Chapter 8. Don't be fooled by the fact that this erotic painting has at least one drawing on it...

A few makeshift thatched huts were set up in Yuetuo Village for officials from the prefecture and county to rest while they investigated cases. Liang Shao squatted outside the morgue, waiting for the coroner to finish examining the last body. From afar, he saw a brown horse galloping towards them, kicking up dust.

Cheng Bao dismounted and told him about Shan He's reaction, emphasizing that Shan He had specifically asked, "Is everything alright?" Upon hearing this, Liang Shao's lips unconsciously curled upwards.

Last night, he accompanied Lord Chen on a long journey, traveling under the stars. Sitting on horseback, gazing up at the starry sky, he pondered many things. Initially, he was forced to marry Shanhe, which he resisted, even sulking with his grandfather for over half a year. There was no other reason; he disliked being controlled in such a crucial matter as his life's decision, let alone the fact that marrying Shanhe would be detrimental to his future career. Therefore, on their wedding night, he personally presented her with the divorce papers, and after the marriage, he slept separately from Shanhe every night. Unless it was urgent, he resolutely refused to speak a single word to Shanhe, treating her like two strangers living under the same roof.

As for exactly which day his opinion of Shanhe changed, Liang Shao couldn't remember. Looking back on the past two years, his impression of Shanhe was mostly of her silently caring for her grandfather or struggling to make ends meet. Liang Shao still remembered the shock he felt when he first saw the lining of his martial arts training clothes mended with a bright pink peach blossom embroidered by Shanhe. At that time, Shanhe wrung her hands, hesitantly apologizing, "I'm sorry, I saw this garment was torn, so I wanted to mend it. If you don't like it, I'll take it apart and remake it, please don't be angry."

Shanhe was like a still lake, forever calm. Throwing a stone in would only create ripples, which would soon return to tranquility. At that time, Liang Shao thought that he hated the fact that fate was beyond his control, not Shanhe. If it were any other woman, he would still hate her and still be angry with his grandfather.

After recalling all the awkward moments he shared with Shanhe, they arrived at Yuetuo Village. Dozens of lights pierced the night sky. Liang Shao's mind suddenly cleared. Now that he had married her, there was no going back. Continuing to act out of spite would only make things difficult for himself, Shanhe, and the old man. It was better to just live like this from now on. After all, his elder brother was in charge of his career. What was wrong with being the wealthiest and most leisurely man in Mizhou as before?

From now on, I must treat Shanhe well.

This was Liang Shao's final summary that night.

The Shuyu Pavilion of the Liang Mansion.

Shanhe finally finished the portrait. Perhaps because the ten taels of silver kept flashing before her eyes, Shanhe was unusually excited as she painted. As she painted, she thought: once she left the Liang family, she would be able to support herself. Thinking of this, Shanhe's hands almost trembled with excitement. A woman, relying on herself, living a vibrant life—that was truly remarkable. And besides, she had once been a government slave!

She even wondered if Liang Shao would agree to let her return to pay respects to Old Master Liang after she left the Liang family. He should agree, after all, his attitude towards her had changed considerably. But what if he remarried? Thinking of this, Shanhe slowly put down her pen. Then she couldn't come back. As an ex-wife, it would be tactless for her to use her past favors to flaunt herself in front of the current wife. But it didn't matter. She could set up a memorial tablet for Old Master Liang in Jinling, and every year on the anniversary of his death and during Qingming Festival, she and her children could pay their respects from afar in Jinling. Old Master Liang shouldn't blame her.

Shanhe lay on the Xiangfei couch, holding the painting in her arms, feeling that there was truly hope for the days to come.

On the morning of the third day, Shanhe changed into ordinary women's clothing, had her maid rent an ordinary carriage, and quietly drove towards Danxia Painting Studio with the embroidered portrait in her arms.

The same shopkeeper saw Shanhe.

