"I can't refuse your kind invitation, I can't refuse your kind invitation." He took the sachet, pretending to throw it away, but suddenly there was no one around.
He exclaimed in surprise, only to hear someone urging him from below, "Throw it, sir!"
"What are you all doing lying down?" Looking around, everyone was either hiding or dodging, but he was the only one standing.
"To make the guests stand out, if everyone crowded upstairs, how would Mr. Yu know who threw the sachet?"
The people of Nanjing are so kind-hearted; he was touched.
"You're here, sir! This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity!"
Although he had never seen a beauty in plain clothes, he felt that this dazzling red suited her perfectly. Her lips were naturally red without lipstick, her eyebrows naturally dark without makeup, and her slightly upturned crescent-shaped eyes, touched by the spring breeze, were even more beautiful than rouge.
On a whim, he threw the sachet away.
A breeze blew overhead, and her beautiful eyes glanced indifferently. Before she could make a move, Yama roared.
"How dare you plot against my youngest son?!"
With a wicked glare of triangular eyes, he spun around and delivered a vicious kick. The sachet, imbued with internal force, struck the instigator's chin like a heavy punch. The outsider's body was suspended in mid-air before crashing heavily onto the table.
The moment the table cracked, the people on the ground scrambled to their feet.
"It's a pity it wasn't the Silver Demoness who made the move," someone lamented.
"If Yu Moumou makes the move."
All eyes turned to the most prosperous restaurant in Nanjing today.
Banners fluttered in the wind, and from afar, a huge hole appeared. Upon closer inspection, however, it was a rubbing of a human figure with grotesquely mangled limbs. The stone wall through which the person had emerged had long been dismantled by the innkeeper and neatly framed to become the signboard screen wall of Fushun Restaurant.
From the depression to the piercing through the void, the junior brother's courage reached its peak, so much so that every time he passed by, his belief deepened: he absolutely, absolutely, absolutely had to fulfill Young Master Shangguan's wish!
"Senior brother, what are you thinking about?"
Eleven suddenly snapped out of his daze: "N-nothing... I was just wondering why there are fewer and fewer people accompanying my junior brother. Yesterday, Ninth Brother was missing, and today Seventh Brother is missing too." He secretly wiped a bead of sweat from his brow, praising himself for his quick thinking.
Yu Zigui pouted sheepishly, "You know I'm just a figurehead as the leader of the martial arts alliance. Most of the affairs in the martial arts world are handled by Young Master Wei. With Xiao Kuang's wedding, all the martial arts people have gathered in Jinling, which has caused Young Master Wei a lot of trouble. Ninth Senior Brother is also worried. As for Seventh Senior Brother..."
“Seventh Brother has something to do at the shop,” Luo Shi interjected. Seeing Yu Zigui looking over, he smiled calmly, “Of course it’s not bad. Our youngest brother is always busy, and the clothing shop is so busy that we can’t keep up with the demand.”
This was certainly not the truth. Although the seventh brother's business had encountered setbacks, the sixth brother, who was in charge at home, guessed who was responsible, but he didn't expect someone to have defected to the enemy. Logically speaking, the secrets of Rong's Clothing Shop were known only to the seventh brother and his brothers, besides a few managers he trusted.
Who exactly is the mole? His gaze unconsciously swept across the room and settled on Eleven.
"Senior brother, what's wrong?" Yu Zigui asked with concern when he saw Eleven covered in cold sweat.
His innocent eyes blinked frantically, and when he saw that not only Luo Shi, but even the fierce myna bird was looking at him, Eleven broke out in a cold sweat.
"I...I have a stomachache!" he suddenly shouted, his hand instantly forming a knife as he turned and ran.
"It looks like it really hurts."
Looking at the dust swirling in the street, Luo Shi sighed.
Chapter Eight
Crossing the main streets and disappearing into the alleys, the hunched figure left behind a series of overlapping footprints in Nanjing, finally ending in front of an inconspicuous back door.
Tap, tap, tap, the knuckles of the fingers striking the ring turned a little white.
"Who is it? Why aren't you using the main gate!" The servant opened the door and was dumbfounded. The man was covered in dust, which must have weighed at least two pounds. Who was this person...? "Uncle?" he called out uncertainly. Underneath the thick layer of dust, a round mouth twitched open.
Is someone behind me?
The servant was taken aback and looked behind him. "Nothing."
"Where are the eaves and corners?"
"No."
His tense baby face suddenly relaxed: "Luckily, I took a few extra detours."
"What江湖人 (江湖人, a term referring to people in the martial arts world) has Uncle offended?" the servant asked as he closed the door.
"No...no, it's not..." The young man's face twitched, and a pile of dirt fell off.
Listening to his incoherent ramblings, the servant was about 80% certain. Even if he hadn't eaten pork, hadn't he seen pigs run? In his youth, he too had yearned for the martial arts world, but his years in the Shangguan family shattered his dreams completely. Even the most aloof and proud female knight-errant would bow down for a few taels of silver, and even the most dashing and romantic knight-errant would end up like his uncle, covered in dust and grime while trying to escape debt and trouble. The martial arts world is a mess if you don't play it right; he'd better just stay a servant.
