Chapter 3

"Do you think we're ready for this?" Jian whispered as they climbed the stairs, her eyes darting to the various doors that led to their new classmates' rooms.

Lin took a deep breath, trying to quell the butterflies in his stomach. "I don't know, but we're about to find out," he replied, his voice filled with a mix of excitement and trepidation.

The next day dawned bright and early, the sun's rays piercing through the dormitory window and painting the floor with a warm glow. Lin woke with a start, the realization of what the day held hitting him like a wave. He dressed quickly, his heart racing as he headed to the art studio. The corridors were already alive with the chatter of students, their voices a cacophony of excitement and nerves.

Upon entering the classroom, Lin saw that the walls had been covered with large sheets of paper, the floor lined with easels and paint pots. Professor Shi was already there, his eyes alight with enthusiasm as he surveyed the setup. "Good morning, class," he began, his voice carrying the same energy as the previous day. "Today, we shall embark on a journey into the realm of soul painting."

The students took their places, each selecting a spot that resonated with them. Lin felt an inexplicable pull towards the farthest corner, where a single beam of sunlight pierced through the high window, casting a warm glow on the floor. He set up his easel and canvas, his heart pounding in his chest. He had heard the whispers of soul painting, the legend that spoke of artists who could imbue their work with a piece of their very essence. The thought of it both terrified and thrilled him.

After class, with the words of Professor Shi's lecture still echoing in his mind, Lin decided to visit the library. It was a place of solace, a sanctuary of knowledge where he could lose himself in the countless tomes that held the secrets of his new world. The musty scent of aged paper and the quiet whispers of turning pages greeted him as he stepped through the heavy oak doors. He made his way through the endless aisles, his eyes scanning the spines of books that spoke of ancient techniques and lost masters.

The library was a labyrinth of knowledge, each corner revealing a new treasure trove of wisdom. He found himself drawn to a section titled "The Art of Chi Manipulation," his heart racing at the prospect of learning more about the mysterious force that powered their soul paintings. As he pulled out a particularly thick tome, a dust cloud billowed up, tickling his nose and making him sneeze.

Jian and Mei, who had followed him into the library, chuckled at his expense. "Never knew you were allergic to books," Mei teased, his gentle voice barely carrying in the hushed silence.

The three of them sat at a long, worn-out table, surrounded by shelves that stretched up to the high ceiling, their wooden ladders reaching like the limbs of an ancient tree. They began to leaf through the book together, their heads close as they studied the intricate diagrams and cryptic text. The library was a place of discovery, each book a gateway to a new world, and they were eager to unlock its secrets.

The pages revealed the history of chi, the vital energy that flowed through all living things. It spoke of ancient masters who had harnessed its power to create breathtaking works of art that had stood the test of time. The illustrations depicted paintings that had moved, sculptures that had breathed, and calligraphy that had sung. It was a heady mix of art and mysticism, and it was intoxicating.

As the trio pored over the texts, the hushed whispers of the library grew more pronounced. A shadow flitted across the page, and Lin looked up to find a mysterious man standing before them. He was tall and lean, with piercing eyes that seemed to see straight through to their very souls. His attire was simple yet elegant, a stark contrast to the dusty tomes and worn furnishings.

"Looking for something in particular?" the stranger asked, his voice low and smooth, like the purr of a contented cat.

Lin's heart skipped a beat, and he clutched the book to his chest. "Yes," he stammered. "I'm looking for information on soul painting."

The stranger's gaze sharpened. "Ah, you've found the right place," he said, his eyes never leaving the book. "But beware, young artist. The path you tread is not for the faint of heart."

With a graceful nod, the man introduced himself as Professor Li, an Acrylic Painting professor known for his enigmatic persona and profound insights into the art of chi manipulation. His reputation was one of mystery and mastery, and his very presence in the library sent a shiver down Lin's spine.

The contrast between Professor Li and the warm, approachable Professor Shi was stark. While Shi's eyes sparkled with the light of encouragement, Professor Li's gaze was like a bottomless well, hinting at depths of knowledge that could either inspire or drown.