The shopkeeper was clearly shocked by Shanhe's return, and looked her up and down several times before instructing the maid to serve tea.

Shanhe presented him with her painting and asked, "Is this painting acceptable?"

The shopkeeper looked around while puffing on his water pipe: "My surname is Mi."

Shanhe thought this meant the path had been cleared, and hurriedly said, "Manager Mi."

After looking at it for a while, Manager Mi slammed Shanhe's painting on the table, his spittle almost hitting Shanhe's face: "What did you paint? Haven't you read 'The Story of the Nightingale'? Your painting is so obscure, who would want to pay for it?"

Shanhe's face flushed red. She gritted her teeth and said, "This isn't subtle enough. Besides, if it's drawn like in the book, it's too explicit and straightforward, which isn't beautiful at all..."

"Beauty?" Shopkeeper Mi glanced at Shanhe and scoffed, "What beauty does a book of 'The Beauty of the Stone' need? Do you even know who reads it? Ordinary people. What beauty do they need from paintings? The beauty you're talking about is for scholars, gentlemen, and young ladies. But which scholars, gentlemen, or young ladies read this kind of book? Who are you trying to impress with your beauty?"

Shanhe lowered his head even further.

"What's all the noise about?" A woman with a broad face and a high nose emerged from the inner room, the curtain being lifted.

Upon seeing her, Manager Mi quickly stood up, bowed, and said with a smile, "Madam has arrived."

The lady glared at the rice shopkeeper: "What's all the noise so early in the morning? Aren't you doing business?"

"Where?" Manager Mi said with a smile. "There's someone here who's come to hire a painter."

"Painting skills?" The lady's eyes flickered as she looked Shanhe up and down. "How strange, she's actually a woman." The lady picked up the painting on the table and examined it closely, pondering without speaking.

Seeing his wife's furrowed brows and tense expression, Manager Mi laughed and said, "I also said this painting is not good. It's painted so obscurely, how can it be sold? I'll just go and send her away."

"Mi Xiaoxiao," the lady said sharply, "who said the painting is bad?"

Manager Mi's ultimate business secret: Listen to your wife and you'll prosper. At that moment, Manager Mi immediately grasped his wife's deeper meaning and gasped, "I'll go make a pot of tea."

After Manager Mi left, the lady turned the painting paper face down on the sandalwood table, sat down opposite Shanhe with a smile, and leaned back in the yellow pearwood armchair: "If you want to be a painter, you must first think of a name."

Shanhe looked up, puzzled.

The lady continued, "My surname is Wu, and I am the owner of Danxia Painting Studio. From now on, you can call me Owner Wu. Since you've come to apply for a painting job, you should at least think of a nickname. Are you suggesting using your family name, which would invite gossip about your parents?"

Shanhe paused, realizing the logic in the words. After a moment's thought, she said, "Then let's call it—"

Wu Fangzhu said, "Wait a moment." She raised her voice, "Xiaoxiao! Please bring pen, ink, and documents!"

A loud reply could be heard from inside the room. After a short while, Manager Mi came out with a smile, lifting the curtain and carrying a lacquered and gold-engraved tray with a writing brush, ink, paper, inkstone, a carved lacquered purple clay teapot, two teacups, and finally a palm-sized brocade box.

“Write it down,” said Master Wu.

As soon as he finished speaking, Manager Mi quickly laid out the paper and began grinding ink. Shanhe looked down and saw that it was not a blank sheet of paper, but a letter of appointment for a painter.

Master Wu poured himself a cup of tea, and pointed to the words on the contract: "The term is five years. The fee will be split according to the market price, six for you and four for me. Miss, this is quite sincere. There is only one condition: once you sign this contract at my house, you are only allowed to paint for my family during the term of the contract. You are not allowed to take private orders, sell paintings privately, or even inscribe fan paintings for your beloved husband."

