Chapter Twenty-Five: The Upgraded Painting

After Yang Xiaofan purchased ten million points of painting experience in succession, his painting skill rose to the Grandmaster level. Without delay, he began to paint.

This time, he noticed that both his speed and the depth of his artistic expression had soared far beyond what he’d achieved before—several times over. Previously, his works could be summed up with the word “truth”: the images were lifelike, the atmosphere authentic. But now, his art transcended mere truth. A single glance could draw one’s entire spirit into the painting, as if the viewer were wholly immersed within it—fully, in a three-dimensional, five-dimensional experience.

It was so fantastical, it defied imagination. Even Yang Xiaofan himself couldn’t help but marvel. “This is terrifying. The God-Making Project is so powerful, it’s almost frightening! If I were to sell this painting, I could easily fetch millions.” After sighing in amazement, Yang Xiaofan swiftly completed four hundred paintings.

Once finished, he carefully packed them all, lay down on his bed, and enjoyed a restful sleep. Early the next morning, he rose before dawn to deliver the paintings to Mu Shuyu.

Fatty had already returned, reeking of alcohol—he must have drowned his sorrows again. Yang Xiaofan frowned, thinking carefully: his sudden leap in skill and income must have deeply affected his best friend, Gu Hao. This wasn’t good. If things continued like this, Gu Hao might not be able to cope. Clearly, he needed to find something for Fatty to do.

Cradling the paintings, Yang Xiaofan went downstairs and called Mu Shuyu. “Hello, President Mu, I’ve finished the paintings. Shall I bring them to Mu Group now?”

“That fast? Did you stay up all night painting?”

“No, my skills have improved a bit, so I’m working faster.”

“Well then, bring them to Ziyun Villa Community. I live at number 124.”

“Alright, I’ll be there soon.”

Yang Xiaofan sped towards Ziyun Villa Community in his Ferrari. The villa area was one of the most exclusive in northern Jiangsu; every inch of land was precious, with prices soaring to about 160,000 per square meter. At that rate, even a bathroom was unaffordable.

It had to be said: the domestic real estate industry was a gold mine of profits.

Soon, Yang Xiaofan arrived at the villa. The security guards, seeing his Ferrari, didn’t even try to stop him—just asked which house he was visiting and let him through. Yang Xiaofan couldn’t help but reflect, “With a Ferrari, I’m practically unstoppable in all of northern Jiangsu.”

He parked beside Mu Shuyu’s own Ferrari at the entrance to villa 124. Carrying the paintings, he walked up to the door. Before he could ring the bell, the door swung open from inside.

A wave of fragrance enveloped him, and his eyes widened instantly. Mu Shuyu had just taken a shower and was dressed in a pink robe, her damp hair draped over her shoulders, exuding a misty allure. Paired with her exquisite features, she seemed like a goddess stepping out of a painting.

Her elegant collarbone was sharp and striking, like a blade that drew no blood. The loose robe, shifting as she moved, occasionally revealed flashes of white brilliance—like the gleam of a sword piercing straight through to the heart.

Mu Shuyu was, without doubt, a woman of irresistible charm. She was like a ripe peach, rosy and white, impossible to resist—one could hardly help but want to devour her.

Seeing Yang Xiaofan's expression, Mu Shuyu was quite pleased. She had always been confident in her beauty. “Do you think your elder sister is beautiful?”

Yang Xiaofan’s cheeks flushed. Yes, he blushed a little. There was no need to hide or pretend. He was just an ordinary man, full of youthful vigor; faced with Mu Shuyu at that moment, even the most disciplined would have struggled.

Mu Shuyu laughed coquettishly, her laughter like blooming flowers. “Hahaha… So our master painter is not as composed as he seems.”

“Ahem…” Yang Xiaofan cleared his throat, looked away, silently recited a few verses to calm his inner turmoil. “President Mu, please don’t tease me.”

“Alright, I’ll stop. Come in.”

Mu Shuyu ushered him inside the villa and poured him a cup of tea. Every so often, she would deliberately say something provocative, as if to tease him.

Yang Xiaofan’s solution was to avert his gaze and ignore her. He had a girlfriend, after all; no matter how beautiful Mu Shuyu was, she wasn’t someone he should pursue.

After several rounds of playful teasing, Mu Shuyu realized Yang Xiaofan was deliberately avoiding her and nodded with approval. Few men could maintain composure in her presence. For someone so young, Yang Xiaofan’s restraint far surpassed ninety percent of his peers.

Of course, she wasn’t worried that Yang Xiaofan’s youthful passion would get the better of him. If he ever dared make a move, she was fully confident she could subdue him in seconds—or even seriously injure him. Even a champion in martial arts wouldn’t necessarily win against her.

“Let me see the paintings.”

“Sure.”

Yang Xiaofan pushed the case in front of Mu Shuyu. She opened it, took out a painting, and glanced at it.

With just one look, her delicate body trembled, and she shivered involuntarily. It was so vivid! The artistic conception was leagues ahead of his previous works.

It didn’t seem like it came from Yang Xiaofan’s hand at all—more like something he would paint decades into the future. Could it have been painted by his master?

Mu Shuyu took a deep breath, uncertainty in her voice. “Xiaofan, did you really paint these yourself?”

Yang Xiaofan nodded. “Yes, I had some insights last night and broke through.”

Mu Shuyu inhaled sharply, her gaze turning serious. It was astonishing! Yang Xiaofan’s talent in painting was frighteningly strong. In a single night, his skill had multiplied several times—like the difference between heaven and earth. He was a genius among geniuses.

If before, there were still those in China who could rival his work, now, his peers were few and far between.

After a deep breath, Mu Shuyu placed the painting back in the case.

“Xiaofan, I’m afraid we can’t accept these paintings.”