

Such sights could never be glimpsed from the ground.

Wang Ran’s gaze grew profound as he looked into the distance. Birds flew past, clouds drifted by.

He sighed deeply and murmured, “A great roc rises with the wind in a single day, soaring ninety thousand miles... I, Wang Ran, have truly reached the heights today. Ah, the loneliness of the master, the solitude of the king...”

At these words, a passing bird shuddered mid-flight, nearly tumbling from the sky. Even the nearby clouds seemed to scatter.

“Ding-dong, congratulations to Host Wang Ran for causing a profound shock to a passing bird’s spirit. Award: Ten Dao Points!”

“Ding-dong, congratulations to Host Wang Ran for causing a profound shock to a drifting cloud’s spirit. Award: Ten Dao Points!”

“Ding-dong, congratulations to Host Wang Ran for earning the title ‘One Who Flaunts Before All Creation’!”

“One Who Flaunts Before All Creation: Not even heaven and earth, nor all things beneath them, can escape being shown up by the host!”

Hearing the prompts in his mind, Wang Ran arched an eyebrow, then chuckled. “System, you’re not being very rigorous. Since when do clouds have hearts?”

System: “……”

“Never mind, never mind, I won’t quibble with you.”

And so, Wang Ran streaked across the sky atop his brush. At some point, he took a flask of clear wine from his system pack, standing upon the shaft, his long robes fluttering, stars and moon casting their glow—a peerless master in every sense.

He intoned softly, “Of old there was Li Bai, now there is Wang Ran. Raising my cup to the moon, I gaze down upon the world. The heavens vast, the earth boundless—one drunken joy in emptiness...”

As Wang Ran was reveling in this rare sight, the giant brush suddenly trembled beneath his feet, then lurched, plummeting downward at breakneck speed.

His stance was ruined, the image of the peerless master instantly shattered. He clung frantically to the shaft, heart leaping into his throat at the dizzying drop.

Before long, he realized the shaft he held was growing thinner, smaller—it was shrinking! In no time, the colossal brush had become a normal-sized writing brush, resting quietly in Wang Ran’s palm.

Now plummeting from several thousand meters in the air, Wang Ran was utterly dumbfounded.

“What the hell are you doing? Hurry, get big again! Fly, damn it!” Wang Ran shouted desperately at the brush in his hand, but it remained unchanged.

He looked down at the rapidly approaching ground and felt a wave of dread. Judging by his speed and trajectory, he was about to crash into a mountain peak, likely on the southern edge of the Sole Self Sect—though he’d never been to this particular mountain before.

There was nothing he could do. Hanging in mid-air, Wang Ran could only watch helplessly as the mountaintop grew from a tiny speck to fill his vision.

Soon, he could make out the details: grass, trees, bamboo groves, and a courtyard.

He was heading straight for the courtyard!

“Oh hell—!”

As the rooftop rushed up to meet him, Wang Ran cursed under his breath, activating his Diamond Glazed Body, though unease gnawed at him. Even with that protective technique, a fall from this height would leave him seriously injured. He had only just begun his cultivation, after all—his body was still too fragile. Surviving such a fall without turning to paste would be a miracle.

Gritting his teeth and squeezing his eyes shut, he shielded his head. There was a tremendous crash, and he shot like a meteor straight into the pavilion.

A splash sounded in his ears. Wang Ran felt himself drenched, but not in searing pain as he’d expected.

He opened his eyes dazedly and looked around. The pavilion was lavish and grand, and he was standing in the middle of a large pool, steam curling from the surface—it must be a bathhouse.

Wang Ran brushed water from his face and slowly turned around—then froze.

Standing before him was a woman of peerless beauty, not a stitch of clothing to her name, fresh as a lotus rising from the water. She stared at him in disbelief.

Wang Ran’s gaze was drawn to her—a swan-like neck, flawless ivory skin, and a pair of delicate peaks half-shrouded in mist...

From head to toe, she was the very picture of perfection.

But in that moment, both were too stunned to speak. Wide eyes met wide eyes, the air thick with shock.

One second...

Two seconds...

At last, Wang Ran was the first to recover. He blinked awkwardly, pointed up at the gaping hole he’d made in the ceiling, and forced what he thought was a kind smile.

“Miss, have you ever heard of a martial art called ‘Descending From the Heavens’...?”