At that moment, Manager Mi had already prepared a pool of thick ink, and the fine brush was fully dipped in the ink. Shanhe's heart was pounding like a deer, almost jumping out of her throat. She tremblingly took the brush, her gaze falling on the ten official-style small regular script characters that read "You may not work for another family within five years." She hesitated helplessly, feeling as if she were signing a contract of servitude.

Seeing Shanhe hesitate, Master Wu did not force her. He leisurely sipped his tea and began to admire Shanhe's painting again.

Shanhe put down her pen and pulled her hand back under her lotus-colored shirt: "Master Wu, if we sign this contract, does that mean I have to paint whatever you tell me to paint?"

Master Wu chuckled: "My painting studio assigns jobs three times a month. Whether you accept or not is entirely up to you. You get paid for each painting, with the bill split 60/40. If you paint frequently, you can earn at least a hundred taels of silver a month. If you sign the contract and then back out, you won't take any jobs for five years. That's all fine. But you can't paint for other studios or do private commissions."

Shanhe gradually understood that the contract for the Danxia Painting Studio, besides hiring painters, also stipulated exorbitant wages, effectively monopolizing the painting industry in Mizhou. While other painting studios also split wages 60/40, the studio received 60% and the painters 40%, only the Danxia Painting Studio allowed painters to earn more. Before coming to the Danxia Painting Studio, Shanhe had vaguely heard that it was the largest painting studio in Mizhou, and that last month, the Ciyun Temple had commissioned the painting of 300 copies of the *Jiuhua Sutra*, which was handled by the Danxia Painting Studio. It was precisely because of this that Shanhe chose the Danxia Painting Studio.

Shanhe continued, "What should I do if I don't paint a good picture?"

"Of course we'll revise it, until it's good. If it's not revised well, we definitely won't earn the commission for this painting," Master Wu replied. "However, the six-tenths split we're giving you is already the fairest among all the painting workshops in Mizhou."

"Okay." Shanhe gritted her teeth. She didn't have many other options. Danxia Painting Studio was the best way out for her.

Seeing Shanhe pick up the pen again, Master Wu squinted at the blank contract: "Just write your nickname. I don't care what your family name is. Once you've written it, put your seal on it, and that's it. After that, I'll explain our family rules to you in detail."

Shanhe nodded, picked up his pen and wrote: He Shanxue.

Shopkeeper Mi immediately picked up the brocade box from the engraving tray, opened it, and inside was the inkpad for the signature. Shanhe pressed his thumbprint, and Shopkeeper Mi was about to press his own when Master Wu glared at him: "Get lost. It's none of your business what I signed!"

Manager Mi wasn't annoyed, he just said, "Yes, yes, I'll go back to the backyard to look at the painting first. My wife, please continue with your work."

Master Wu sneered, "Wipe the shit out of your eyes! Such excellent painting skills, I almost got driven away by you, you blind fool."

Manager Mi repeatedly replied "Yes," then turned back behind the curtain and went to the backyard.

After Master Wu signed and sealed the contract, each party kept a copy. Master Wu personally poured tea for Shanhe: "The person in charge of Danxia Painting Studio is not Mi Xiaoxiao."

Shanhe nodded gently: "I can see that."

“Therefore, I really wish there were a few women among the painters.” Master Wu pushed the teacup toward Shanhe. “Men, they may have some talent, but they only have so many ideas. The illustrated books that Mi Xiaoxiao supervises are too vulgar and can’t be presented in a respectable manner. They can only be sold to dockworkers, illiterate brutes, and those hypocrites who appear to be polite and righteous but are actually petty people. The money they make from these people is ultimately limited.”

Shanhe cautiously spoke up, following Wu Fangzhu's words, "Then what kind of people's money should we earn?"

Master Wu curled his lips into a smile: "Let me ask you, within a household, who is in charge of the household finances and the accounts?"

Shanhe blurted out, "Naturally, it's the mistress."

