Chapter 5. Shanhe stayed up late peeking at erotic scenes, Liang...
The owner of Danxia Painting Studio carefully examined Shanhe's painting, stroking his beard and pondering, "The brushwork is meticulous, exquisite and elegant."
Upon hearing this, Shanhe quickly said, "Can you give me a discount on one of my paintings?"
The shopkeeper slowly raised his eyes, placed Shanhe's painting on the table, and sneered, "However, my family never hires female painters."
Shanhe didn't understand. As long as someone is good at painting and knows how to paint, isn't that enough? Why distinguish between men and women?
Seeing a hint of confusion in Shanhe's eyes, the shopkeeper explained, "If you are a painter of some renown, or if your style is unique, people will naturally come with money to buy your works. Such people need no further explanation; we accept both men and women. However, if your style is commonplace and you have no reputation to speak of, then you'll have to cooperate with my family and the bookstore to add illustrations to various unofficial histories. Do you know what kind of illustrations are most needed on the market right now? And what kind of figures are required?"
Shanhe blinked blankly and shook her head.
The shopkeeper took a book from the antique shelf and handed it to Shanhe. Shanhe saw that the cover was titled "The Tale of the Oriole," and when he opened it, the title page showed a woman playing the zither under the moon. The composition was stable, and the details were exquisite and beautiful. Shanhe quickly looked up and said, "I can draw all of these."
The shopkeeper sneered, "Keep flipping through."
Shanhe flipped through dozens of pages before finally seeing the second embroidered portrait in the book. The portrait depicted a man embracing the woman who had just been playing the zither, with the title "Meeting Under the Moon" on the right. Shanhe blushed slightly and continued turning the pages. There, she saw a scene on a bed, two people naked and embracing, his penis erect and inserted. Shanhe immediately recalled her passionate encounter with Liang Shao the previous night, her face flushed with embarrassment, and she slammed the book shut.
Seeing her embarrassed look, the shopkeeper chuckled: "How come? Can't paint? These paintings are worth at least ten taels each. But we're short of people, short of people who can paint and paint well. The money is right here, but no one can make money from it."
Shanhe immediately stood up, panicked and wanting to escape. But the words "at least ten taels for a painting" echoed in her ears, making her unable to lift her legs.
Ten taels is her daily food supply for four or five months!
Shanhe gritted her teeth: "Could I borrow this book to take back and study it?"
The shopkeeper was also generous, waving his hand and saying, "One tael to two hundred cash for renting a book." He knew that a shy woman like Shanhe would never step into Danxia Painting Studio again.
Shanhe took out one tael of silver and two hundred coins from his purse and placed them on the table. He then fled in panic, clutching "The Tale of the Oriole".
Watching Shanhe's hurried departure, the shopkeeper leaned back in his armchair and took a long drag on his water pipe. There are many ways to make money in this world; it just depends on whether you're shameless enough and ruthless enough. The shopkeeper exhaled a smoke ring, his eyes crinkling with a smile.
Sitting in the carriage, Shanhe's hands trembled as she opened "The Tale of the Oriole" again. The embroidered illustrations at the back were more absurd than the last. Shanhe bit her lip as she read, and only after she finished did she feel a stinging pain on her lips.
But a painting costs ten taels.
The ten taels of silver were like ten jade-colored butterflies, fluttering before Shanhe's eyes.
She counted the number of illustrations in the entire book again: twenty-four in total, which amounted to two hundred and forty taels of silver. Shanhe was shocked by this number. Two hundred and forty taels for a book; if she painted two books a year, plus what she had saved at the Liang family's house, not to mention raising a child, she could rent a fairly nice courtyard by the Qinhuai River, and arrange for maids, servants, and old women. Even on the anniversary of the old master's death each year, she could leisurely and comfortably travel back from Jinling to pay her respects.
Thinking this, Shanhe opened the book again and forced herself to read it carefully.
After returning home, Shanhe first went to Shouxi Hall to serve Old Master Liang, then took care of all the household chores, and had dinner with the old master in the evening. Only after the lights in Shouxi Hall gradually went out did she have some free time of her own.
As soon as Liang Shao stepped into Shuyu Pavilion, his servant came to report: "Second Master has gone to Wang Langjun's stir-fried spring banquet tonight."
Upon hearing this, Shanhe was delighted. Liang Shao's late return meant she could read a few more pages of "The Story of the Oriole".
The servant, having received the message, dashed back to Ruyi Tower to report. Liang Shao had just drunk a few cups of wine and was standing under the veranda, enjoying the night breeze to clear his head. He immediately saw the servant running towards him, and a slight smile played on his lips, a hint of certainty in his expression: "Come here. Tell me, how did Second Mistress reply to you?"
