He was dressed as a scholar, wearing a tall and square scarf and hat, a wide gray and white linen robe, white socks and cloth shoes, and carrying a box behind his back.

is a bit like Ning Caichen, a scholar in A Chinese Ghost Story, but he is much more indifferent than Ning Caichen's startled and startled look.

Except for well-known yokai that can sustain life and birth groups, most of the yokai are born without logic.

Feng Wuli didn't recognize what kind of monster it was for a while, but it was definitely weak.

"Is there something wrong?"

"Childe can really see me."

The scholar smiled lightly and waved at him: "The sun is fierce here, can the son take a step to speak?" ”

Feng Wuli walked away with the other party like this, and inexplicably felt a strong sense of déjà vu.

Wait a minute, won't there be another litter of kittens or something?

The two of them walked in the school road, and the light and shadow between the leaves floated over his face, but they went straight through the scholar and shone on the ground.

The wind sensed his weakness, which was different from the weakness of the weak, the dying moment.

"Do you need help with anything?" The wind asked unreasonably.

The scholar stopped, glanced back at him, smiled and shook his head: "Xiao Sheng didn't say anything, but there is indeed something I want to trouble my son." ”

The two were juxtaposed in the shade of the tree, and he pointed in the direction of Feng Wuli, and following where he pointed, Feng Wuli saw a person.

The girl who paints in the botanical garden.

"My master was a scholar from the previous dynasty, a talented man who was obsessed with painting."

He's a pen monster, and his body is a paintbrush, which happened about two hundred years ago.

There is a poor and sour talent, who does not understand the theory and is not good at eight shares.

He said that he put a high-headed sermon on the case, bought a new science sharp weapon in the store, read it on his shoulders and back, sighed at the corners of his mouth, bagasse, chewed and chewed, what did it taste?

The poor sour Xiucai admires Pugong's miscellaneous collection the most, likes the sensational things in it, and likes to read those deviant criticisms of the eight chapters.

But he was not good at writing, and he couldn't write shocking essays like Dangong, but because he was obsessed with those demon stories, he began to draw those demons on paper.

A show of talent pen, painting all the absurd and bizarre things of gods and ghosts.

He is obsessed with painting, obsessed, and loves to paint fairies, gods and demons.

Xiucai did not stop painting day and night, year after year, day after day.

Poor and sour show painted immortals, and exchanged immortals for paper money.

Some people say that there is nothing left in his house, only a mountain of paintings.

Later, he painted what he looked like, painting mountains as mountains, and rivers as rivers.

Even the demons in the paintings are like those that can really kill and devour souls.

Many people asked him to paint, many people bought his paintings, people from other villages would come to see his paintings, and even celebrities met with him.

There was a big man in the town, and when the big man found out about this, he asked him to go to his home and paint a picture of Danqing.

But the old man was born ugly, with a black face and short hair, sesame eyes and an inverted onion nose, pus on the left side of his face and sores on his right face, a mouth of rotten teeth yellow and black as beans, and a pair of big ears that can attract wind.

Who knows if the show will take a look, hey! Youkai, isn't that what I'm best at?

He draws when he lifts his pen, and he paints flowers with his pen.

Everyone gathered around, only to see a black pig monster with a long beak and big ears appear on the paper.

Look up at the big old man, and look down at the pig monster.

When the porter looked at it, he said that it was like the truth; The maid looked at it and said that it was like a real image; When the cook looked at it, he said that it was like a real thing; Mr. Teaching looked at it and said that it was really like it.

But one of them came and looked down, it didn't look like it!

It's not like it, it's the old man.

At this time, the eldest lord was already so angry that his facial features were distorted, and his six holes were smoking.

Everyone looked at it and said straight: the one in the painting has run out!

The eldest lord is heaven in this town, he asked two subordinates to come over, broke Xiucai's hand, and threw it out.

The hand was broken, and the poor sour show suddenly woke up.

He's drawn a man!

Xiucai's hand was broken, and he couldn't draw anymore.

It was cold that winter.

I can't paint, I don't have money to buy charcoal, and I can't live in the winter without charcoal, so Xiucai took the paintings in the house and burned them.

After burning the fox fairy and burning the yaksha, after burning the ghost girl and burning the mountain monster, until the last room painting was burned, the house slowly became cold again, and Xiucai suddenly heard a smile.

He looked back and saw a room full of goblins and goblins.

They drank and frolicked, and invited Xiucai to a place where it would not be cold or hungry.

Feng Wuli shook his head after listening to this story.

"He doesn't have that much spiritual power, it is impossible to really create so many monsters by painting, this should not be true."

The scholar smiled and continued: "That's true, the fact is that after the winter passed, the people of the town came to Xiucai's house and found a room full of shredded paper and ashes, and Xiucai who died that winter. ”

A leaf fell and landed on Feng Wuli's head, he twisted it and rubbed the blade: "That pen, because there are too many monsters and people's thoughts, slowly become different, and finally have you?" ”

"That's it."

"But now you are going to dissipate, and your time is short, and you are about to leave the world."

The scholar always had a faint smile, and he looked at the girl over there again.

The wind unreasonably followed his line of sight.

"The paintbrush in that girl's hand is Xiao Sheng."

That girl's name is Gu Sisi, and she likes to paint since she was a child, likes to paint landscapes, likes to paint plum bamboo, and likes to paint pictures of ladies.

And she draws them all very well.

On her fourteenth birthday, her parents gave her a pen.

Coincidentally, that pen was the pen that the poor sour show used to draw a hundred ghosts.

The girl was very happy to receive this precious paintbrush, she said that she wanted to paint a lot of things, at that time the little girl looked innocent, and her parents also smiled and touched her head, saying yes.

It's just that later, the girls gradually stopped drawing.

There's nothing too twisty about the story, it's just that she's not a child anymore.

For some reason, the smiles on my parents' faces when they were children disappeared as the wrinkles of the knife appeared.

No longer complimenting her on how beautiful her paintings are, nor encouraging her to paint again, but chattering about exams, grades, college, and college entrance examinations every day.

Gradually, she also found it boring to draw.

She slowly lowered her brush.

"Hey, little girl, why don't you draw?"

That day, the scholar suddenly appeared in the girl's room, the curtain on the windowsill was disturbed, and the two met for the first time in several years, and the girl looked at the scholar who suddenly appeared in her room in a daze.

"Hell ——!!"

The girl who hid in the quilt trembled like chaff;

Open a little bit of the dorsal corner;

The hell is still there!

Gu Sisi was about to cry, and the scholar comforted her not to be afraid;

Can this not be feared?

The girl hid in the quilt and explained to the scholar with a crying voice that there are no ghosts in the world, and talked to him about materialism, hoping to persuade the other party to disappear, and then found that the scholar was sitting indifferently in front of his desk, and said with a light smile:

"Your paintings are so ugly, and you don't practice too much, how can this work?"

"My dad is a monk, my mom is a Taoist priest, you run quickly, I won't let you out!"

"Little girl, how about I teach you how to draw?"