“Yes,” Wu Fangzhu took a sip of tea, the fragrance lingering on his lips and teeth, “Women manage the money, so why are there so few books and paintings for women to see?”

Shanhe was struck dumb, suddenly realizing the truth, but still said, "Perhaps it's because it's been said since ancient times that a woman's virtue lies in her lack of talent, so there are few books for women to read."

Wu Fangzhu chuckled, “That’s all old news. Nowadays, in any respectable family with some wealth, which girl doesn’t learn to read and write, which girl doesn’t learn etiquette and manners? Let me tell you something: nowadays, when families marry off their daughters, they expect them to become the mistress of their husband’s household, to know how to manage the household finances and keep the household in check. If they can’t read, how can they read the account books? If they don’t study, how can they have the mindset to restrain the concubines and servants in the household? Hmm?” She paused, then continued, “And then there are those from slightly less privileged families. Perhaps they really don’t need to learn to read. They spend their whole lives toiling in the household, busy with housework for their fathers, husbands, and sons, working tirelessly! In the end, they’re just a few mounds of earth piled up, and that’s the end of their lives. Is that all a woman’s life should be like? Why can’t they have some enjoyment of their own? If they can’t read, then they can read picture books!”

"Painting books?" Shanhe asked.

Master Wu took an old book with a worn cover from the shelf and handed it to Shanhe. Opening it, each page contained only illustrations, depicting the story of *The Tale of the Beautiful Nightingale*, from the first meeting of the talented scholar and the beautiful lady, to their moonlit rendezvous, and finally to their vows of eternal love. Each page contained only a few words, some even blank, but the plot was conveyed through illustrations, enough for even an illiterate person to read. Shanhe flipped through the pages, feeling a sense of profound clarity flowing through her heart. Before, she had only painted as a pastime to pass the time, never thinking of making money from it, much less using paintings to tell a story or create a book.

“I just drew this for fun,” said Wu Fangzhu. “My drawing skills are so-so; I still need a skilled painter to do it. Mi Xiaoxiao said this won’t sell unless it’s too explicit, showing men’s mouths and women’s nipples. I refuse! What kind of lousy painting has to show mouths to sell for a price! Bah! I don’t want it. I’m telling you this today not because your drawing skills are outstanding, but because you are a woman. You know that when painting, you should pay attention to elegance and the use of blank space. You know that the men and women being painted are the same, and you know that not everyone who looks at erotic art is so vulgar.”

"Don't be fooled by the fact that these erotic paintings always depict at least one man and one woman; they actually only show one person—the woman. No matter what kind of erotic painting or embroidery it is, the woman has to be drawn as alluring and seductive, while the man, well, just show his mouth. Whether he's ugly or handsome doesn't matter. Because when they're painting, they're only thinking about having sex with the woman! So, I need a female painter who, when she paints, not only paints women, but also men! Or even, she doesn't paint women at all, only men."

Shanhe stared blankly at Master Wu. This was something she had never imagined before. Now, it was as if Master Wu had opened a door for her, letting in light and warmth. Shanhe's lips moved, as if she wanted to say something, but she realized that what she wanted to say was almost entirely understood by Master Wu. She still spoke up, "Master, may I ask your name?"

Master Wu smiled and said, "Wu Tianqi. When my father gave me this name, he used it as a reference to Kou Zhun's saying, 'Only the sky is above, and there is no mountain that can compare to it.' But now I feel that it has another meaning."

Master Wu didn't say anything more; to say it further would be a capital offense punishable by beheading. Shanhe guessed in her heart, "Wu Tianqi, Wu Tianqi, I am equal to Tianqi."

Wu Tianqi and Mi Xiaoxiao. How interesting.

*Only the sky is above, no mountain can compare: from Kou Zhun's poem "Ode to Mount Hua".

A note from the author:

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Wu Tianqi: I am equal to the heavens.

Mi Xiaoxiao: She has a small temper and small ambitions.