Chapter 42: This is a Master (Part 2)
Shen Tang thought this time would be the same as yesterday, so she obediently waited outside Yuehua Tower, occasionally feeding Moto a couple of candies.
That being said—
Why can motorcycles eat maltose?
Filled with doubt, Shen Tang stroked the motorcycle's glossy fur, growing more and more fond of the mule the more she looked at it. The mule licked the candy from her palm clean, still not satisfied, and nudged her belly with its head, its eyes fixed longingly on the pouch at Shen Tang's waist.
The motorcycle was clever; it knew where the maltose was hidden.
Shen Tang cupped the motorcycle's large face in her hands and sternly lectured, "No, you can't eat anymore! It's not normal for a mule to have such a sweet tooth... No means no, you can't be cute, and you can't lick my face... Damn it, take it easy, don't stick your tongue out, I don't want to wash my face with your saliva, or you'll be turned into a 'mule' meat sandwich!"
She dodged several times, but the motorcycle pressed its advantage.
He tried to use his nimble tongue to slap Shen Tang's face repeatedly.
As the innkeeper came out of Yuehua Tower, he happened to see a man and a mule playing around. With a smile, he reminded Shen Tang that he still had important business to attend to.
He said, "Young lady, please come upstairs."
Shen Tang and the motorcycle stopped at the same time.
She patted the motorcycle, signaling it to go play by itself; she had important business to attend to and would play later. The motorcycle understood and obediently took the reins and went to the nearby wooden post. Shen Tang said, "Should I go in? Aren't we waiting for someone in the teahouse's private room today?"
The shopkeeper said, "No need today."
Shen Tang didn't ask any more questions and followed the manager into Yuehua Tower.
If you ignore the sheer curtains fluttering in the room, the ambiguous portraits carved in the latticed windows, the beautiful women hanging on the walls... and the ambiguous perfume in the air, at first glance it looks no different from an ordinary restaurant.
The Moonlit Pavilion was quiet during the day, devoid of the expected bustling activity and flirtatious banter. Occasionally, maids would carry hot water in and out, while servants swept the tables, chairs, and floor with cloths. Everything was orderly, yet there was an unspeakable desolation. Only the lingering scent of perfume in the air silently testified to the hustle and bustle of the previous night.
Shen Tang initially looked around curiously.
After glancing at it twice, I lost interest and looked away.
In the main hall of Yuehua Tower, a handsome young servant waited for a long time. He led the two to the innermost wing on the second floor, then carefully pushed open the carved wooden door, afraid that any noise would disturb the person inside. He whispered, "The young master is inside. Please come in."
Shen Tang pulled her wandering thoughts back from the heavens.
Upon entering the room, the first thing that catches the eye is a huge circular screen, painted with a vast desert sunset scene. Shen Tang was slightly surprised—in a place like Yuehua Tower, even if they were to display a screen, shouldn't it be something like a portrait of a beautiful woman?
A sunset over the desert?
It's completely out of place with the atmosphere here.
What surprised her even more was the subtle fragrance that filled the room, a stark contrast to the decadent perfumes of the main hall. The latter was overpoweringly sweet, but after a while, it would seem tacky; the former, however, was like a solitary orchid in a secluded valley, whose subtle yet undeniable scent could not be ignored.
Beyond the screen lies the courtesan's "boudoir".
The two could only sit on the mats in front of the screen.
"Did you paint this?"
As soon as Shen Tang sat down, an unfamiliar young man's voice came through the screen to her ears—wait, isn't that the young courtesan from yesterday?
She looked at the shopkeeper suspiciously.
The shopkeeper didn't know either, so he gave her a look and answered truthfully.
Shen Tang stammered, "It wasn't me who painted it, it was my older brother. He caught me painting yesterday and scolded me for being too young to be involved in these things. Before I could even tell the shopkeeper and the employer, he took it upon himself to paint it for me..."
There was a moment of silence behind the screen, and soon after, the crisp "snap" of a chess piece falling to the ground could be heard again.
The young man said, "Hmm, it's a good drawing."
Shen Tang muttered to himself.
Are Qi Shan's paintings really "not bad"?
Sure enough, there was no one in this world who shared her aesthetic sense, and for a moment she felt a sense of loneliness and melancholy at the difficulty of finding a kindred spirit.
Shen Tang asked, "Is the employer satisfied?"
The young man said, "Full..."
Before he could finish his sentence, the young man began coughing violently, each cough shorter than the last, so loudly that one worried he might cough up his lungs. Despite his condition, this fellow remained steadfast in his post… truly dedicated and hardworking.
Shen Tang started to drift off into thought again without noticing.
After a while, Shen Tang heard the young man's voice he had heard yesterday coming from behind the screen. He asked, "Mr. Gu, are you alright?"
The young man replied weakly, "It's nothing."
Shen Tang's mind, which she had just managed to regain, began to wander off again.
So the young man wasn't a courtesan at Yuehua Tower, but a customer looking for fun... Tsk tsk, is this what they mean by "dying under the peony blossoms is still romantic"? Coughing like a ghost, looking like he's about to step into a coffin, he still has the leisure to come to Xianggu Pavilion?
The room was quiet for quite a while.
After a long pause, the young man said, "Young master, you have misunderstood."
Shen Tang looked completely bewildered: "..."
Did anyone just speak?
The shopkeeper also made the same expression.
The young man took a breath and said with a half-smile, "Some things don't necessarily need to be said aloud to be heard..."
Shen Tang: "..."
The shopkeeper remained bewildered.
Shen Tang felt as if she were being pricked by thorns, her hair standing on end in a fit of rage. She was absolutely certain that the young man's words were directed at her. The problem was, she had a habit of not speaking her mind; she had kept her mouth shut the whole time, only muttering a few words to herself…
Damn, can you hear what I'm really thinking?
The young man behind the screen remained silent for three breaths.
He asked in a strange tone, "Didn't your teacher tell you what a strategist must learn?"
Shen Tang was certain the young man could read her mind, so she stopped muttering to herself and asked, "What?"
The young man said, "One should not show one's emotions."
As they spoke, the distinctive rustling sound of fabric came from behind the screen, and as the footsteps drew closer, the figure on the screen became clearer.
Shen Tang happened to look up and met the unfamiliar young man who walked out from behind the screen. She vaguely felt that the man's figure was somewhat familiar.
The young man was tall and straight, but his complexion was poor, giving him a sickly appearance. Although his features were handsome, his cheeks were thin, his eyes had dark circles, and his lips were pale with a bluish tinge. He looked like someone suffering from tuberculosis, a sickly person destined for an early death!
As Shen Tang sized up the young man, the young man also scrutinized and assessed her with his cool, indifferent eyes.
Unlike the sickly appearance that he could tell at a glance, the young man in front of him had a handsome face with a feminine appearance. His eyebrows were relaxed and his features were more profound than those of ordinary people, giving him a somewhat exotic look at first glance.
If you had to describe young people in one word, there would probably be none more fitting than "young and impetuous".
The true meaning of "young and impetuous".
Even when the young man was still three or five steps away from the young man, he could feel the fiery literary aura emanating from "him" like a dazzling, unmissable fireball.
He replied sarcastically, "I am indeed suffering from a long-term illness, but the fortune teller said I can still live for another twenty or thirty years."
(End of this chapter)
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