Chapter 21 Illegal Sketch VII, The Sacred Numbers of the Elves.
“Impossible.” Aidan was even more surprised than Ashlyn. “I hid the portrait here… unless… no.”
"unless?"
“The only person who knows how to open my box is my artist friend Laurel. The portrait of Sheeta is her work,” Aidan replied. “But she wouldn’t steal my things. If she wants to see her own paintings, she can ask me anytime.”
“Perhaps we can go and ask her,” Ashlin suggested.
"Now?" Aidan hesitated. "She's been working in the studio lately. I think it would be more polite and prudent to go tomorrow."
That won't do. They only have seven days to prepare. How can they waste most of the day today?
"Then tell me where her studio is, I'll go there myself first."
“I…can’t. This is her privacy.”
Ashlin turned around.
It seemed she would have to find it herself. She'd rather spend a whole day searching for Laurel's address than stay idle in the palace, or she'd die.
"You're leaving already?"
"Unless you have something else to tell me, sir."
“I don’t think Laurel really has any leads. That guy is tough to deal with… he might waste your time.”
"That would be a waste of my own time, wouldn't it?"
However, Aidan remained blocking the doorway.
“If it were me, I wouldn’t bother her. Forgive my bluntness, Ashlin, but you will leave empty-handed.”
Ashlin raised an eyebrow. She hated being constantly hindered and told how terrible the consequences would be. Nothing was ever certain.
What's more, it's now her idol, the elf she's admired for years, who's earnestly advising her and warning her that she will fail.
"Hmm, really?"
She gazed at the wooden door frame beside Aidan, and a long branch slowly grew from her mind.
“Fortunately, I am not you, Lord Aidan.”
She wasn't trying to scare the idol. It was just a message to him that no one could stop Ashlyn Bailey.
Aidan immediately released the wooden door and stared in shock at the branches that had wrapped around his arm.
“I thought you were like your music, never following the rules,” Ashlind said, staring at him. “Looks like that’s not the case.”
The elven grand musician stood frozen in place.
She decisively pushed Aidan behind her and strode towards the door, deeply disappointed by her idol's cowardice.
The only problem is, it's a little too late to stop being a fan now. She still has 271 of his sheet music.
"Wait!" Aidan patted her on the shoulder.
“I must admit, you’re quite interesting.” He sighed. “Alright, I’m willing to take you to Laurel, but only because I don’t want you to leave so soon.”
Ashlin looked at him suspiciously. He didn't want her to leave so soon. What else did he want? Or did Aidan have a habit of keeping fans around to boost his confidence?
"What do you mean by that?" she asked, then added, "My lord?"
Aidan smiled meaningfully and did not answer.
Nestled deep in a valley, Ilovia felt even cooler in early autumn. They walked through the gardens and arrived at the working-class district. Even there, the buildings were beautiful, like miniature palaces, with a wave-like shape, only simpler in design.
Ashlin gazed with wonder at the statues everywhere and the elves coming and going.
But the statues were becoming less and less impressive to her: they were all practically identical, with similar poses, and often in groups of seven, which made her aesthetically fatigued.
As she continued walking, she even felt that the statues were staring at her with the exact same gaze, just like the customers waiting in line for her in the Dragon Crystal illusion.
Fortunately, every few steps, elves would play music and sing by the roadside, and being surrounded by a circle of elves cheering would distract her.
Their music was soothing and gentle; Ashlind could tell that it was mostly composed by Aidan: "The Secret of the Oak," "Lyda's Melody," "Midsummer," and so on.
Is there nothing she hasn't heard of?
They arrived at the eastern edge of the valley, where a silver river flowed between the rocks.
Ashlin stepped onto the stone bridge over the river, but was pulled back by Aidan.
“Below,” he pointed.
Beneath the arched bridge is a small oak door, smeared with yellow paint, and inscribed with a few lines of Elvish script in exaggerated characters:
Warning! Landfill ahead, entry strictly prohibited!
"I thought you meant we were coming to the art studio."
“This is the studio,” Aidan said. “My friend has a strange sense of humor.”
He took a deep breath and knocked on the door knocker as if facing a formidable enemy.
There was no movement.
"Laurel? It's Aidan. I know you're in there. I need to speak with you urgently."
There was still no response. He gently knocked on the door again.
"Get out." A gruff female voice came from inside the house.
"You mean you want the legendary Child of the Forest to get lost too?"
This time, the door opened.
The elf before me had a face full of freckles, and her ginger-red curly hair exploded behind her like a ball of fire. The few strands at the front of her hair were tangled together with blue and purple paint, and if you didn't look closely, you might mistake them for a headdress.
She was only wearing a coarse cloth garment, which had probably been white, but was now a riot of colors, like a palette.
"What, Child of the Forest?" she pressed, then saw Ashlin, "Isn't this the little girl? How did she turn into an elf?"
Her Common was not as fluent as Aidan's, Melia's, or the Knight Commander's, and it had a heavy Elvish accent.
Laurel leaned closer: "Ah, it's an illusion. Pretty impressive, huh?"
"Have you seen me before?" Ashlin asked.
“Of course. We all saw it that night in the main hall,” Laurel said. “Come on in. Watch the ground.”
Ashlyn hadn't even had time to memorize that last reminder when she nearly tripped over a pile of charcoal pencils on the ground, but Aidan caught her in time.
