Chapter 1741: Body Photography

Chapter 1741: Nude Painting

Another quiet night. Qing Luan Mountain Peak was immersed in serenity.

Under an old tree, Chu Ling sat gracefully, her posture elegant, a faint smile on her face, emanating the gentle charm of a young woman.

Just a few meters away, Ye Chen had set up an easel, holding a brush, meticulously sketching stroke by stroke.

The night was beautiful, flowers in bloom, the moon full. The atmosphere was truly romantic, enough to make anyone envious.

However, when one looked at what Ye Chen was painting, the romance vanished, leaving only chaos. The painting was undeniably lewd.

His skill was absolutely divine, capturing Chu Ling in perfect detail, making her utterly captivating.

This style, this pursuit, this level of artistry—truly unmatched.

“Still not done?” Chu Ling asked, not for the first time.

“Don’t rush!” Ye Chen replied, adding another stroke before stepping back two paces, stroking his chin as he admired it. “Not bad.”

“A painting that takes over three hours—you must be messing with me on purpose.” Chu Ling didn’t believe him and rubbed her neck as she walked over.

When she saw the scroll, she was struck as if by lightning.

Is that me? Yes, it was her, with a perfect figure—curves in all the right places and poise where it should be.

In an instant, her cheeks flushed bright red. Whether from embarrassment or anger, she wasn’t sure. So, you’ve been painting my body all this time.

“Not bad, right?” Ye Chen tossed his brush aside, swaggering as he flipped his hair and even smoothed it back for good measure.

“Ye Chen!” Chu Ling was furious, stamping her feet in frustration.

Her sharp cry was strikingly resonant and incredibly loud, jolting people out of their dreams and making them bolt upright.

Many poked their heads out, glancing toward Qing Luan Peak with strange expressions.

This couple is always causing a ruckus—staying up late and making noise, disturbing everyone else’s sleep.

Qing Luan Peak turned lively as Ye Chen scrambled ahead in a panic, while Chu Ling chased after him with an iron rod, seething with rage.

How embarrassing, utterly embarrassing. She knew he was shameless, but not to this extent. And ridiculously, she had even cooperated.

“How about I pose for you to paint me?” Ye Chen grinned widely.

“Do you have any shame?” Chu Ling swung the rod, ready to strike.

“Stop.” Ye Chen waved his hand and halted abruptly, glancing up at the starry sky and then at his own body, where a light was manifesting.

Surprisingly, Chu Ling stopped too, her raised iron rod frozen in mid-air as she quietly watched the light on Ye Chen.

Ye Chen’s body began to fade into illusion. The Tong Ling contract imprint appeared, enveloping his form in a mysterious force.

Clearly, in Zhu Tian, the host Qing Chuan was Li Changsheng, who was performing Tong Ling with Qing Chuan. But the Tong Ling contract resided in Ye Chen’s body.

“I’m heading out,” Ye Chen smiled, gently caressing Chu Ling’s cheek. His roguish expression vanished, replaced by pure tenderness.

“Be safe,” Chu Ling grumbled, her earlier anger dissolving instantly with those words.

“Wait for me.” Ye Chen chuckled, donning a Youming mask to cover his face. As a celebrity, he didn’t want to be recognized and cause unnecessary trouble—it made him feel more at ease with it on.

“If you like looking at it so much, take it with you!” Chu Ling shot him a glare and shoved her scroll into his hands.

“It’s from my wife, so I have to keep it safe.” Ye Chen chuckled heartily, taking it and tucking it into his robe—this was a real treasure.

As he spoke, his body turned transparent and then transformed into a beam of light, shooting straight into the sky and vanishing in an instant.

Chu Ling looked up, waving lightly, her heart feeling empty.

Having experienced life and death, she hated separations, even if it was just for months or days—she didn’t want to seek him only in memories.

Bai Zhi, Ming Jue, Qing Luan, and Zi Xuan all arrived.

The three-day limit hadn’t passed yet, but Li Changsheng was likely in danger, forcing him to perform Tong Ling with Qing Chuan to aid in battle.

“Zhu Tian is about to get lively.” Ming Jue sighed.

No one disagreed—in fact, they all concurred.

Who was Ye Chen? A natural troublemaker and a born war god. His existence proved one truth: wherever he went, chaos followed.

This time, going back with his temperament, it would be a miracle if he didn’t stir up the world. If he didn’t take on the great Hong Huang clans, he wouldn’t be Ye Chen.

Meanwhile, Ye Chen’s consciousness drifted away, feeling his body twist and distort.

