“Elder Zhang, stop searching.”

At that moment, Wang Guan blinked, then suddenly spoke, “The item is right there on the table.”

“What?” Elder Zhang startled, then glanced back at the tabletop, still seeing nothing.

He immediately puffed out his beard and glared, dissatisfied, “Where is anything? Do you think my old eyes are failing, that I can’t see clearly?” “Elder Zhang, how could I dare suggest such a thing.”

Wang Guan quickly shook his head, swearing solemnly, “The item is truly on the tabletop.”

“Hmm?” Sensing Wang Guan wasn't lying, Elder Zhang immediately knitted his brow and scrutinized the surface closely.

The table was crafted from the finest huali wood. Though unvarnished, the quality of the timber itself was excellent, and years of careful maintenance had imparted a subtle, lustrous sheen to its surface.

On such a clean table, anything placed upon it should be instantly obvious.

However, there were exceptions. Elder Zhang looked once, saw nothing unusual, observed carefully for a while longer, and then finally discerned a slight anomaly.

“Eh?” Upon finding the clue, Elder Zhang was stunned. “Is this... a writing brush?” “It is a writing brush.”

By this time, Fang Mingsheng had also spotted the object, naturally looking equally astonished. “Among all those huge brushes, you hid this small one in here?” Of course, what Fang Mingsheng called a ‘small brush’ was only small by comparison.

In truth, the brush wasn't particularly tiny; it was a rather standard size, but against the arm-thick gargantuan brushes previously displayed, it was indeed a mere slip of a thing.

Moreover, this brush appeared to be wooden. The color of its shaft was remarkably similar to the huali wood of the table, which is why it sat so unobtrusively on the surface, causing immediate oversight.

“What a waste, such a terrible waste.”

Seeing this situation unfold,

Elder Zhang couldn’t help but shake his head and sigh. “Wang Guan, you lost the bet. It looks like you’ll have to wait until next year.”

“It might not be that simple.”

Wang Guan rubbed his nose, then scratched his head. “After all, something hidden this securely probably isn’t ordinary.”

“That’s hard to say.”

Elder Zhang shook his head. “Hiding something doesn’t necessarily mean it’s a precious treasure; perhaps it holds some special significance. Just like the ancients hiding letters or family correspondence—it could be a commemorative act.”

“Is that so?”

Wang Guan, looking persistently unconvinced, directly reached out and picked up the writing brush from the table.

“Ah. What’s happening?” In that instant, something strange occurred.

The brush shaft, which had been dark with a hint of purple, suddenly shifted color as it swayed, transforming into a faint, pale yellow—almost exactly matching the tone of Wang Guan’s palm.

Elder Zhang and Fang Mingsheng witnessed this clearly, their jaws dropping simultaneously.

Incredulous,

they instinctively rubbed their eyes, suspecting fatigue had induced hallucinations.

“Elder Zhang…” Wang Guan spoke, his voice a mix of surprise and delight. “This thing… seems quite unusual.”

As he spoke, Wang Guan casually set the brush back down. The instant it settled, the brush transformed its color again, silently merging perfectly with the hue of the tabletop.

“…It’s practically a chameleon!” Fang Mingsheng regained his composure.

A burning intensity flared in his eyes. Anyone, no matter how dull, would now know that this seemingly unremarkable writing brush was certainly extraordinary.

“Don’t touch it!” Just as Fang Mingsheng was about to reach out eagerly,

Elder Zhang quickly snatched the brush into his own grasp, examining the shaft, which had instantly turned pale yellow, his eyes filled with astonished wonder at the strangeness.

While examining it, Elder Zhang moved the brush to different locations, observing its color change.

Indeed, the brush lived up to its chameleon moniker, immediately displaying different shades depending on its environment.

On the table, it was slightly dark with purple undertones.

In his hand, it became pale yellow. Under the light, it shifted to a faint white. Next to the green leaves of the bonsai, it appeared lushly green… Elder Zhang experimented with zeal for at least half an hour before finally calming down, turning his attention to the brush’s material: “The texture of this brush isn't wood; rather, it feels somewhat like… jade.”

“Jade?” Wang Guan and Fang Mingsheng were somewhat surprised.

“If not jade, it must be related to jade,”

Elder Zhang mused. “Actually, more than the shaft, I am more interested in the bristles. I wonder what animal’s hair they are made from, that they can also change color based on the environment, just like the shaft.”

“Yes, utterly magical,”

Fang Mingsheng nodded repeatedly, then concentrated, trying to recall. “I remember Elder Zeng telling me that in antiquity, there was supposedly a type of White Bear living in the snowy, icy north. This bear wasn't truly white; rather, because the northern landscape was perpetually covered in snow and ice, appearing uniformly white, the bear’s fur became white.”

Wang Guan caught the underlying implication. “Are you suggesting that this bear’s fur has no inherent color, but changes according to the environment’s hue?” “Exactly, that’s it,”

Fang Mingsheng confirmed without reservation, adding a note of awe. “Because there’s no physical evidence, I always assumed it was just a legend, but seeing the condition of these bristles makes me think Elder Zeng might have been telling the truth.”

“Such a strange bear exists?” Elder Zhang exclaimed suddenly. “I’ve never heard of it before. Truly, learning is endless.”

