Time is Slow / Meet You in My Prime - Chapter 10 : A New Look

Qiao Zhao spread her arms and glanced around.

Yang Hou Cheng, feeling a bit impatient, asked her, "What are you searching for? Did you misplace the painting?"

That excuse really wasn't convincing.

The little girl didn't even bother to look up as she calmly replied, "The painting isn't lost; I'm looking for 'Fengdu.'"

Demeanor?

The three of them were taken aback.

Yang Hou Cheng asked again, thinking it might be a homonym, "What does 'fengdu' mean?"

With her autumn-like eyes glancing over at Chi Can, the girl patiently explained, "It's the 'feng' from 'style' and the 'du' from 'generosity'-it stands for demeanor."

Now they all understood.

Zhu Yan and Yang Hou Cheng exchanged glances and then looked at Chi Can, unable to hold back their laughter.

Chi Can's previously pale face quickly darkened.

Ever since he met this girl, it seemed like his friends had taken to teasing him non-stop.

He strode over to Qiao Zhao and grabbed her chin, saying, "How dare you! Do you know who I am?"

The little girl blinked and asked cautiously, "Savior?"

Chi Can's anger deflated like a balloon pricked with a needle. He stared at the girl, who didn't even reach his armpit, and his mouth twitched as he released her chin silently.

This girl must be here just to mess with him, right?

Hearing his friends stifle their laughter, Chi Can took a deep breath, flicked his sleeves, and left.

As soon as he entered the cabin, Yang Hou Cheng almost doubled over laughing and said to Qiao Zhao, "Little girl, I'll make sure to protect you from now on."

It was rare to find someone who could consistently put Young Master Chi in his place.

Qiao Zhao half-knelt, smiling as she said, "Thanks for your kindness, Brother Yang."

Zhu Yan seemed like he wanted to add something but just gave Yang Hou Cheng a look and stayed quiet.

Just then, the deck went silent for a moment before Chi Can burst out of the cabin like a whirlwind, startling Zhu Yan and the others who knew his usual demeanor.

"Are there thieves? Or have we run into foreign pirates?" Yang Hou Cheng asked, placing a hand on the scabbard at his waist, looking anxious.

"What pirates? Come with me!" Chi Can shouted and turned back inside.

Yang Hou Cheng murmured as he followed, "We're too far from Fucheng to be facing foreign pirates."

The Great Liang wasn't exactly peaceful at the time; the Tartars in the north often raided, and southern coastal raids by foreign pirates were a huge concern. In recent years, they had caused serious trouble for the palace.

Qiao Zhao quietly followed the three of them as they disappeared through the door.

"What's happening?" Zhu Yan, usually calm, now looked flustered as he eyed the painting of ducks playing on the desk in the study cabin.

Yang Hou Cheng exclaimed, "What the heck? I distinctly remember there being a splatter of ink right here!"

He reached out to touch it.

"Don't touch that!" Zhu Yan shot back, his tone harsher than he intended. He quickly grabbed a handkerchief, wrapped it around his fingers, and gently pressed down on the reflection of a small bridge in the painting.

When he pulled his hand back, faint ink smudges stained the pristine handkerchief. His eyes widened, and he looked over at Qiao Zhao.

Chi Can had an inkling of what was going on from his friend's actions, but it was hard to believe. He gaped at Qiao Zhao and started to say, "You..."

The revelation was so shocking that he couldn't finish his sentence.

Qiao Zhao walked over slowly, picked up the long box resting on the desk, and handed it to Zhu Yan.

Zhu Yan took the painting with a bit of a dazed look, then seemingly remembered something important. He quickly opened the long box and pulled out a scroll.

As he unrolled it, they saw it was a lively painting of ducks playing!

The three of them focused on the ink blot on the duck painting, then shifted their gazes to the painting laid out on the desk.

Other than the ink mark, both paintings were identical!

"They're exactly the same! How did you manage that?" Zhu Yan said, almost to himself.

With his knowledge in this area, he could tell that the two paintings not only looked alike but captured the same essence, too.

"This isn't a replica, no way is this a copy!" Zhu Yan shook his head in disbelief and shot a quizzical look at Qiao Zhao. "Miss Li, do you happen to have Old Master Qiao's duck painting as well?"

That duck painting was one of Old Master Qiao's early masterpieces, and there had been quite a few copies floating around.

Qiao Zhao gestured to the nearly shredded handkerchief that Zhu Yan had been holding.

Zhu Yan glanced down, and the faint ink mark on the handkerchief hit him like a lightbulb moment-it made his previous question seem pretty silly.

In a sudden burst of frustration, he asked, "How did you do this?"

A girl so young could replicate one of Old Master Qiao's famous works to the point that no one could tell the difference? It made his own painting skills feel pretty insignificant in comparison.

"Copying it, of course! Didn't I mention I really admire Old Master Qiao and have been imitating his work?" Qiao Zhao replied, keeping it real.

She was being honest. When she first started painting, her grandfather had her replicate a simple duck drawing for three years. Afterward, she spent another six months painting the real ducks from the pond behind the apricot forest. At that point, she could paint a duck even with her eyes closed, and no matter the angle, her ducks looked just like her grandfather's.

Her grandfather always said that the ducks she painted carried the same spirit as his. If the souls were aligned, it didn't matter if the forms were slightly different; people would think they were done by the same artist.

He advised her that her skills would truly flourish when she could embed her understanding of artistic soul into the ducks she painted.

Unfortunately, she lacked natural talent in painting, so she's probably destined to never really shine in that aspect.

"Copy?" Zhu Yan murmured, feeling a bit unsettled.

He had a sinking feeling it was more than just copying-it might even be talent.

"It's so similar! Wait... did you really paint this, Miss Li?" Yang Hou Cheng asked wide-eyed, hardly able to blink.

Qiao Zhao smiled at him and then turned to Chi Can: "So, Brother Chi, does this meet your needs for your task?"

Chi Can stood there wrestling with his thoughts before finally nodding and making a swift exit.

Yang Hou Cheng chuckled awkwardly and clarified, "Don't mind him; he's probably just feeling a bit shy."

Thinking back to the impressive artwork, he suddenly felt awkward calling her 'little girl' anymore, so he turned to Zhu Yan. "It's pretty stuffy in here; let's get some fresh air."

Zhu Yan gave Qiao Zhao one last thoughtful look before nodding vaguely, "Sure."

On the deck, Zhu Yan leaned against the railing, lost in thought.

Yang Hou Cheng lightly patted his shoulder. "What's up? Are you in shock?"

Zhu Yan offered a wry smile.

Chi Can, still leaning on the railing, quietly wondered, "Is she really the daughter of a junior editor from Hanlin?"

Not being in the same social circles, he wasn't sure if a person named Li Xiu Zhuan existed in the Hanlin Academy, but he found it hard to believe that a family of such status could have such a gifted daughter.

"Why doubt it? Would she really lie about that?" Yang Hou Cheng disagreed.

Chi Can shot a glance at Zhu Yan and remarked, "It's just wild. Zi Zhe has had all these top-notch teachers since he was a kid, yet he still can't create a piece like that."

Zhu Yan's mouth twitched slightly.

As if things weren't already tough enough, now he's being thrown into the mix for comparisons. Is there any fairness in that?

Yang Hou Cheng chimed in, throwing a casual glance at Zhu Yan, "Honestly, that's not surprising at all. Everyone has their own strengths. Take Master Qiao, a big deal at court-no one's ever said he inherited his father's, Old Master Qiao's, talent."

Talent, talent...

Young Master Zhu, feeling the sting of comparison from his buddy, quietly bit back his frustration.