"Uncle." He pushed open the door to the small room overlooking the lake and bowed slightly.
"Oh, there's tea, snacks, and even paintbrushes?" Shiyi was pleasantly surprised by the arrangement on the table.
"These are all instructions from Steward Lin: 'If the young master comes, bring him to the studio. Wen Tai's brushes, Yi De Zhai's ink, and Jia Jiang's paper are all of the finest quality.'"
"Very good, very good." The brush tip dipped in ink, quickly drawing a white cloud. The familiar feel almost brought tears to Eleven's eyes. If being a spy meant this kind of treatment, he would have become one long ago. Even if his senior brothers beat him to death, he would still cling to Young Master Shangguan's leg and die smiling.
"Butler Lin also said, 'If the young master is in the mood, he might as well paint a few more portraits of beauties.'"
"Huh? A painting of a beauty?" He paused, then looked up.
"Didn't my uncle paint two pictures a few days ago? No sooner had he left than they were framed and sent to the master's study." With a dark blush on his face, the servant spoke as if reminiscing about some peerless beauty.
"No way!" Eleven was instantly dumbfounded. Those two... were they really "beauty paintings"? One was clearly sinisterly watching apricot blossoms, and the other was fiercely smashing through a stone wall. The skill was astonishing, comparable to breaking a boulder on one's chest. Together, they were just as sinister and fierce as his junior brother's painting. Every stroke was shocking, and the lines were as bloody as blood. Especially the second one, which he had personally witnessed the cause and effect of the human-shaped screen wall at Fushun Tower. He had created it when he fled to the Shangguan government office with a trembling heart. How could it have become a "beauty painting"?
Is it that people's romantic feelings are in the wrong place, or has his painting skills deteriorated drastically?
Just as he was wondering, he saw five fingers waving in front of his eyes. "Uncle, youngest uncle?"
He blinked and came to his senses, only to see the ink-laden brush dripping onto the white clouds on the paper. It seemed he was destined not to paint any scenery today, so he might as well go along with the strange aesthetics of the Shangguan family. With a slight tilt of the brush, he transformed the clouds into a banner, and the ink stain in the center became a print, strikingly revealing a large banner in the shape of a person from Fushunlou. With further turns and pauses in the brushstrokes, he depicted the onlookers in the market, and the varying thickness and shades of ink outlined graceful and handsome figures.
Looking at the beauty, she is actually... Alas, if it weren't for the myna bird striking first, this reader who offered up such a beautiful woman would have received more than just fists and kicks in return. The reader is truly blessed.
With eleven strokes and two lines, a face that has been beaten crooked by a sachet is sketched out on the elegant seat opposite Fushunlou.
...
"Young Master, your maternal uncle has arrived," said Uncle Lin from the study overlooking the water.
The wind rustled softly, and the blue figure before the painting remained motionless. Uncle Lin leaned forward slightly and saw his young master staring at one of the paintings with an unreadable expression.
A crescent moon hangs high in the sky, a woman sits quietly by the window, apricot blossoms fill the air outside, her eyes seem lost in thought.
"Do you know what she's looking at?" A sudden question startled Uncle Lin from his thoughts.
The blue figure in front of him was still turned away, but Lin Bo knew he was also looking at the painting. He apologized and moved closer to take a closer look. The person in the painting had a vacant look in his eyes, sometimes near, sometimes far, as if looking out of the painting, or perhaps looking at the rain of flowers, his thoughts unclear.
"Did Uncle draw it wrong? The eyes are hard to see."
A soft chuckle was heard: "It's not that it's wrong, it's that it's too good."
"Is it painted too well?" The old man was a little puzzled.
"What you paint comes from what you see. Only someone with a clear mind can paint the most authentic scenes. In the painting, the apricot trees are as bright as brocade, but only one tree has fallen petals like rain. Why is that?"
A single sentence, like the moon emerging from the clouds, made my old eyes pause and look again at the painting. The flowers in Jinling only begin to fall in April; even if the trees are different, they couldn't have fallen half a month earlier, unless there was a spring rain overnight, or perhaps—
"There's someone in the tree!" Uncle Lin exclaimed. "On the night of the young master's wedding, the sky was clear and the rain was not expected. I'm afraid the young mistress was targeted by 'One Night of Spring' at the wedding banquet and then followed and hid there. Young master, the young mistress is in danger!"
Do you think she doesn't know?
"Huh?" The old man was stunned.
Her fingertips traced the eyes in the painting. "She saw it all along, and not only did she see it, she also got what she wanted."
"Young Master, are you saying that the young mistress intentionally lured out 'One Night of Spring'?"
