Chapter Ninety-Eight: The Painting Duel (Part One)

“When did I ever say I was the greatest under heaven?”
“Your Highness said it yourself—you must have told him, otherwise how could Your Highness have said such a thing? Surely you spoke to him.”
“Sir, please spare me. Your Highness is Your Highness, and I am myself. How can we be lumped together like that?”
“A true man’s word carries great weight! How can you speak without honor and then regret your words?”
“I said it? No, I didn’t say it. I’m clumsy and unworthy—how dare I claim to be the greatest under heaven...”
“Which ‘I’?”
“The ‘I’ is just the ‘I’!”
“Your Highness calls me uncle, and you dare want to be my father? Your Highness, he wants to be your great-uncle...”
“Bloody hell...”

Within the Prince of Duan’s mansion in Dongjing, an old man and a young man, tall and short, were embroiled in a lively quarrel. Their bickering was relentless and full of vigor.

Li Sanjian was utterly bewildered by such erratic logic and bizarre ideas, feeling as if he were on the verge of losing his sanity.

And yet, this was the esteemed guest of Prince Zhao Ji of great Song! Simply a mad, disheveled fool!

Everyone in the mansion, including Zhao Ji, seemed accustomed to the spectacle, watching the quarrel with amusement. The beautiful maids attending nearby stifled their laughter and cast sympathetic glances at Li Sanjian.

“I am... the greatest under heaven! What are you going to do about it? Can you stop me?” Li Sanjian finally, out of frustration and embarrassment, snapped.

“Haha, you finally admit it.” Mi Fu gleefully told Zhao Ji, “Little Ji’er, he’s finally admitted it.”

“Indeed, sir,” Zhao Ji chuckled inwardly.

Mi Fu then turned his back, clasped his hands behind him, and approached Li Sanjian. “You dare claim your paintings are the greatest under heaven in front of me? I refuse to accept that...”

“Greatest or not, what of it? What do you intend to do?” Li Sanjian retorted angrily.

Though confident in his own work, Li Sanjian wouldn’t have dared to claim to be the greatest. After all, many talented individuals existed throughout the world, particularly in the capital of Song, a place teeming with hidden masters. He was quite aware of that.

But at this point, Li Sanjian wished to end the dispute and simply went along with Mi Fu’s words.

“Say what you will,” he thought, yet the excitement of being in the mansion had long since vanished. He just wanted to go home.

What kind of nonsense was this? he complained silently.

“Heh heh.” Mi Fu chuckled with a sinister smile. “Do you dare to compete with me in painting?”

“I don’t dare. I admit defeat. Your work is the greatest under heaven. Is that enough?” Li Sanjian had never seen Mi Fu’s work, but as a favored guest of Prince Zhao Ji, he assumed the man to have considerable skill in calligraphy and painting.

Most importantly, Li Sanjian was too tired to argue further.

“No, your words may concede, but your expression betrays unwillingness. That’s the so-called acceptance in words but resistance in heart. Absolutely unacceptable,” Mi Fu said.

Li Sanjian was taken aback. “Where do you see any reluctance? Sir, I truly accept it wholeheartedly, I swear.”

“You have not seen my paintings; how can you accept them? That’s utter nonsense,” Mi Fu retorted.

Li Sanjian was left speechless. This madman’s words were so accurately aimed that he couldn’t rebut.

“Will you compete or not?” Mi Fu smirked, raising his chin with pride at Li Sanjian’s disheveled appearance.

“Fine, I’ll compete...” Li Sanjian, unable to refuse any longer and growing a bit angry, agreed.

Losing wasn’t a catastrophe; after all, no flesh would be lost, he thought.

“Color, color, color!” Zhao Ji, delighted at the brewing chaos, jumped up like a child and ordered the servants, “Prepare the Four Treasures of the Study!”

The servants responded in unison and set about their tasks.

“Wait.” Mi Fu spoke up, “There must be stakes for this competition, or it’s no fun. I’m too lazy to paint otherwise.”

“Stakes? What stakes?” Li Sanjian asked, puzzled.

“Each of us puts up one gold ingot, or two, or three,” Mi Fu explained patiently, counting on his fingers, “or one string of coins, two, or three, or one bolt of silk, two, or three... or one copper coin, two, or three...”

