The art of carving required a small army of tools: flat chisels, round chisels, skew chisels, and gouges, not to mention axes, saws, and wood files.
While axes and saws were readily available for purchase, Su Mingyuan quickly discovered that the more specialized carving implements simply didn't exist in this world.
So, upon arriving at the blacksmith’s shop, Su Mingyuan could do little else but sketch the designs of the tools he needed onto a piece of paper and ask the smith to forge them.
The blacksmith had no idea why anyone would want such strangely shaped instruments, but the sight of five taels of silver was all the convincing he needed. He grinned broadly and promised to have the complete set delivered right to Su Mingyuan’s door within three days.
With the tools commissioned, Su Mingyuan turned his attention to selecting his wood.
The choice of medium was paramount in carving. Wood that was too hard resisted the chisel, while wood that was too soft couldn't hold its form over time. In his previous life, Su Mingyuan had favored Golden Weeping Wood or Spirit Calming Wood, but here, he was utterly at a loss.
This was a world of fantasy, after all, and its forests grew with trees entirely alien to him.
After several days of visiting every lumber dealer in town, he finally settled on a type of timber called Zhijing wood. Its grain and density reminded him of small-leaf Spirit Calming Wood, and he felt a familiar confidence that it would suit his craft.
The wood seller, assuming he was building furniture, asked if he needed a carpenter’s services, but Su Mingyuan politely declined.
A quiet joke to himself—even if he were making furniture, he was a master of his craft. He wasn’t about to pay someone else a labor fee for work he could do better himself.
A single, large block of Zhijing wood cost him a mere two taels of silver.
He had it transported back to his home and deposited in the courtyard.
The next day, just after lunch, the blacksmith’s apprentice arrived with the newly forged tools. Su Mingyuan inspected them one by one, a nod of approval escaping him. The smith's skill was commendable; the tools were precise, weighted perfectly.
They felt good in his hand.
Over the past few days, he had given the matter some thought. It was best not to start with a large, time-consuming piece, especially when he had no idea if there was even a market for his work here. He decided he would carve a few simpler items first, to test the waters.
After laying out some rough drafts on paper, Su Mingyuan set to work.
He sectioned a piece from the main block, drew his guide lines, and began the familiar process.
When he first arrived in this world, a sense of panic had been his constant companion. But now, as his hands moved through the familiar motions of his craft, a profound sense of peace washed over him.
He felt himself fall into a state of deep focus, a mysterious and all-encompassing calm.
He was so absorbed that he failed to notice the faint, azure mark that flickered for an instant upon his forehead.
In less than an hour, a lifelike carving had taken shape in his hands.
It was a tiger, poised and fierce.
The size of a man’s head, its craftsmanship was so exquisite it seemed to breathe. Its ferocious eyes were fixed on some unseen prey, a predator in the moments before the strike. The character for "王" was etched into the grain of its forehead, radiating an aura of dominance.
Crouched low on a rocky outcrop, the tiger was a coiled spring of muscle and intent, ready to pounce and tear its victim apart. The realism was startling.
Su Mingyuan nodded, a deep satisfaction settling within him.
He wasn't sure how, but he had completely lost track of time, consumed by a level of concentration he hadn’t experienced in years. Yet he felt no fatigue. In fact, he felt refreshed, more energized than when he had started.
"It seems my skills have improved," Su Mingyuan murmured to himself, admiring his handiwork.
"But how to price it?" He rubbed his chin, pondering for a moment before settling on a price of five qian of silver. Whether it would sell at that price, he had no idea.
My son has his own burdens, he thought. I can’t rely on him to support me forever. His focus should be on his cultivation on Cangxuan Mountain. If I can't help him, the least I can do is not be a burden.
The Wenxin Painting Workshop had been closed for days.
The next morning, Su Mingyuan tidied the small shop, opening the doors to let the fresh air circulate. He glanced at the old paintings still hanging on the walls. He saw no reason to take them down; it was a painting workshop, after all. A single wood carving would look lonely and sparse.
His old paintings weren't very good, but if by some chance a customer wanted one, he’d sell it for whatever they offered. Any money was better than no money.
He carefully placed the carved tiger on a display stand in the center of the shop.
Then, Su Mingyuan sat down and waited for customers.
From morning until dusk, not a single soul, not even a curious shadow, crossed his threshold. The shop’s remote location was partly to blame, but the larger problem was Su Mingyuan’s well-known reputation as a mediocre artist. Why would anyone waste their money on one of his lackluster paintings?
And so, no one came.
Three consecutive days passed without a single customer.
A knot of anxiety began to form in Su Mingyuan's stomach. He had to find some way to attract business.
The afternoon sun was already beginning its descent.
After a simple lunch, Su Mingyuan was considering a nap when a figure appeared at the entrance of the Wenxin Painting Workshop, peering inside with a curious expression.
It was a boy of about thirteen or fourteen, with intense, dark eyes and clothes that bespoke a wealthy, perhaps noble, background.
"Welcome," Su Mingyuan said with a cheerful voice. "Please, feel free to come in and look around." A boy he may be, but a customer was a customer.
"You don't recognize me?" the young boy asked abruptly.
"Does it matter if I do?" Su Mingyuan replied calmly. "You are standing in my shop, which makes you my guest. Why does meeting require having known each other before?"
"Why does meeting require having known each other before?" The boy repeated the words, a flicker of surprise in his eyes. The phrase was strangely intriguing.
He was from the Yan family of Qingfeng Town, one of the most prominent and influential clans in the region. And he was Yan Yushi, the son of the Yan family’s Clan Leader, Yan Botao.
There was hardly a soul in Qingfeng Town who wouldn’t recognize him on sight.
Yet this shopkeeper didn’t.
Though Yan Yushi was Yan Botao's son, with a prestigious status and the backing of a powerful family, his own path was fraught with difficulty. Specifically, his cultivation had stalled.
Over the years, his family had purchased countless paintings for him, hoping one would spark the visualization he needed to gain insight and advance on his own cultivation path. But it was all for naught. His visualization never took form.
Three years had passed in this state of stagnation.
Now, the family elders were beginning to murmur, suggesting that Yan Botao should choose another heir for the Yan family. At first, his father had been able to deflect their demands, but as time dragged on with no sign of progress from Yan Yushi, even Yan Botao was buckling under the pressure from the Elders' Assembly.
Just today, Yan Yushi had overheard a few cutting remarks made behind his back. Stung by the whispers and driven by a surge of youthful frustration, he couldn't bear to remain in the family compound.
He had simply stormed out, needing to clear his head.
Lost in his troubled thoughts, he had wandered aimlessly, eventually finding himself in the deepest part of Bailu Square, standing before the door of the Wenxin Painting Workshop.
He had heard of a painter in Qingfeng Town named Su Mingyuan, though the man's work was said to be average at best. Still, he was here now, so Yan Yushi decided he might as well go in and see for himself.