His thin face was slightly bluish, and the beautiful eyes beneath his fingers evoked both love and hate in him. Shangguan's dark eyes deepened, narrowing into a dangerous arc. "This woman."
The sound was barely concealed, filled with gritted teeth, causing Uncle Lin to shrink back and take a step back. Even when he heard his uncle's betrayal that the young mistress and the eldest uncle were plotting together, the young master hadn't been angry, only finding it amusing. But now, he was truly enraged because the young mistress had risked her life alone. It seemed the young master was doomed, completely under the young mistress's thumb.
The gambling den has opened inside the Shangguan mansion, and he's determined to bet on the young mistress!
Clenching his old fist, Uncle Lin looked again and saw that his young master's eyes were dark and gleaming. His old eyes followed the handsome eyes, and then the handsome eyes followed the beautiful eyes in the painting, and so on.
The young mistress gracefully struck out with her palm, but what she saw was not the prodigal son who had been sent flying, but a corner, and in the corner was... the young uncle! The blank space was perfectly timed! The truth, the old man wants to see the truth!
While he was still agonizing over his fate, he heard his young master ask, "Is there a painting for the eleventh of today?"
The old man suddenly realized: "Yes, yes, my uncle went straight into the studio as soon as he arrived. I'll send someone right away, or I'll go get it myself!"
As the words fell outside, Shangguan turned around and saw the bamboo curtain swaying gently. All that remained for him was the spring light in the room and the beautiful woman in the painting.
This woman calculated it perfectly, didn't she? She calculated that he would never allow anyone to bump into her, she calculated that even if he saw through her and Fu Changyu's little scheme, he would never stand idly by, she calculated that he would be ahead of them on their path, she calculated that he...
They say there are few people in the world like him and Fu Changyu, and most are like her who would rather "live under a precarious roof than be a homeless dog." But most people are willing to live a life of compromise rather than change. Unlike her, who risked everything alone.
Shangguan looked at the beautiful eyes in the painting, the deep ink in those dark eyes, a hint of hatred and resentment, yet also a quiet tenderness.
The martial world is essentially made up of ordinary people; the fear of death and the pursuit of fame and fortune are simply human nature. A different kind of martial world? He didn't believe it, but this silly girl did, and not only did she believe it, she also knew he didn't. This time, she risked her life alone, not to lure out "One Night of Spring," but to lure out Shangguan Yi.
To change this world, we must start by changing him, right? Let's start with him.
The word "first" kept swirling in his mind, and for some reason, he felt a little smug. He was both annoyed and pleased with this small bit of pride.
Just as he was struggling with these complicated emotions, he heard the old man excitedly shout, "Young master, the painting is here! The painting is here!"
The ink on the painting was still wet, and the distant scenery hadn't even been rendered yet; it was clearly just snatched from the artist's brush. Uncle Lin held up the Xuan paper, his eyes fixed intently on his young master as he looked at the painting, hoping to glean some insight from his gaze.
His handsome brows twitched almost imperceptibly, then relaxed slightly: "I see."
The old man stood to one side, scratching like a cat's claws. Shangguan glanced at him and asked, "Where are A-Kuang and his wife?"
"Young Master Wei is hosting a banquet in Yecheng to arbitrate matters in the martial arts world. Young Master Biao accompanied Madam Biao to record history." Uncle Lin said, then suddenly seemed to remember something and slapped his forehead. "Look at my memory! Madam Biao said that back then, 'One Night Spring' was killed by the great hero Yu Zhanyuan with a single palm strike because he was disrespectful to Madam Yu. This was witnessed by the previous Nanshan Elder. The current 'One Night Spring' must be a fake. As for the 'One Night Spring' who died back then, Madam Biao has already copied down his family background and the sleeping potion he used."
As he spoke, he handed over a piece of paper. Although there were only two lines of text on the paper, they were explosive enough that no one could have imagined it. The old man blinked his eyes, eagerly anticipating the bizarre sight of his young master's handsome face cracking.
Looking at the ink writing, Shangguan said, "Just as I thought."
The old face cracked first, like lines on dry land.
How could that be? When he learned of this news this morning, the restless desire he felt, which he could only secretly savor, was comparable to the passion of youth. Why was the young master not surprised at all, but rather somewhat bored? Could it be that the young master already knew about the background of the Japanese man who had the "One Night Spring" back then, and that he would use the drug "Night Cherry" to urge the woman before picking flowers?
“If I’m not mistaken, only the Japanese can produce this ‘Night Cherry Blossom’,” Shangguan said.
With trembling old eyes, he looked at her again, almost with reverence.
With a glance, Shangguan guessed his thoughts. "Uncle Lin, do you want to know how I guessed they were Japanese?"
"Young Master is wise!"
With a lazy flick of his long finger, he pointed to the onlooker in the painting who was being hit by a flying sachet. He noticed that the man's belt was slightly high and his outer robe was worn in a rather strange way.
“The Rong and Di peoples are different from the Hua people. Even if a monkey wears human clothes, it is still just a monkey.”