The studio wasn't large, and of course, the walls were covered with paintings and sketches, but none of them seemed to be complete; there were mostly doodles and quick sketches, and the variety of paintings was not as great as in Aidan's room.
The owner of the painting seems to have been searching for inspiration, but to no avail.
The shelves were filled with plaster statues, geometric shapes, and paint cans.
Ashlyn felt that the mess here was comparable to her own room.
She wondered, "How can you paint under the bridge without any light?"
“Oh, this is where I clear the clutter from my mind. Light is the last thing I need.” Laurel shrugged. “Have a seat.”
After saying that, she seemed to realize that there was nowhere to sit, so she quickly pulled over two more wooden boxes.
“You’d better have something really urgent,” Laurel said impatiently. “I’m still cleaning up the trash.”
Her "garbage" naturally refers to the garbage in her mind, because she hasn't cleared any of it in reality.
“Princess Sheida’s portrait is missing.” Ashlin went straight to the point. “Lord Aidan said that only you know how to open his box.”
"You suspect I took it," Laurel said, seemingly amused. "Why would I steal the princess's portrait?"
“You are its author,” Ashlin pointed out, as if that made sense. “Perhaps you know a clue.”
Laurel rolled her eyes.
“That’s really…strange.” Aidan seemed lost in thought.
“That portrait is nothing special,” Laurel said. “It’s not my best work, and I’d rather no one see it in the future. My skills still needed improvement back then…”
She sounded extremely regretful.
“It seems there’s nothing we can do for now,” Aidan said. “It’s a pity, I just found this portrait in a pile of junk. Who knows when it will reappear.”
The two elves seemed completely unconcerned, as if the theft of famous paintings was a common occurrence in the Elf Valley.
“Unlike humans, our artworks possess magic,” Laurel added. “It’s normal for paintings to go missing; perhaps the magic has malfunctioned, or the spiritual energy within has leaked or erupted… In such cases, there’s nothing anyone can do.”
Ashlin didn't believe there was no way to remedy the situation. According to Lucas's plan, she needed to know Princess Sheeta's exact appearance; otherwise, she wouldn't be able to impress Melia.
She glanced around the studio, her eyes sweeping over the sketches. Laurel was indeed technically superb, but technique was her least prominent strength. Her lines were so fluid, each drawing seemed ready to speak at any moment.
Her gaze fell on the nearest stack of sketches. In the sketches, a familiar yet handsome boy caught her attention.
“Lucas,” she murmured.
In the painting, Lucas is in the main hall announcing that he will present the Queen with a grand gift, his expression confident and composed. Ashlind felt as if she were transported back to that moment just by looking at this sketch.
Aidan rebuked, "Sketching His Majesty while he's speaking? Laurel, I know you never take rules seriously and just draw things that violate them, but this is far too impolite."
Laurel waved his hand: "Hey, that kid looks pretty good for drawing. Don't miss this opportunity. Besides, drawing against the rules excites me and inspires me more."
An illegal drawing.
This realization struck Ashlin.
What did Lucas say again?
Before the age of seventy, no elf may possess a portrait or sculpture. This is the rule of the elves.
"Wouldn't it excite you even more to paint a portrait of Princess Sheeta before you turn seventy?" Ashlin asked.
“That’s right.” Laurel said, then realized, “Wait, what?”
She began rummaging through the pile of sketches.
Hey! What are you doing?
"Of course, I'm looking for what I'm looking for."
"Why can't elves have portrait artworks before they turn seventy?" Ashlin wondered.
“As we just said, elven art has magic,” Aidan explained. “Seven is a sacred number for elves. Elves under seventy are not yet at peace with their souls, and this can affect their paintings and sculptures…”
He paused.
"...to influence the soul, or conversely, the soul influences the work."
What impact?
"I don't know. It's just a widely circulated legend."
Ashlin tried not to think about what that meant.
“I have a suggestion,” she said. “Laurel, could you lend us the impropriety sketch you made for Princess Sheeta?”
"What are the benefits?"
I won't report you.
Laurel narrowed his eyes and chuckled.
Are you threatening me, human girl?
Ashlin shrugged.
Aidan watched them with great interest, as if he were watching a performance.
Laurel muttered curses in Elvish as he searched for the painting, and soon pulled out a slightly crumpled piece of paper, which he tossed to Ashlin.
In the painting, the elfin little girl, outlined in colored charcoal, gazes quietly out the window, seemingly burdened with worries despite her young age. She has large, deep purple eyes, her curly hair cascading over her shoulders, and an air of melancholy about her.
Laurel said, "This one is better than the others; at least it's still usable."
Ashlin stared intently at the painting. Perhaps the rules of the elves were not merely a matter of tradition; she seemed to sense a life force within the painting that was even stronger than in Lucas's sketch.
"It's perfect, thank you." She rolled up the painting and put it in her backpack. "Well then, I'll take my leave. Aidan, will you come with me?"
Ashlin pulled the door knocker, but the door wouldn't budge. Behind her, Laurel's strange laughter echoed.
"You don't really think you can just take my illegal sketch away so easily, do you?" The elven artist patted his clothes and waved his hand. A wooden easel, canvas, and several bundles of paintbrushes were drawn to him like magnets. "Now, sit down and pay for the painting."
Ashlyn was horrified to find her legs automatically sitting in front of Laurel.
How do I pay?
A hint of madness flashed in Laurel's eyes. If Ashlin hadn't known she was a painter, she would have thought this elf was about to devour her.
"Of course, it's through modeling, my dear Forest Princess."
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