Chapter 466: Face Paint

"Sixth Brother, what do you see?" Master asked from beside him.

"I saw... faces, and labels?"

"In my opinion, those aren't labels, but rather the 'anchor points' of a character." Master calmly explained, "A painted face is the essence of a character. Even if everything else is overlooked, as long as that face exists, their joys, sorrows, anger, and happiness, their spiritual thoughts, will endure forever. It's like a massive anchor on a ship, firmly affixing the character to the turbulent sea. No matter how the story's plot twists and turns, the ship remains there, and they remain themselves."

"Anchor point..." Chen Ling murmured.

"You, too, are now a ship, sailing on an unprecedented ocean of confusion. But your hull is weak and vulnerable; even a slight ripple of confusion could smash you to pieces." Master turned his head, his deep eyes fixed on Chen Ling as he slowly spoke, "To overcome confusion, you need to find an 'anchor'."

"Are you saying I need a painted face?"

"More precisely, you need a painted face that belongs to you—a painted face that belongs to 'Chen Ling.' Only then, when you feel lost about your own existence, or even when your mind is completely consumed by confusion, will you have a glimmer of hope to find yourself again."

Master's voice, profound and mysterious, echoed in Chen Ling's ears. He felt as if he understood, yet at the same time, he didn't.

"So... what exactly should I do?" Chen Ling asked, puzzled.

Instead of explaining further, Master countered with a question: "If you were to have a painted face of your own, which theatrical role do you think it would represent?"

Chen Ling's gaze swept across the four faces—Sheng, Dan, Jing, and Mo—as he fell into thought. Up until now, he was probably most familiar with the "Dan" role, as this body was originally Chen Yan's. However, on reflection, the painted face was a manifestation of his personal will. In his self-perception, he was "Chen Ling," not "Chen Yan," so he couldn't simply define himself by the "Dan" role. Yet the other roles—Sheng, Jing, Mo, and Chou—didn't seem to relate much to him either. Could it be Sheng? No, that didn't feel right...

Five painted faces flashed before Chen Ling's eyes. After much thought, he still shook his head. "I... don't know."

"That's perfectly normal," Master said calmly. "After all, people aren't 'characters' simplistically labeled in stories; they are highly complex composites of personality. Everyone possesses elements of Sheng, Dan, Jing, Mo, and Chou, though expressed to different degrees. The process of painting one's own face is essentially the process of self-discovery—meticulously dissecting one's past and present, transforming them into lines and colors, and manifesting them as a unique face. This process is called 'Hui Zhu Yan'."

Upon hearing this, Chen Ling broadly grasped the meaning of "Hui Zhu Yan." He also understood why Master had previously stated that this secret method could help him dispel his confusion. Although he couldn't recall the exact nature of his own confusion, having the painted face as an "anchor point" would at least prevent him from easily losing himself.

"Please teach me, Master," Chen Ling said respectfully.

Master waved a hand, indicating to Ning Ruyu and the others that they could come down, and said, "'Hui Zhu Yan' is a long process. Your painted face will also evolve as your experiences grow. What you need to do now is to draw a preliminary outline of a painted face, based on your current understanding of yourself."

"How should I do it?"

"Go onto the stage."

Without hesitation, Chen Ling stepped onto the stage. Ning Ruyu and the others had already returned to the first row of the audience seats, leaving Chen Ling alone on the empty stage. Standing on stage, he looked at the empty audience seats below, instinctively recalling the theater in his mind. Fortunately, the two were not identical; most importantly, these seats were devoid of those cursed "audience members."

Master then stepped onto the stage. He raised a hand, and a brush materialized in his palm. Its handle was entirely black but uneven, as if carved from ancient beast bone, while the fine bristles of its tip, like freshly fallen snow, appeared to be delicate hairs from an unknown creature. As the brush appeared, an inexplicable sensation surged through Chen Ling. The snow-white tip seemed to possess a profound purifying power; merely a glance could cause one's mind to clear involuntarily.

Master stood before the stage curtain, facing Chen Ling, and spoke again: "Sit down."

Chen Ling sat cross-legged, his back to the empty seats.

"Next, I will teach you a passage of lyrics. Once you've memorized it, I will use this brush to guide you into a state of 'no form, no self.' In that state, your consciousness will enter a 'pseudo-sleep,' retaining only a trace of awareness, and the face will be completely blank. At that point, you will use the lyrics to gradually awaken yourself. During this process, the experiences and emotions hidden within your past will transform into patterns, outlining the preliminary form of 'Zhu Yan'."

Chen Ling nodded firmly. "I understand."

"Good, then listen carefully..."

Master's lips parted slightly, and a passage of obscure, challenging lyrics echoed in Chen Ling's ears. The vocal style and melody were incredibly difficult, and they also resonated with spiritual fluctuations. If Chen Ling's singing ability hadn't been exceptionally solid, he likely wouldn't have been able to reproduce it at all. Chen Ling frowned, listening intently as Master sang it several times before he finally memorized it.

"Have you memorized it?"

"Yes."

"Sing it for me to hear."

Chen Ling immediately began to sing the passage. There was no error in rhythm or wording; he had virtually replicated Master's singing style perfectly. His four fellow disciples below the stage clicked their tongues in astonishment, seemingly marveling at Chen Ling's extraordinary talent.

Master listened, a look of satisfaction appearing on his face, and he nodded slightly. "Very good. Now... it's up to you."

Chen Ling took a deep breath and slowly closed his eyes, becoming like a red-robed statue with his back to the stage. Master stood before him, his youthful face bearing a calm depth beyond his years. He slowly raised the black-handled brush with white bristles and lightly touched it to Chen Ling's forehead.

The next moment, Chen Ling felt a coolness emanating from his forehead, followed by a sensation as if his head had been struck hard, and his consciousness plummeted as if falling off a cliff. His vision went completely black.

On the stage, a streak of white rapidly spread across Chen Ling's face, instantly covering his original features and skin, as if he had donned a pure white mask—clean, pure, and full of infinite possibilities.