“Elder Zhang, whether the bristles are bear hair can be researched later,”

Wang Guan said, showing keen interest. “Right now, I’m desperately curious: what is the origin of this brush? Such a miraculous treasure must have some historical trace in ancient records, shouldn’t it?” “You are absolutely correct. This object not only has records in antiquity, but it was quite famous.”

Elder Zhang spoke with solemnity. “If I am not mistaken, this object must be the renowned Five-Colored Brush.”

“The Five-Colored Brush?” Wang Guan started, then suddenly realized, exclaiming in shock, “The Five-Colored Brush from the idiom ‘Dreaming of a brush and flowers bloom’?” “Precisely. I believe this is the item.”

Elder Zhang nodded with a sigh. “Since the invention of the writing brush, ancient people developed a particular affection for these objects, and marvelous tales surrounding brushes proliferated. A famous example is the Da Bi Ru Chuan (A Brush as Thick as a Rafter) we discussed earlier. Its protagonist, Wang Xun, was active during the Eastern Jin Dynasty, which we now categorize as the Southern and Northern Dynasties. However, from that era onward, it wasn’t just Wang Xun dreaming of brushes; there were other legends involving dreaming of a brush.”

“One of those legends features a protagonist perhaps even more famous than Wang Xun: Jiang Yan, the subject of the idiom Jiang Lang Cai Jin (Jiang Lang’s talent is exhausted).”

Elder Zhang, warming to his subject, spoke eloquently. “According to Zhong Rong’s Shi Pin (Poetry Grades), the talented Jiang Yan was renowned for his exceptional literary flair. Late in life, he dreamt of meeting the immortal Guo Pu, who asked him for his Five-Colored Brush, which Jiang Yan naturally surrendered. From that moment on, Jiang Yan found he could no longer compose poetry—hence the origin of the idiom Jiang Lang Cai Jin.”

“One cannot take dream events literally. As everyone knows, the real reason Jiang Yan’s talent waned was that after he became a high official, he focused on state affairs, and his flair for poetry and essays naturally declined. Nevertheless, this remains the first known record of the Five-Colored Brush.”

Elder Zhang held up one finger, then continued. “The second record involves a man named Lian Guang, who was gathering herbs on Mount Tai and received a brush from a hermit. Anything drawn with this brush would leap out of the illustration and become real. However, Lian Guang was accused of sorcery because of this brush and was imprisoned. Later, following the hermit’s suggestion in a dream, he drew a giant bird and successfully escaped.”

“Doesn’t this story sound quite familiar?” Elder Zhang couldn't help but chuckle. “It is said that the animated series Magic Brush Ma Liang was adapted from this very anecdote, and the brush in the story is undoubtedly the Five-Colored Brush.”

“And, of course, the most classic account is the Miao Bi Sheng Hua (Wonderful Brush Blooms Flowers) that Wang Guan just mentioned.”

As he spoke, Elder Zhang’s smile deepened. “Most people hear the idiom Miao Bi Sheng Hua and know it means writing exceptionally well, but they might not know its origin… I know you’re aware.”

He shot Wang Guan a look and waved a hand. “Don’t speak yet; let me explain.”

“Elder Zhang, we are aware of the anecdote; there’s no need to detail it further, is there?”

Wang Guan beamed. “The Kai Yuan Tian Bao Yi Shi records that when Li Bai was young, he dreamt his writing brush sprouted flowers on its tip; afterward, his talent flourished, and his fame spread across the world. This became one of the most commonly used literary allusions, like in Li Shangyin’s Gazing Southward, Remembering Yan Wu Guangxiu, which contains the lines: ‘Carrying a long saber in the Southern Campaign headquarters, the dream brush hides five-colored filaments.’”

“It’s not just Li Bai…” Elder Zhang seemed slightly put out by Wang Guan interrupting. “There was also Li Qiao of the Tang Dynasty, who, as a child, dreamt a divine being gifted him a pair of brushes, after which his scholarship gradually advanced; Fan Zhi of the early Song Dynasty’s mother dreamt a divine being presented her with a Five-Colored Brush on the night of his birth. By age nine he could compose verse, and by thirteen he was instructing students on the Book of Documents.”

“So, the legends surrounding the Five-Colored Brush are numerous, spanning from the Southern and Northern Dynasties right up to the Song Dynasty.”

At this point, Elder Zhang’s expression turned thoughtful. “However, the question remains: did this Five-Colored Brush exist first, leading to the numerous legends, or did the legends precede it, causing someone to create this brush based on those tales? The term ‘Five-Colored’ might even be a homophone for ‘Colorless,’ since a colorless brush would naturally reflect different shades.”

“Elder Zhang, are you suggesting that if the Five-Colored Brush existed first, then the people you listed might not have dreamt of it, but rather that they possessed it?” Wang Guan speculated.

“That’s not impossible,”

Elder Zhang nodded. “Otherwise, these dreams seem too frequent and follow too closely in succession. But if one possesses a wondrous treasure, one must be cautious, so perhaps they claimed it was a dream.”

“The past is like smoke; there’s no need to nitpick,”

Wang Guan shook his head slightly, his smile bright. “As long as we can prove this is the legendary Five-Colored Brush, that’s enough. Elder Zhang, you call it a rare treasure; surely it’s worth more than Wu Zhen’s Fisherman’s Picture, right?” “How can they be compared?”

Elder Zhang immediately shook his head and sighed. “Things are slightly better in modern times, but in antiquity, this brush would have been a priceless treasure, something longed for above all else—a thing no one would ever willingly part with, hoping to pass it down through generations…”