Mi Fu rambled on endlessly, until Li Sanjian’s head spun.

Li Sanjian understood what stakes meant but wondered why they were necessary. He just wanted to compete, not gamble.

His family was poor, and earning money was difficult. Losing money would be a severe blow.

“Haha,” Zhao Ji laughed heartily upon seeing Li Sanjian’s painful expression. “Come now, prepare 500 strings of cash and fifty bolts of fine Jiangnan silk as the stakes. The winner takes all; the loser will also receive a reward from me.”

“Who will judge?” Li Sanjian was amazed at such a grand prize, his heart stirred. If he won, his family’s troubles would be solved for at least two years.

But now he worried about the judging. Art is subjective; especially when skills are close, it depends entirely on personal preference.

“I shall judge,” Zhao Ji smiled.

“All is in Your Highness’s hands,” Li Sanjian replied helplessly.

How could he refuse the prince? And after all, the prince was the one who set the stakes.

Still, Li Sanjian felt uneasy—he had just met the prince today. How could he compare to Mi Fu, the prince’s favored guest?

“No,” Mi Fu declined. “If Your Highness judges, my victory would be dishonorable. I have a solution to decide the winner fairly.”

Mi Fu showed some sense of fairness and self-awareness.

“What is your suggestion, sir?” Zhao Ji and Li Sanjian asked in unison.

“Aren’t there some carrier pigeons in this mansion? Let them decide,” Mi Fu proposed.

“Please elaborate!” Zhao Ji and Li Sanjian asked together.

“We will both paint, and whoever attracts the pigeons first wins,” Mi Fu said proudly.

Mi Fu was renowned for his exceptional calligraphy and painting; his works were vivid and lifelike, often attracting birds to peck at the images—a point of great pride.

He doubted this greenhorn had such a talent.

“As you say, sir.” Zhao Ji was delighted and ordered his servants to prepare and gather the pigeons.

When the prince commands, his servants acted swiftly. Within moments, everything was ready for the contest.

The two men ceased their quarrel and approached the desk together, dipping their brushes into ink and beginning to paint.

Mi Fu’s expression was solemn and intense, unlike his usual demeanor, showing a tender fondness for his work, as if the painting were his child or beloved woman.

Li Sanjian was similarly absorbed, lost in his own world.

Everyone in the mansion, including Zhao Ji, held their breath, watching silently. Zhao Ji’s face showed a look of rapt fascination.

For fairness, the paints used were provided by the mansion and contained no substances to attract birds—it was all down to the artistry itself.

“It’s done.” After a long while, Mi Fu tossed down his brush and admired his work with satisfaction, then glanced smugly at Li Sanjian, who was finishing up.

Shortly after, Li Sanjian completed his painting.

Pigeons mainly eat plant-based feed—grains, cereals, corn, beans—and generally avoid insects or meat. They prefer raw food but can adapt to cooked feed.

Both painters aimed to attract pigeons by depicting food realistically.

Mi Fu painted a rustic countryside scene: smoke rising from village chimneys, green trees, a flowing river, and birds flitting through fields. Scattered grains and beans were depicted along the path, so lifelike it felt as if one were there.

Li Sanjian painted a flowing stream surrounded by scattered grains, with scenery equally vivid and real.

He incorporated stereoscopic techniques, while Mi Fu’s painting was exquisitely lifelike, as if inspired by a divine hand.

In terms of traditional Chinese painting skill, Li Sanjian was inferior, but his use of three-dimensional techniques made their works evenly matched.

“How marvelous!” Zhao Ji placed the paintings side by side, gently stroking them, careful not to press too hard, alternating his gaze and praising them.

“Your Highness!” a servant reminded, “It’s time to display the gentlemen’s works...”

“Oh, yes, set them out quickly,” Zhao Ji nodded. “Be careful not to damage them.”

Several servants carefully mounted the paintings on thick wooden boards and carried them into the courtyard, placing them at the center.

“Wait.” Li Sanjian suddenly said, “I will arrange my own painting.”

Everyone looked at him in surprise, unsure of his intent.

Why would he insist on doing it himself when others were helping?

A man of low status is always lowly, a laborer by fate, many thought silently.