You rascal, stop right there!

Chapter 209 I am Han Miaoran

The patterns on the drawing paper are all characters and events.

These were all done by Bai Wan in order to remember things, and he specifically asked Luo Wenqi for advice.

Wan Yan was amazed at the smooth lines of the orchid leaves in the painting, as well as the graceful movements of the images, which truly exemplified the magic of painting.

He asked, "Sir, was the flowing water mural in the courtyard outside Beijing painted by you?"

"So what!"

Bai Wan didn't think that it was a stunning work. There are always great painters out there.

Wan Yan bowed respectfully, shocked by this man.

Even though his right hand was disabled and his left hand was half disabled, and he was imprisoned with almost blind eyes, he was able to draw such a picture.

The person in front of me is truly a genius, incomparable to ordinary painters.

"Sir, I admire you!"

Bai Wan almost laughed out loud: "Sir? What do you mean sir... Young man, I can't have children!"

It is clearly an irony that people who are good at calligraphy and painting have all read the books of sages.

Wan Yan's face turned pale with anger: "Sir——"

Bai Wan didn't bother to pay attention to this shameless enemy general and carefully picked up Luo Wenqi's finger that had dropped on the ground.

He fumbled for a long time before taking out ointment and bandages from his boots, and treated the wound in front of everyone, shocking the surrounding soldiers.

Wan Yan was startled.

This painter is really not afraid of anything!

However, he was reluctant to part with this talent, especially because the things in the painting reminded him of the painting saint Han Miaoran many years ago.

Seeing how much this man cared about painter Luo Wenqi, Wan Yan understood the depth of their friendship.

The corners of his mouth curled up slightly, and he said humbly: "If you are willing to draw a picture for Xuan Li, I will release Luo Wenqi. How about it?"

Using a tough approach seems to be fruitless.

Anyway, as long as the painter draws a picture for Xuanli, he has betrayed Daying no matter what, and it will be much easier for him to surrender later.

The other talented painters behind the curtain all looked at Bai Wan in silence.

Anyone who agrees to this will be a traitor who wins big.

How will you choose?

Bai Wan remained silent, holding Luo Wenqi's severed finger in her hand with her cold fingertips.

After a while, he said calmly: "One is not enough, release all the scholars and painters behind the curtain, and the captured women."

Wan Yan paused and said, "Sir, you are pushing your luck!"

Bai Wan said with a playful smile: "General, you don't know that I have another nickname: a ruffian. I always push for more and never do business at a loss. At worst, just kill me!"

The faces of the Xuanli Army soldiers around them turned pale.

There are few people in this world who dare to bargain with General Wan like this.

Wan Yan was not angry, he just frowned: "Sir, why do you think that one of your paintings can change so many people?!"

Bai Wan smiled slightly, but there was something sad and despairing in her smile.

"Han was the painting saint bestowed by the late emperor himself. Later, due to disability, he returned to the painting academy under the pseudonym Bai Wan!"

"The late emperor granted me a painting that is worth a thousand gold coins, which is comparable to rare treasures. Now, even though it is a bit shameful to exchange it for some lives, it is still of some use!"

……

"I am Han Miaoran, the crazy person who loves painting so much."

These words are powerful.

The painters behind the curtain were stunned.

The painting saint Han Miaoran, who had passed away many years ago and lived in seclusion, is still alive.

It is well known in the painting world that he had extraordinary talent since his youth. Among the Three Painting Saints, he was the first one to be given a title, a courtesy name, a mansion, and even special permission to go out and paint at any time.

After his death, the value of any of his paintings left to the public skyrocketed and became extremely valuable.

His name is actually more legendary than Luo Wenqi and Ling Shumo.

Even if you don't believe it, you can think about it carefully. Who can be admitted to the Academy of Painting with his left hand when his right hand is disabled?

How could this person hide his identity and start over?

After hearing the man's confident words, Wan Yan was struck by lightning: "You are... Mr. Xi Meng!"

The paper in his hand fell to the ground.

Wan Yan was obviously convinced: "I knew that only Mr. Han could draw such a stunning work!"

Bai Wan smiled bitterly.

I didn't expect that the moment to admit my identity would be under such circumstances.

Because he was given the title of Painting Saint by the previous emperor.

The title of the Three Great Painting Saints originated from him. Ling Shumo and Luo Wenqi were both given the title after he faked his death.

So, Zi Chen was so heartbroken when he saw that he could no longer paint five years later.

That’s it! That’s it!

"I painted this picture..." Bai Wan sighed softly, with a thousand kinds of ice in his eyes.

There seemed to be countless shadows in his dark eyes, and he screamed miserably.

"There are three conditions."

Wan Yan treated people of great talent differently from others. The fact that Han Miaoran's paintings reappeared in the light of day shocked the art world.

So he thought about it for a moment and agreed.

First, Bai Wan wanted to paint a mural on the city wall next to the gate of the capital.

Second, all disabled musicians, painters, and women in the palace must be released from the city.

Third, he required all the hundreds of defenders in the city who had originally surrendered to protect the mural he painted.

It seems that there is nothing special.

Wan Yan just felt that this person probably wanted to see the light of day again and let everyone appreciate his wonderful paintings, so he made such a request.

Afterwards, Bai Wan was locked up alone in a room in the palace.

That night he began to draw a sketch and outline it carefully.

……

Perhaps it was God's mercy that it did not snow the next day.

"It's daybreak!"

This is the first sunny day since the fall of Daying Capital.

The whole city was in a mess, with corpses everywhere.

How many people are starving and cannot leave their homes.

This kind of sadness of broken mountains and rivers will make people feel deeply sad whenever they see it.

Bai Wan was escorted to the side of Daying's city wall and looked at everything Wan Yan had prepared for him.

He took a large section of the wall, divided it into several areas according to the rules, and then used the vertical center line to divide the height and proportion.

Thanks to his pursuit of perfection during the period of blindness, his drawings in the powder booklet are very detailed and the color labels are also classified.

Now he has recovered his sight and his skills are much faster than those of ordinary painters.

Start drafting on the wall, memorize it in your mind, and paint with all your heart.

However, the reputation of Bai Wan as the painting saint of Han Miaoran spread quickly, and the rumor that he painted for Xuan Li also gradually spread in the capital.

When the people in the abandoned capital found out, they all criticized and despised him, and cursed him.

What's even worse is that some people would throw stinky and rotten things at them, and there would be brave and powerful people causing trouble almost every day and night.

Fortunately, thanks to the protection of the former Daying city defense troops sent by Wan Yan, they were able to avoid disaster.

"Hey, Xiaobai. You painted for the Xuanli Army to save us, and you were still on the walls of the capital. Your reputation will be ruined now!"

Luo Wenqi had a bandage on his hand and was heartbroken as he watched the man in a cloak painting a mural in the cold wind.

He never thought that Bai Wan would actually acknowledge Han Miaoran's identity and paint a defamatory work.

For the painter, such a loss of reputation...

This is worse than death.

On this side, Bai Wan was mixing the mud and colors by herself and did not respond to what he said.

No words, no speech, no sadness, no explanation.

The brush in his hand draws smooth lines on the wall like silk.

Start! Continue! Turn! Combine!

Suddenly, Bai Wan took off the broken winnowing basket that was hit on his head by the people.

There were traces of blood, feces, and gravel on it.

He just laughed miserably: "It would be great if Zichen was here. He would definitely believe me."