I am An Immortal Painter

The Silent Hustle

For the first time in months, Ron had money.

It wasn't much—just enough to ensure he wouldn't starve—but it was a start.

Sitting cross-legged in his dimly lit dorm, he counted the stack of credits he had earned from his first sale. His fingers traced the edges of the bills, his mind racing. This money could buy better food, maybe even some cultivation resources.

But it wasn't enough.

Not yet.

Ron leaned back against the cold wall, his eyes drifting toward the blank canvas resting on his desk. The Silver Brush had been eager—almost desperate—for more of his work. That was an opportunity he couldn't ignore.

He needed to paint more. Better. Faster.

But most importantly?

He needed to stay undetected.

If word got out that a "failed awakener" was selling paintings at an elite level, people would start asking questions. Questions he wasn't ready to answer.

So, he worked in secret.

Mastery in the Making

Over the next few weeks, Ron threw himself into his craft.

He painted at night, long after the academy's curfew, with only the faint glow of a single candle illuminating his room. The soft scratch of ink against parchment became his rhythm, each stroke guided by his past life's experience.

At first, he focused on portraits—detailed studies of the human form. He captured expressions, the depth of a gaze, the subtle arch of an eyebrow. A flicker of amusement. The weight of sorrow. The quiet confidence of a warrior.

Then came the landscapes. Towering waterfalls, vast oceans under a blood-red sky, winding forests brimming with ancient secrets.

And with each painting, his Ink Attribute subtly infused life into them. The winds in his landscapes whispered. The rivers shimmered with movement. They weren't just paintings—they were glimpses into another world.

Ron knew he was onto something.

But the real question was—how much was this worth?

The Encounter with Nobility

One evening, Ron arrived at The Silver Brush with a fresh batch of paintings. He had wrapped them in a plain cloth, keeping his head low as he stepped inside.

The shopkeeper, Master Feng, immediately brightened at the sight of him.

"You came back!" the old man exclaimed, already moving to unroll the paintings.

Ron leaned against the counter, watching as Feng's fingers trembled slightly while inspecting the art.

"Exquisite…" the old man whispered. "This level of realism… the depth… I've never seen anything like it."

Ron smirked slightly.

"That's why I'm charging double this time."

Feng looked up, startled, but after a moment, he let out a breathless laugh. "You drive a hard bargain, young man. But… yes, I'll pay."

Just as Ron was about to finalize the deal, the shop door swung open with force.

A man stepped in—a noble, judging by his attire. Silken robes, gold-trimmed cuffs, and an air of entitlement that clung to him like perfume.

Ron didn't recognize him, but Feng clearly did.

"Lord Vance," the shopkeeper greeted, his voice shifting to a tone of deep respect.

Ron tensed.

The noble's sharp gaze drifted lazily over the shop, but the moment he saw the unrolled paintings, he froze.

Silence stretched.

Then—a sharp inhale.

"Who painted these?" Lord Vance asked, his voice oddly hushed.

Feng hesitated, glancing toward Ron.

Ron met his gaze evenly, expression unreadable.

The noble stepped closer, eyes never leaving the paintings. His fingers hovered over the canvas depicting a mountain peak bathed in the golden glow of dawn.

"This…" Vance murmured, almost to himself. "This isn't just a painting. It… breathes."

His reaction sent a ripple of unease through Ron. This was exactly what he had feared—too much attention.

"You sell art now, Feng?" Vance continued, an amused smirk on his lips. "I thought you only dealt in antiques."

"I do," Feng replied carefully. "But… when something truly valuable crosses my path, I make exceptions."

The noble studied the shopkeeper, then turned to Ron.

"You."

Ron didn't flinch.

"Are you the artist?"

A pause.

Then—"No."

Feng blinked, startled, but quickly masked his reaction.

Lord Vance's eyes narrowed slightly, but he didn't press. Instead, he reached into his robe, pulling out a heavy pouch of gold coins and tossing it onto the counter.

"I want this painting."

Ron's heart skipped a beat.

That much gold could sustain him for months—maybe even buy a few cultivation resources.

But then, the noble spoke again.

"And I want to meet the artist."

The room turned silent.

Ron exchanged a glance with Feng, who gave him a barely perceptible nod.

This was dangerous.

But… it was also an opportunity.

Slowly, Ron reached out, his fingers brushing against the pouch of gold.

"The artist… prefers to remain anonymous," he said smoothly. "But their work will continue to appear here, for the right price."

Lord Vance studied him for a long moment. Then, unexpectedly, he laughed.

"Very well," he said, grabbing the painting. "But if the artist ever wishes to deal directly… send word to my estate."

With that, he turned and left.

Ron finally let out the breath he had been holding.

A Painter's Fortune

As soon as the noble was gone, Feng exhaled heavily.

"Boy," he muttered, rubbing his temples. "You're playing a dangerous game."

Ron rolled the pouch of gold in his palm, feeling its weight.

"I'm just getting started."

Feng studied him for a moment, then sighed.

"Alright. But if you keep bringing paintings like these… expect more nobles sniffing around."

Ron smirked. "Then I'll charge them more."

Feng chuckled. "Greedy little one, aren't you?"

Ron simply shrugged.

This was only the beginning.

He had found a way to not just survive—but thrive.

And soon, the entire city would know his name.