The servant thought for a moment and said, "She didn't say anything. She just told me to have fun and enjoy myself. If I need to stay outside, she told me to send someone back to let her know, and she would pack up my change of clothes and have me deliver them to her."
Liang Shao grew angrier as he listened, and kicked the servant to the ground, yelling, "Get out! Get out!" He didn't kick hard, and the servant quickly got up and ran away.
Liang Shao's temples throbbed with rage. Before, when their relationship was strained, he wouldn't tell her when he went out, and she wouldn't ask, which was fine. But now, with their relationship like this, and the prospect of having a child, he proactively sent someone back to inform her, yet she wasn't in a hurry at all, and even anticipated him spending the night away from home. What kind of wife would act like Xue Shanhe? Liang Shao gritted his teeth in hatred.
Meanwhile, Shanhe finished washing and dressing, lit two plain candles, and lay on the couch reading "The Tale of the Oriole." Although the weather wasn't yet hot and humid, she felt stuffy, as if her head was being steamed by heat, and her cheeks were burning.
With no one around and the maids having all gone to rest, Shanhe, her face burning with embarrassment from looking at the painting, turned to the text beside the portrait. It was nothing more than a story of a noblewoman falling in love with a poor scholar—a tale of a talented young man and a beautiful young woman. She knew many such stories from the stories told by female storytellers. Now, Shanhe suddenly realized that while she had her own fantasies when she heard these stories, they were never as explicit as those depicted in the book. Now that she and Liang Shao had consummated their marriage, she was more aware of human nature, and looking at the portrait in the book, beyond its allure, she felt mostly uncomfortable.
The beautiful woman in the book was clearly from an official family, with "eyebrows like willow leaves in early spring and eyes like bright stars in autumn water." Such a woman, with both appearance and character, was so easily violated by that poor scholar in bed! What did that scholar have besides being more talented and handsome?
Shanhe scanned all the remaining embroidered portraits again. They all depicted men in control and women suffering. She couldn't help but sigh. No wonder the shopkeeper said he didn't want female painters. How could these paintings be the work of a woman? They must have been done by some crude and vulgar man. This person must not understand the pleasures of the bedroom to have painted such disgusting and repulsive erotic scenes!
The sound of the night watchman's clapper came from outside. Shanhe listened intently; it was already past midnight. Liang Shao hadn't returned yet, so he would probably stay out all night—he often did this before, silently staying out, as if deliberately trying to spite Shanhe. Shanhe never questioned him, which benefited both of them. Shanhe got up, went to the octagonal table, spread out the drawing paper, ground the ink, and moistened the brush. She pondered the embroidered portrait from "The Story of the Oriole," biting her brush as she considered how to revise it. After a few strokes, she felt it wasn't right, so she crumpled the paper and started again. She repeated this dozens of times, still unsatisfied.
She had done a decent job with her figure paintings, but now she was faced with a challenge: how to arrange the arms, how to extend the four legs, and what the facial expressions should be. She wanted to convey the meaning while also being elegant and respectful of the woman. Shanhe was at a loss for what to do.
As she was deep in thought with her eyes downcast, the door to Shuyu Pavilion creaked open.
Liang Shao's servant leaned forward and peered into the room cautiously, saying, "Second Master, the lights are all out; they must all be asleep."
Liang Shao, leaning against the doorframe, shook his head. Hearing this, he let out a heavy snort and said in a hoarse voice, "You heartless bastard!"
Startled by Liang Shao's voice, Shanhe dropped her brush and hastily crumpled up the painting she had just finished, throwing it into the scroll holder. She then ran back to her canopy bed, hurriedly tucked "The Tale of the Oriole" under her pillow, covered herself with a brocade quilt, lay on her side on the couch, and pretended to be asleep.
The moment he closed his eyes, the partition door to the bedroom was flung open. Liang Shao, his cheeks flushed and eyes glazed, staggered in. The servant tried to help him up, but Liang Shao shoved him aside, saying, "What are you doing? Get out!" The servant shrank back and ran away.
Shanhe's heart was pounding in her throat.
Liang Shao stumbled to the canopy bed, sat down on the edge, and saw Shanhe sleeping peacefully with her face turned inward, her breathing even. His anger intensified. He reached out and shoved Shanhe's back, saying bitterly, "Sleep! Sleep! You wouldn't care if I got drunk and died outside tonight!"
Shanhe pretended to be woken up, her eyes still sleepy, but she carefully said, "My husband is back."
