Ding Weixiang frowned: "There is no painter here, who are you going to teach to paint? Are you going to paint it yourself?"
Did Xiao Nanhui draw before? Of course he did. After he finished his painting, before he could show it off to Xiao Zhun, Du Juan threw it away as a talisman paper of unknown origin.
"Well..." She pretended to be hesitant and hadn't figured out how to continue the conversation, but the fortune teller next to her chuckled, revealing a mouthful of yellow teeth.
"My youngest son used to make a living outside and painted portraits for others. He does have some skills."
As he spoke, he picked up the brush pinned to the brim of his hat, licked it on his tongue to make some ink, then took out a piece of yellow paper for writing talismans from his pocket, thought for a while, and then began to draw.
After about a cup of tea, the fortune teller put down his pen and handed the paper to the two people.
"Sir, please look."
Ding Weixiang just glanced at it, seemed to think it was a bit sloppy, and turned his head away.
Xiao Nanhui looked at it more carefully and thought to himself: This fortune teller has some skills in writing. He can make the figure very vivid with just a few strokes. Even the mole under the lip looks quite realistic.
She pointed at the mole, her tone tinged with doubt, "He passed you face to face in just a split second, and you actually remember a mole on his face so clearly?"
The fortune teller chuckled again: "Everyone in this profession needs some skills to make a living. I read people's faces and predict their fortunes. I like to pay attention to the height of eyebrows, the direction of wrinkles, the location of moles..."
The fortune teller began to talk incessantly, but Xiao Nanhui could hardly listen. He stared at the portrait in his hand in a daze.
"Don't you think this painting looks a bit like a person?"
Ding Weixiang stood aside with his eyes closed at first, and after listening to her words, he looked at the things drawn on the talisman paper again.
The man in the portrait had thin cheeks and triangular eyes, not the look of a blessed man. However, his forehead was high, giving him a certain imposing presence. This imposing presence was somewhat diminished by the mole under his mouth, giving him a slightly feminine air.
The person in the portrait gradually overlapped with the image in his mind, and Ding Weixiang gradually showed an incredible expression.
"How could it be him?"
"But..." Xiao Nanhui's voice also became a little difficult.
Ding Weixiang already knew what she was going to say: "But Zou Sifang is already dead."
More than half a year has passed since the trip to Huozhou. If it weren't for this portrait, in another year or two, perhaps the name Zou Sifang and that unremarkable face would have slowly disappeared from their memory.
But no one expected that at this moment and in this place, this name would suddenly pop up again.
The past events of the great trouble at the Zou Mansion over the secret seal were still vivid in Xiao Nanhui's mind. He saw with his own eyes that Zou Sifang and the fake jade seal sank into the swamp of Baiyao Pass. How could it be fake?
The dead cannot be resurrected. Could it be that the ritual at Changmitai had truly communicated with the spirits and summoned Zou Sifang's soul? Or was someone deliberately using this opportunity to manipulate the spirits?
But why was it Zou Sifang?
Was the mysterious man who rang the bell in the crowd and pointed out the way out for Yan Zi just a stranger who looked like Zou Sifang, or was Zou Sifang... not actually dead at all?
What was his connection to the whole thing? Was he the master An Lu was referring to? What was his purpose in manipulating Pu Huna's repeated assassinations and theft of the seal?
Xiao Nan looked back at the portrait in his hand and fell silent.
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