On the third day, it rained mixed with snow, so Xing Pingchun couldn’t play outside and was sent by Xing Muzheng to Mr. Cao’s class. Xing Muzheng pulled Qian Jiaoniang into the study and unrolled the yet-unframed painting.
On the snowy white paper was a towering mountain shrouded in mist, with a giant tree standing among it. Xing Muzheng and Yanluo said it was a master’s work, but to Qian Jiaoniang, it was no different from the landscape paintings by down-and-out scholars outside.
“Mr. Liu’s painting of the tall mountain and cypress trees is truly exquisite. This poem was asked by him for me to write. Come look and see how it is?” Xing Muzheng pointed to the flowing cursive poem on the left with a hint of pride.
Qian Jiaoniang carefully looked at the painting for a while, then the poem for a while, and finally said, “I think those who sell calligraphy and paintings are about the same.”
“How can those half-baked ones compare with this painting?” Xing Muzheng laughed.
Qian Jiaoniang’s heart was slightly pricked. She looked down then up and met Xing Muzheng’s eyes with a smile, “If the Marquis says it’s good, then it’s good, but I don’t understand the poem, and I don’t get the painting either. If the Marquis wants to appreciate the painting, he picked the wrong person. I’ll help you invite Miss Zhao. Oh, Yanluo also really wants to see Master Liu’s works; you can ask her to come too.”
Xing Muzheng was slightly surprised.
So his idea of marrying a talented young lady wasn’t unreasonable; at least this wouldn’t ruin his mood now. It was just a mismatch. Qian Jiaoniang turned to leave, but Xing Muzheng wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her back, “I am appreciating the painting with you. Why bring others?”
Qian Jiaoniang pushed his hand away, “Isn’t it because I don’t understand that I spoiled the Marquis’s mood?”
“If you don’t understand, that’s right. I already knew you wouldn’t understand,” Xing Muzheng said firmly, though he had forgotten that point himself. He secretly scolded himself for carelessness but remained confident on the surface, “I only showed you the painting to make you reflect, to remind you not to slack in reading and calligraphy.”
Qian Jiaoniang glared. So he called her here not to see the painting but to advise her to study? This man was really interesting! She muttered quietly, “I’m stupid and can’t learn.”
“What’s so hard to learn? Come here.” Xing Muzheng pulled Qian Jiaoniang to the table, spread out a sheet of white paper, handed her a wolf hair brush, and pointed to the round sun in the painting, “Copy this from the painting and see.”
“I won’t draw.”
“I’ll draw with you.” Xing Muzheng didn’t give her a choice, wrapped his arms around her from behind, grabbed her hand, and held the brush together with her. Qian Jiaoniang, in broad daylight, was fully embraced by him. From being uncomfortable, it turned into another kind of discomfort. She struggled slightly, “Let go of me.”
Xing Muzheng warned, pressing on her waist, “Don’t move around.”
Qian Jiaoniang’s face instantly flushed red.
These words had become all too familiar to her these past two days and nights—Xing Muzheng telling her not to move, not to twist around, but even if she didn’t move or twist, he still flipped her over again and again, teasing her thoroughly.
Seeming to feel the heat on her face, Xing Muzheng pressed his ear against her and asked in a husky voice, “What are you thinking about?”
Qian Jiaoniang, flustered but somewhat calm, said, “I’m thinking about how to paint.”
Xing Muzheng chuckled low, the sound piercing straight into her ear, making her ears tingle.
“How do you want to paint?” Xing Muzheng’s thumb traced a circle on her waist.
Qian Jiaoniang felt a tingling at her waist, her face red all over. “You—behave yourself! It’s broad daylight, what do you want to do!”
Xing Muzheng hadn’t planned anything, but her words sparked him. He bit her ear, “Whatever you think in your heart, I want to do.”
“I’m not thinking anything! Don’t get the wrong idea!” Qian Jiaoniang said angrily. Was she really that kind of improper person?
Xing Muzheng laughed twice again, and his laughter made Qian Jiaoniang uncomfortable from head to toe. She was about to speak but was stopped when Xing Muzheng twisted her face with his hand and sealed her lips with his.
How could he kiss her in the study? It was still so bright outside, and he did this! Qian Jiaoniang muffled her resistance, but Xing Muzheng ignored her and lifted her chin, his thick tongue pushing into her mouth, roughly stirring. After days of his torment, Qian Jiaoniang’s body softened instantly.
Xing Muzheng always thought that even if he couldn’t win her heart, by first making her body unable to leave him, there would still be a chance. So he worked hard in bed, often making Qian Jiaoniang cry and beg for mercy. In truth, it was because he was never satisfied himself—once on her, he just wanted to take her, maybe to vent years of fire onto her.
Although he had only been with Qian Jiaoniang a few times before, he was exceptionally gifted and learned quickly, even mastering Zhen Hao’s secret paintings. Those paintings included some in the garden, which weren’t seen in the study, but maybe that was fine—he would try in the garden the next day.
After the ruckus, Qian Jiaoniang softly collapsed on Xing Muzheng’s chest, the brush, ink, paper, and inkstone before her seeming to sway. She was so embarrassed she had no face to show herself.
Xing Muzheng was temporarily satisfied. He straightened her clothes, smoothed her messy hair, and brought her a cup of hot tea to drink. He picked up the brush that had fallen to the ground at some unknown time and placed it aside. Seeing this, the flush that had gone down came rushing back up. She held the brush tightly until she couldn’t bear it anymore… Then looking carefully, she saw there was still ink on Xing Muzheng’s embroidered robe…
She wanted to tell him but felt too embarrassed, so she pretended not to see it.
Xing Muzheng still remembered asking her to look at the painting and took another brush for Qian Jiaoniang, telling her to paint. Qian Jiaoniang really didn’t dare provoke him, took the brush, and obediently copied on the paper. But even a small circle she couldn’t draw round—crooked and skewed, more like a stone than the sun.
“See, even ordinary people can’t draw a perfect circle, let alone the ink’s depth here. Look at Master Liu’s painting—too much ink is thick, too little is light. See how the clouds and mist float? Does it not seem like an immortal scene? Tomorrow, you can carefully look at those paintings outside sold for a string of coins and see if anyone can grasp this subtlety. This is the simplest part. The true art lies in the ‘soul’ and ‘spirit’ that people see in a painting—that’s what makes a good painting,” Xing Muzheng said.
Hearing this, Qian Jiaoniang looked again carefully and tried drawing a tree—ended up a crooked-neck tree. “What you say makes some sense.”
Xing Muzheng said, “Of course what I say makes sense. Actually, calligraphy and painting have the same wonderful similarity as your embroidery. Last time you embroidered that skirt, weren’t those flowers so fresh-looking and beautiful on you because you found the right way?”
Qian Jiaoniang raised an eyebrow. She didn’t want embroidery—this woman’s work—to be compared to Master’s paintings in Xing Muzheng’s mouth, but somehow it sounded cultured. She bent over the table, watching carefully. Thinking about embroidering this painting, the more she looked, the more exquisite it seemed. “Oh, these leaves are so detailed and the ink changes color, like sunlight shining on them. That’s not easy to paint! And the tree trunk, look at the old bark, and here there’s some added ink—it’s so vivid!”
Xing Muzheng said, “Now that you say it, I can see it too. You’re talented; maybe you’ll appreciate paintings better than me one day.”
Qian Jiaoniang looked up at him, eyes smiling, “You’re just flattering me.” But she was happy to hear it!
Xing Muzheng, rarely seeing Qian Jiaoniang so charming, felt a pleasant tingling in his heart and smiled, “I’m telling the truth.”
