He carefully rolled up and put the painting away, handling it with the gentleness of a rare treasure.
The shopkeeper was heartbroken, knowing he had no chance of getting the painting, but he didn't even have the courage to ask to buy it.
He couldn't afford to offend any of these people, so he could only watch helplessly, hoping that some benefactor would help him out.
However, he was overthinking it.
Yan Zhibai put away the painting, then stood up, bowed deeply to everyone, and said apologetically, "I'm sorry to have kept you all waiting."
Qin Zhaoyue waved her hand dismissively, speaking on behalf of everyone: "Hey, what's the big deal?"
"It's worth the wait to witness Mr. Yan wield his brush and create a painting that perfectly captures the essence of the poem."
"Let's go upstairs for dinner. For this poem and this painting, we should drink a hearty toast today!"
The group finally ascended to the third-floor private room of Songtao Pavilion.
Exquisite dishes were served in a continuous stream, and with fine wines and delicacies, the atmosphere finally warmed up a bit.
...
Just as the atmosphere inside the elegant pavilion was getting lively, a carriage drove into Songyanfang.
The driver was Ping An, who, after two days of "treatment," had finally regained his energy.
With a clear destination in mind, they eventually stopped in the alley opposite Songtao Pavilion.
There were two people in the carriage. One was Sui Mo, and the other had a furrowed brow and was lightly biting her lower lip.
After the carriage came to a stop, he hurriedly lifted the curtain to look outside.
"Is the Sixth Prince in Songtao Pavilion? Miss Suimo, quick, let's go see His Highness!"
However, the broken ink remained completely still, tilting its head slightly and letting out a soft snort through its nose:
“Miss Chunying is being rather arrogant. How can His Highness be seen by you so easily?”
In short, all color drained from Chunying's face.
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