Guaizai finished singing, panting heavily, his face red from exertion.
The song's melody was fresh and unfamiliar, distinct from the conventional tunes typically heard at such gatherings
Its rhythm was lively and celebratory, and Guaizai's dancing was comical.
Someone said, "This little child can really sing! It's very fitting for the occasion. The Old Lady is kind and harmonious, treating others with generosity and kindness. Good people are naturally blessed by heaven, so of course good luck should come."
Everyone chimed in agreement. Some even applauded for Guaizai. The room was lively. Old Lady Zheng even beckoned Guaizai to her side, sat him on her lap, and pinched his little cheek with her wrinkled, aged hand. "You little child, who taught you that song? You sang it very well."
"My father taught me!" Guaizai said.
____
Approaching noon, after receiving guests in the front courtyard, Old Lady Zheng arrived.
She had specifically had the old maidservant help her dress up. Now she had changed into brighter-colored clothes, looking quite spirited.
She sat in the lakeside pavilion, leaning against a pillar, with a vast green lake behind her.
Young servants brought tables and chairs, placing them according to the positions chosen by the master painter, equipped with brushes, ink, paper, and inkstones.
The original plan was to have them in the covered corridor of the rear courtyard, where it was sheltered from the wind, but Old Lady Zheng was unwilling, disliking the scenery there.
The other painters glanced at Fang Zichen and then began to dip their brushes in ink and start painting.
Fang Zichen, however, remained still. He carefully observed Old Lady Zheng for a moment, firmly memorizing her expression, demeanor, and facial features before retrieving something from his waist—a pencil he had crafted himself while in Yuanzhou.
"A general does not fight unprepared battles," and he was the same.
Since he was here, he naturally intended to secure that thirty taels of silver in one go.
Old Lady Zheng was old and couldn't sit still for long. She took breaks back and forth. Each time she rested, the other painters stopped their brushes. Only Fang Zichen continued effortlessly, sketching swiftly.
In the art of painting, maintaining a tranquil and concentrated mind was essential when first lifting the brush. While masters might operate with intuitive freedom, all other painters must approach each stroke with careful deliberation and mindful intent. Even Old Master Qin, when painting, moved as if in slow motion. Every painter had their own preferred angles and habits for painting people. From a distance, they saw him holding some unknown object, making large movements, like a young child scribbling recklessly without regard for technique, as if he were playing around.
He wasn't even using a proper brush for painting? Was this a joke?
His grip on that thing was clearly incorrect from a technical standpoint. He was just a young man, after all, unaware of his own limits and full of himself.
They had even felt irritation toward him, mistakenly overvaluing his abilities and considering him a competitor.
How childish.
Figure sketching did not take very long; it depended entirely on one's skill level. A highly skilled artist could capture the form and spirit in ten or twenty minutes. Someone less skilled might need one or two hours.
Fang Zichen could feel their disdainful looks. Thirty taels—he could easily get that if he tried half-heartedly. But these old guys repeatedly doubted him, looking at him as if he were an ignorant child, which infuriated Fang Zichen.
They might want to dampen his sharpness, but Fang Zichen wanted to crush their arrogance.
Moreover, thirty taels of silver...
One plump chicken cost only about fifty or sixty coppers. One tael was one thousand coppers. One thousand coppers could buy roughly twenty chickens.
Thirty taels... six hundred chickens...
His son and Zhao Ger loved meat so much!!!
Six hundred chickens fluttered past his mind's eye, then transformed into countless fragrant roasted chickens.
He, Zhao Ger, and their son, each holding a chicken, sat on the doorstep. Zhao Ger kissed him several times on the cheek, shy yet with eyes full of admiration:
"Husband, you're amazing!"
"Father is the most, most awesome, number one in the whole world!"
Just imagining this scene, Fang Zichen shuddered, and his 'fighting spirit' instantly soared.
After painting for a while, a maidservant nearby leaned over and poured him a cup of tea.
"Young Master, please rest for a moment!"
Fang Zichen's hand paused. He instinctively glanced at her.
"Thank you!"
The maidservant blushed and retreated to the side.
Fang Zichen didn't think much of it. He drank the tea, painted for a while longer, then stood up.
"I'm finished."
Yang Mutao was somewhat surprised and came over. "Really finished?"
Fang Zichen: "Mhm."
The other painters heard this and all turned to look.
Old Master Qin was seated at the very front, so everyone could see clearly. His painting skills were exquisite, his technique superb, but the work on his paper was only about half done.
And this young man was already finished?
He must be joking.
Yang Mutao came to the table. Everyone saw him freeze for a moment, then he picked up the drawing paper somewhat excitedly, unable to believe it. "This... this..."
The painters exchanged glances and crowded around, their eyes widening in shock.
"How is this possible?"
On the drawing paper was an extremely lifelike and vivid portrait of Old Lady Zheng, reflected on it as if a shadow. The wrinkles on her face, the fine lines at the corners of her eyes, the texture of her lips—all were meticulously rendered, with interplay of light and shadow, making it fully three-dimensional. If color were added, it would be completely indistinguishable from a real person.
Old Master Qin had come over at some point. Staring at the painting, his face was full of disbelief.
This painting technique was truly unique. Everyone surrounded the painting, praising it incessantly.
Fang Zichen paid them no mind. Yang Mingyi had sent someone saying Guaizai was looking for him and asked him to come over after finishing the painting.
Before anyone could react, Fang Zichen had already slipped away.
Guaizai was tightly clutching a large lychee. Seeing Fang Zichen, he immediately ran over.
"Father..."
"Hey," Fang Zichen picked him up. "What is it?"
He had told Guaizai in the morning that he was going to earn big silver. His son was sensible and would definitely not insist on finding him without a good reason.
Guaizai offered the lychee. "Have fruit. Smells nice. Wanted to give it to Father to eat."
This lychee was produced in the northern regions. In an era with inconvenient transportation, a basket of lychees could be offered as tribute to the emperor, showing how precious it was.
This lychee was a gift from a merchant who traveled by ship. There wasn't much. Old Lady Zheng had given one to Guaizai.
Guaizai smelled it, it seemed fragrant and probably delicious. He was eager to find Fang Zichen to give it to him.
Fang Zichen was deeply moved and kissed him twice on the cheek.
Yang Mingyi, seeing the sun was already high, wanted to take them to the front courtyard for a meal. But just as they turned a corner, a few moaning sounds suddenly came from the rockery ahead.
Guaizai immediately clung tightly to Fang Zichen, burying his face in his chest. "Father, there's a ghost sound. Guaizai is scared."
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