Early the next morning, Wang Fan left his temporary residence yesterday and walked out onto the street.

As for the mysterious old man, Wang Fan stopped thinking about it after he got the information he wanted.

Regardless of whether he is a master of the game world, or something else, the transformation of the god is his own business after all.

Along the way, Wang Fan walked slowly and became more and more remote, and finally came to a place in the city near the east of the city.

It was next to the river, and although it was not as prosperous as the center, it was quiet, and even so, Wang Fan spent a gold or two to buy a storefront.

No matter what the place is, as long as it is in the national capital, the price of land and houses is the most expensive after all, and the same is true here.

This store is not big, Wang Fan cleaned up a little and moved in.

If you want to turn into a god, you must first turn into a mortal, this is what Wang Fan thinks at this time.

Turning into a mortal means being a mortal, understanding the way of heaven from it, so as to comprehend one's own way, or to understand one's own artistic conception from time to time.

Therefore, Wang Fan chose to live in this place, as the so-called big hidden in the city, small hidden in the wild, he naturally knows what choice to make.

At this time, he sat in the backyard of the shop, and looked at the place where he lived, although it was not big, but it was where he would stay for a long time.

After making a plan in his heart, Wang Fan's eyes flashed, the deity nodded, and his body suddenly disappeared in place, sinking deep underground.

Although there is no difference between the deity and the doppelganger, if it is separated for a long time, there will be some changes after all, and if something happens because of this, it will be difficult for the deity to clean up at that time.

In this regard, Wang Fan's doppelganger also knows that this is just a kind of monitoring of himself by himself, and it doesn't matter if he is tired of it or not.

After doing all this, Wang Fan finally breathed a sigh of relief, wiped his sweat with his hands, and after taking a bath, Wang Fan walked into the house to rest.

After meditating overnight, the evil qi outside Wang Fan's body disappeared a little, and it had decreased sharply compared to the beginning.

Early the next morning, Wang Fan got up early, cleaned up the shop, and then walked out of the door.

And his target was those calligraphy and painting shops, with a large sum of silver, Wang Fan went to buy a lot of pen, ink, paper and inkstone, especially the rice paper that was most needed for painting, which accounted for almost a large part of it.

After a large cart was filled, Wang Fan returned to his store.

After the things were all placed and some silver was rewarded for these laborers, Wang Fan showed a smile on his face.

After preparing the pen, ink, paper and inkstone on the table, Wang Fan sat upright on the chair, recalling the dream of himself when he built the foundation.

At that time, I studied all my life and gained fame, and the only leisure moment in the middle was painting.

Whether he is happy or sad, as long as he paints, he can calm down.

Gradually, the memories of painting came to his mind, and after a few silences, he let go of the ink.

Picking up the pre-prepared brush and dipping it in the black ink, Wang Fan began to draw one stroke at a time on the rice paper.

At the beginning, Wang Fan was still a little rusty, but it didn't take long for Wang Fan to become more and more proficient, but his speed was getting slower and slower.

Gradually, Wang Fan's mind was completely immersed in it, and hundreds of years of cultivation and killing gradually disappeared from Wang Fan's memory.

And he will also return to Wangjia Village on the eve of the great change.

At this moment, the spiritual power in Wang Fan's body involuntarily operated, and with the tip of Wang Fan's pen, it was integrated into the rice paper.

And there was a vague figure on it, and the time had already reached the morning of the second day, and at the moment of the rising sun, Wang Fan suddenly woke up.

He looked at the figure on the rice paper on the table, and a trace of tears could not help but appear in his eyes.

The man, who was none other than his father, was looking at him kindly, vaguely as before.

He was dressed in coarse cloth as always, his face was weathered, and his big hands already had many calluses.

That's the result of his work.

It's a rough painting, after all, his experience of painting is just a dream, and after all, this is actually his first time painting.

Still, there is a touch of spirituality to the painting.

Looking at the father on the painting, Wang Fan's lips moved slightly, barely making a sound, and muttered: "Dad, the child misses you, it's really ......"

After a long silence, Wang Fan gave up and carefully put the painting aside, and then returned to the original place.

Then he picked up a piece of rice paper and put it on the table, picked up the paintbrush and painted on it one stroke at a time, and the whole person was completely immersed in it.

Time passed little by little, and the sun slowly set in the distant sky, leaving only a trace of the afterglow of the setting sun.

Wang Fan has not eaten, drank, or rested for so long, but Wang Fan does not feel tired at all.

In the past, in order to cultivate, kill, or even escape, what was it for several days and nights without rest!

As the sun sets, there is another figure on the rice paper on the table, a middle-aged woman and a mother who is looking forward to the return of her child.

That was Wang Fan's mother.

Holding the two calligraphy and paintings on the table, Wang Fan carefully framed them, and then put them into the storage ring.

Then Wang Fan picked up another piece of rice paper, laid it flat on the table, and continued to paint.

Time passed slowly, Wang Fan never rested, and spent all his time painting.

Only when he is really tired will he meditate for a while and then continue his painting.

Two months have passed, and Wang Fan's painting skills have become more and more mature, and he has transformed from a novice to a professional painter.

On the surrounding walls, there are already one picture scroll after another, most of which are the names of those villages in Wangjia Village, men, women and children, vivid, talking to each other, as if they can jump out of the paintings.

It can almost be said that these villagers, who died at the hands of Li Sheng, have been resurrected in another way, although this is very unrealistic.

After Wang Fan's store had these goods, in the following month, there was never a single customer who came to the door.

Wang Fan didn't care about this, he devoted himself to painting, and even the habit of meditating and cultivating in the past seemed to have been forgotten by him.

Apart from these paintings, there is nothing else in Wang Fan's eyes.

On this day, on the rice paper on the table, there was a handsome young man in black, who was Wang Fan's lifelong friend: Li Qiang.

Although he was dressed in black, he didn't look like a good person, but his face was full of energy, and there was a monstrous aura lingering on the picture scroll, but he was locked in it by Wang Fan, and he didn't leak a single thing.