This was the first time Shanhe had ever called him "husband." No matter how drunk or angry Liang Shao was, he was stunned. Suddenly, he burst into laughter, and most of his anger subsided: "What did you call me?"
Shanhe sighed inwardly. This man's temper was unpredictable; one moment you had to go along with him, the next you couldn't. You always had to carefully guess his intentions, otherwise, there would be a long period of nagging. Now, seeing Liang Shao like this, Shanhe roughly understood that he was blaming her for "not caring" about him. It was truly strange. Liang Shao was the type who disliked being restrained or controlled, so in the past, Shanhe never asked where he went or what he did, just to avoid upsetting him. And hadn't they gotten along just fine this way? Now he was blaming her for not caring about him.
Seeing that Liang Shao loved hearing the word "husband," Shanhe immediately felt as if a patient had found the right medicine. She propped herself up, rested her head on Liang Shaokuan's back, and whispered, "Whoever I'm waiting for tonight, that's who I'll call out to."
Hearing this, Liang Shao laughed even harder, exhaling a breath of alcohol. He grasped Shanhe's hand, his voice no longer as angry as before: "Since you were waiting for me, why didn't you send someone to ask me?"
Shanhe shook off his hand: "Who taught you to be so heartless!"
“Where am I heartless!” Liang Shao said urgently.
"You went to Wang Langjun's spring banquet, surrounded by talented men and beautiful women, drinking fine wine and eating delicacies, while I was left all alone at home, waiting for you in this empty house. How boring!" Shanhe turned her face away. "I won't care about you, I just won't! If you had any conscience, you should at least bring me back some food or toys by now, and then respectfully say to me: 'Second Madam, I'm sorry I'm late tonight.' Do you have any? Did you bring me anything?"
Shanhe stretched out his hand, palm out in front of Liang Shao: "Where is Second Master's conscience?"
Liang Shao was stunned. He felt that what Shanhe said made a lot of sense, but there were also some problems, though he couldn't quite put his finger on them. In the darkness, he saw Shanhe's delicate eyebrows furrowed, her eyes clear and bright. As the alcohol took effect, his hand unconsciously reached out to touch Shanhe's body.
Shanhe slapped him away: "You heartless bastard, do you even deserve to touch me?" She wanted to say "get lost," but she was afraid of going too far and provoking Liang Shao's unruly temper, so she swallowed the word. Shanhe lay down fully clothed, facing inward, and said coldly: "You reek of alcohol, wash up before you sleep."
Liang Shao was now filled with regret. Why hadn't he thought of bringing anything back from Shanhe? Yes, whenever they went out to banquets, he had a great time, but Shanhe was left alone in the mansion, caring for her grandfather and managing the household finances. She must have harbored resentment. Not only was he unsympathetic—at least every time he brought back a good dish, he blamed her for neglecting her. Thinking about it, since Shanhe was rescued by the old master two years ago, married him, and up to today, it seemed Shanhe hadn't even been to Ruyi Tower! It was he who frequently went to banquets and celebrations.
Liang Shao quietly lay down next to Shan He, his breath reeking of alcohol as he breathed into her ear. He said in a hoarse voice, "Shan Shan, I'm sorry."
Shanhe was startled. In the two years she had been with the Liang family, she had never seen this nemesis so sincerely apologize and soften his stance. Shanhe was at a loss for words, unsure whether he was genuine or just putting on an act, and dared not speak rashly.
Meanwhile, Liang Shao's nose was pressed against Shan He's nape, rubbing against her intermittently, his voice sticky and hoarse: "I'm sorry... Shan Shan..."
"I will definitely think of you first in the future."
"I'll tell you where I'm going."
"Even if someone is short, it won't affect you."
Shanhe's lips twitched; was he serious?
She stiffly turned half her face away, about to speak, when Liang Shao leaned in and sealed her lips with his. In that instant, the man's scent mingled with the aroma of the spring wine from the Ruyi Pavilion. After Liang Shao had satisfied his desires, he cupped Shanhe's face and reluctantly pulled away.
Under the moonlight, Liang Shao's lips glistened. He said gently, "You're dirty, I'll go wash up."
Shanhe understood his meaning and responded lazily, but suddenly a thunderbolt struck her mind. The illustrations in "The Story of the Oriole" were too explicit and straightforward, lacking elegance and taste. What if those parts were covered with a bathtub? Only the face and arms were exposed, and the rest were left for the reader to imagine. Wouldn't that create a lingering and profound effect?
"Hey—" Shanhe grabbed Liang Shao's sleeve, "Wait a minute!"
Continue read on readnovelmtl.com