"Soul painting is a delicate art," Professor Li continued, his eyes never leaving the book. "It requires not just skill, but a deep understanding of oneself and the world around you." His words were measured, each syllable carrying the weight of a thousand unspoken truths.

Lin nodded, his mind racing with questions. "How do we do it?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Professor Li closed the book with a thud, the sound echoing through the library. "You must first understand the flow of chi within yourself," he said, his eyes finally meeting Lin's. "Only then can you begin to manipulate it in your art."

With a nod, Lin picked up the book, feeling the weight of its wisdom in his hands. He and his friends rose from the table, their footsteps sounding like thunder in the quiet space. As they made their way towards the exit, he couldn't shake the feeling that Professor Li's eyes were on them, watching, assessing. He turned to look back over his shoulder, and sure enough, the professor was still there, his gaze unwavering. The sight sent a chill down his spine, but also a thrill of excitement. It was as if he had been initiated into a secret society, one that held the keys to a world beyond his wildest dreams.

Back in his dorm, Lin took a moment to breathe. The anticipation of the Art Manifestation was palpable, filling the air like a storm about to break. He splashed cold water on his face, the chill jolting him back to reality. The mirror reflected his nervous expression, his eyes wide with excitement and fear. He took a deep breath, willing himself to calm down.

The cafeteria was a cacophony of voices and clattering dishes. The smell of steaming rice and sizzling meats filled the air, a stark contrast to the quiet of the library. Lin scanned the room, spotting Jian and Mei at a table by the window. They waved him over, their faces etched with the same excitement and anxiety he felt. The three of them sat down, their plates filled with food that seemed to have lost all appeal amidst their looming challenge.

"What did Professor Li say?" Jian asked, her voice a mix of curiosity and trepidation.

Lin took a deep breath, trying to remember the exact words. "He said soul painting is about understanding the flow of chi within ourselves," he began, his eyes glazed over as he recounted the conversation. "It's not just about skill; it's about connecting with our inner world."

Mei nodded thoughtfully, his chopsticks hovering over his untouched meal. "I've heard whispers about it before," he said. "My mother used to tell me stories of artists who could breathe life into their work." His voice grew quieter, more solemn. "But she always warned me that such power comes with great responsibility."

Jian leaned in, her curiosity piqued. "What do you mean?"

Lin paused, choosing his words carefully. "He said that to manipulate chi, we have to understand ourselves deeply. It's not just about the techniques; it's about tapping into something...bigger."

Just as he was about to elaborate, their conversation was cut short by the sound of laughter from a nearby table. A girl with a sharp nose and her companion, a boy with a smug smile, looked over at them, their eyes lingering on Lin's simple attire. "Look at the village boy," the girl said, her voice carrying a sneer. "Thinks he can compete with us city folks."

The boy leaned in, his voice a snicker. "What can you possibly know about soul painting, coming from a place where the biggest attraction is a chicken that lays square eggs?"

Mei's gentle smile faltered, and Jian's hand tightened around her chopsticks. Before either of them could respond, Lin felt a surge of courage that seemed to come from the very pages of the books they had studied. "I know enough to understand that art is not confined by walls or the size of a village," he said, his voice steady. "And I'm here because I have something to offer, not because I need to prove myself to you."

The girl's laughter died, and she looked at Lin with a mix of surprise and contempt. Her companion's smug expression wavered, but he quickly regained his composure. "We'll see about that," he said, his voice laced with challenge.

Jian and Mei exchanged glances, their friendship solidifying in the face of adversity. They both knew the kind of people who looked down on those from humble beginnings. But Lin's confidence was contagious, and they couldn't help but feel a swell of pride for their newfound comrade.

They left the cafeteria, their spirits buoyed by the challenge that lay ahead. The rest of the day was a blur of preparation and nervous energy. They practiced their techniques, their brushes and pencils moving in a symphony of concentration and hope. The corridors of Xinghua Academy seemed to pulse with the anticipation of the evening's event, the very air crackling with the energy of untapped potential.

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