88 Heroes

Five sticks...

Thinking about the significance behind these five sticks, Wu Qingchen couldn’t help but smile.

“If this works, it would certainly save a lot of trouble. But... I think...” He took another careful look at the extremely simple lines and the vivid effect, then rubbed his temples. “For me, mastering the art of painting—well, this science—might actually be more difficult than directly teaching the villagers to farm...”

“For now, perhaps that’s true,” Huang Xing nodded understandingly. “But learning to paint isn’t just about teaching the indigenous people to farm. In the future, in the medieval world, there are many plans that will require this science to provide technical support.”

“Alright...” Wu Qingchen didn’t question the training plan.

—As someone with a clear sense of self-awareness, Wu Qingchen never believed that one person’s cleverness could surpass the collective wisdom of millions.

Looking at the team of artists before him, Wu Qingchen noticed there were no musical instruments, nor any paintbrushes.

That was quite normal. Wu Qingchen knew well that in his mere two decades of life, he had never shown any talent in the arts.

More specifically, when it came to music and fine arts: if he didn’t have to hit high notes, he could barely hum a few simple tunes; if he had to pick up a brush, he could only awkwardly sketch something resembling an egg.

Such a level couldn’t be entirely blamed on Wu Qingchen. After third grade, due to the focus on passing exams and other “more important” subjects, his relationship with music and art ended at the curriculum, with no chance to truly appreciate their beauty.

Thinking about the “art” plan prepared by the advisory team for him, and the mood they must have had after reviewing his background, Wu Qingchen wondered just how much spit would be flying at the faces of those blatantly violating the “quality education” policy—his hometown’s primary, middle, and high school homeroom teachers, education directors, vice principals, principals, and the numerous bureaucrats at the county education bureau.

“Well then...” After his pleasant daydream, Wu Qingchen looked at the artists. “Where do we start learning these two sciences? Theory?”

With zero foundation in both “sciences,” Wu Qingchen was curious how he could rapidly improve his artistic cultivation in such a short time.

“Well...” Professor Zhang Chenrun, the lead oil painter, exchanged a glance with the famous composer Wang Menghua.

Ms. Wang spoke first: “In terms of music, theoretically speaking, yes, it’s theory.”

Professor Zhang hesitated a bit: “For fine arts... it’s actually a bit more fundamental than theory.”

---

More than an hour later, Wu Qingchen finally understood the meaning behind the tongue-twisting phrase “theoretically speaking, it counts as theory,” and grasped what “a bit more fundamental than theory” really meant.

“That’s it? Finished? What do you mean by finished?”

No wonder Wu Qingchen reacted so strongly.

During that hour-plus session:

For music, he was overwhelmed with a history of “the relationship between religion and music” taught by a master of religious music, a history of “agricultural technology and the development of musical instruments” from a master instrument-maker, and a lecture on “the evolution of singing styles through different historical periods” by a professor from the conservatory...

That was the music portion.

The fine arts section was even stranger: Wu Qingchen did not even get to hear about history; instead, he was taught by framers, auctioneers, and art supply vendors from the fine arts academy, oil painting galleries, and calligraphy associations how to identify woods better suited for preservation and how to make charcoal that takes color more easily using certain muds, ashes, and incompletely burned wood.

With a head full of question marks after learning all this, Wu Qingchen thought these were just foundational preliminaries—only to be told this was the entirety of the training.

“That’s all?” Wu Qingchen held the charcoal. “With this, I can just go to the medieval world and start ‘targeted teaching’?”

“Mr. Wu... Mr. Wu...” Huang Xing quickly came over and patted his shoulder. “Time is limited. The scheduling team arranged so that you first acquire the most basic conditions for implementation.”

“What kind of implementation conditions are these?”

“For music, understanding the content you just learned will give you a basic grasp of the tolerance limits religion has for art, the focus of the common people’s attention to music, and the close connection between agriculture and music... With this, you’re already equipped to carry out the next phase of your plan...”

“For fine arts, this is a discipline requiring long-term practice. Learning to make wooden panels and charcoal pencils means you won’t face financial burdens whether you practice on your own or officially start ‘targeted teaching’ later.”

“But I haven’t even started learning yet. How can I practice?”

“You don’t need to worry about that. Although time is limited and Earth’s teaching resources can’t be fully utilized right now...” Huang Xing first gestured toward the artists before them, then toward Wu Qingchen himself. “In the medieval world, you already have your own teacher prepared.”

“Teacher?”

Wu Qingchen frowned. In the village of Aikeli, the only person who might have any connection to art was obvious: “You mean... the priest?”

“Of course.”

“Priests can paint?” Wu Qingchen admitted he knew very little about priests.

“Yes...” Huang Xing nodded.

Priests could do far more than just paint!

According to the intelligence accessible to someone of Huang Xing’s level, the advisory team had analyzed countless details Wu Qingchen was unaware of—from the priest’s fingers, wrists, leg shape, walking posture, habitual movements, to stains on his sleeves.

It wasn’t that the United Nations’ Temporary Committee on Astronomical Events deliberately withheld information from Wu Qingchen; rather, given the sheer volume of intelligence and Wu Qingchen’s limited time, prioritizing which information he should receive was a complex challenge in itself.

“Uh...” Hearing this for the first time, Wu Qingchen was both surprised and doubtful. “Even if the priest can paint, he might not want to teach me, right?”

“No...” Huang Xing stretched out his hand as the artist team walked away and another training team approached. “...He definitely will teach you.”

This was the most captivating training team Wu Qingchen had ever seen.

By “captivating,” it didn’t mean they were physically beautiful or handsome.

Of course, appearances counted too. This group of people, regardless of gender, nationality, body type, or age, all had clean faces without any obvious makeup, wore very proper but not extravagant clothes, moved neither too fast nor too slow, seeming to possess a peculiar rhythm that naturally exuded a transcendent demeanor, making them very pleasant to behold.

Each person wore a faint smile that, if glanced at, quickly attracted others with its sincerity and openness. “Gentle spring breeze” was the perfect phrase to describe them.