He found himself in a mysterious passage, filled with bizarre and surreal sights. The flow of light disrupted time and upended space.

This was his first time being Tong Ling-ed, and it was refreshingly novel.

Tong Ling techniques were already unconventional, ignoring boundaries between realms, but compared to Di Dao Tong Ming, they were still a level below.

Soon, a mysterious force pulled him out of the passage.

When he reappeared, he was in a range of towering mountains, with jagged peaks and ancient trees reaching the sky. Occasionally, the roars of demonic beasts echoed.

Ye Chen stood still, tilting his head back slightly and closing his eyes, letting the starlight and moonlight fall on him while greedily absorbing the aura of the world around him.

It was a long-lost feeling, a long-lost aura—pure bliss to experience.

He didn’t need to ask; he knew this was Zhu Tian. The scent of his homeland was still so familiar, so warm.

In that moment, even the hardest heart would melt. He felt an urge to cry from emotion—all the hardships and struggles had finally brought him back.

“Who are you?” Ye Chen was enjoying the moment when an untimely voice interrupted, laced with extreme confusion.

The speaker was a young man standing right beside Ye Chen.

He wore white robes and had purple hair, with an ordinary appearance and nothing remarkable about him. His cultivation was nothing special either—just an entry-level Quasi-Saint.

That’s right, he was Li Changsheng, the host of Qing Chuan, the one who had performed the Tong Ling technique and summoned Ye Chen.

But what shocked him was that this wasn’t his Tong Ling beast—his contracted spirit beast was a Qing Luan.

And who was this masked person he had Tong Ling-ed? All his confusion boiled down to one word: baffled.

“You’re Li Changsheng,” Ye Chen said, turning to look at him.

“Yes, that’s me.” Li Changsheng nodded, his expression tinged with wariness, as if he sensed a terrifying aura from Ye Chen.

“Where is this?” Having confirmed his identity, Ye Chen pressed on.

“Chi Chen Star.” Li Changsheng answered, feeling utterly disoriented. What the hell—is he the one asking questions here?

“How far is it from Xuan Huang?” Ye Chen followed up quickly.

“I...”

“You two idiots! Are we fighting or not? Show some effort!” Li Changsheng’s words were cut off by an interruption.

Only then did Ye Chen notice three figures standing opposite them: a black-robed young man, a purple-robed middle-aged man, and a white-robed elder.

All three had blood-red eyes, looking fierce and menacing, wielding killing swords radiating murderous energy, like three bandits who lived by the blade.

Li Changsheng nervously gripped his sword, beads of cold sweat forming on his forehead.

Ye Chen raised an eyebrow, eyeing the three opponents with interest—they were all Quasi-Saints. No wonder Li Changsheng had resorted to Tong Ling for a three-on-one fight.

“Who exactly are you? Where’s Qing Chuan?” Li Changsheng asked Ye Chen via voice transmission while keeping his eyes on the opponents. “What’s going on?”

“Hand over the treasure and scram,” Ye Chen said, not replying to Li Changsheng but addressing the three across from them, his tone bold and brash.

“Hey!” The black-robed young man wasn’t having it. He leaped into the air and, without another word, unleashed a massive sword strike from above.

Ye Chen didn’t bother responding. He casually raised his hand, erasing the sword strike and sending the black-robed young man flying.

The young man shot off like a streak of light, crashing through over a dozen mountains before finally crashing down—who knew how far.

The world fell silent. Not just Li Changsheng at his side, but even the middle-aged man and elder opposite them trembled in shock.

A casual palm strike had sent a Quasi-Saint flying. Anyone with a brain would realize Ye Chen was no ordinary foe—at least a Saint.

“Who... who are you?” The purple-robed middle-aged man and white-robed elder were shaking all over, terrified as they backed away repeatedly.

What a miscalculation—a situation they thought they had under control, only to find Li Changsheng’s Tong Ling summon was incredibly powerful.

Compared to them, Li Changsheng was thrilled. He had planned to summon Qing Chuan for a two-against-three matchup, at worst escaping. But now, seeing this, the person before him was far stronger than Qing Chuan.

In that moment, he straightened up proudly—who cares who Ye Chen was? He was the one who had summoned him.

As he spoke, Ye Chen waved his hand, and the retreating middle-aged man and elder dropped to their knees on the spot, prostrating themselves.

“Answer my question—how far is this place from Xuan Huang Continent?” Ye Chen collected the treasures and continued his earlier inquiry.