Time Is Slow - Chapter 8

The girl bit her lips lightly, her face pale. The only touch of color was the crimson at the tips of her brows, making it even more distinct—like the apricot blossoms falling silently in the apricot forest, their tender red petals covered by snow, evoking a sense of pity.

Unfortunately, Chi Can was the kind of person who lacked any tender feelings for beauty. He cast a sidelong glance at Qiao Zhao and said irritably, “What’s the use of asking this now?”

“Brother Chi, is it inconvenient for you to say?” Qiao Zhao casually pulled at the corners of her mouth.

This man had come to visit her father. Judging by his status and age, it was certainly not for official business. There was an eight or nine out of ten chance that his visit this time is related to his visit three years ago.

If that was the case, she might be able to help him fulfill his wish. It wasn’t about showing off—it was to repay him for saving her.

As for his unpredictable temper… well, she doesn’t see a point in quarreling with a lunatic.

Calling Chi Can a lunatic wasn’t even much of an insult.

Her understanding of the people in the capital was limited, but Chi Can was an exception. Part of it was because he had visited her grandfather, but more importantly, his parents’ story was too famous.

Princess Changrong, the Emperor’s sister, had been much loved by the Empress Dowager and the Emperor in her youth. When she reached marriageable age, she personally chose a handsome and unparalleled scholar from a humble background over the noble sons of aristocratic families.

As she put it back then, scholars from modest backgrounds were less pretentious and more reliable.

Perhaps her words were prophetic. After marriage, the couple shared a harmonious life. In over a decade, they were never known to argue, hardly even bickering. The princess was noble, and much of this harmony was attributed to the prince consort’s tolerance and patience.

For a time, this celestial couple inspired the envy of countless people. Those princesses who had initially doubted Princess Changrong’s choice praised her wisdom more than once.

Who could have imagined that life would prove more dramatic than a play? When the prince consort died unexpectedly, and Princess Changrong was overwhelmed with grief, a woman showed up with a pair of children, claiming to be the prince consort’s mistress.

What broke the princess even more was that the mistress’s children were not much younger than her only son, Chi Can.

The more blissful and enviable the ten years of happiness and pride had been, the sharper the slap in the face. The humiliation struck Princess Changrong so hard that her sorrow was almost swallowed up by the pain. But the man was already dead, leaving her with no place to vent her anger.

Not long after, Princess Changrong openly kept male companions, and her residence became a place of nightly revelry.

Faced with these upheavals and the veiled but unmistakable malice of those around him, the young Chi Can grew increasingly temperamental. Adding to the challenge was his striking resemblance to his father. The more he grew, the more radiant he became. While his mother treated him with unpredictable warmth and coldness, the young ladies of the capital chased after him, fueling his eccentric temperament.

These were just bits of gossip Qiao Zhao had heard occasionally after marrying into the Marquis Jing’an household. She pulled herself back from her thoughts, and a hint of sympathy showed in her gaze toward Chi Can.

Compared to him, her parents seemed so normal!

Chi Can, being particularly sensitive, was pricked by the girl’s inexplicable gaze. He said coldly, “There’s nothing inconvenient about it!”

He looked her up and down, his disdain practically spilling over from the curl of his lips. “What good would it do to tell you?”

Qiao Zhao was naturally open-minded and easygoing. Normally, she might have said a few light-hearted words to ease the awkward atmosphere. But her family had just suffered a calamity, and no matter how cheerful she was, she wasn’t in the mood for a small talk. Seeing that he didn’t intend to speak, she didn’t press further. She only responded with a quiet “oh,” picked up the chess pieces he had tossed back, and resumed playing the unfinished game against herself.

Chi Can had been waiting for her to continue the conversation, but all he got was an “Oh” as the young girl started entertaining herself. He felt a lump in his throat that he couldn’t swallow, and his handsome face turned dark.

‘Oh’ is definitely the most annoying reply, without a doubt! Chi Can thought through gritted teeth.

Zhu Yan couldn’t bear it any longer. He pressed his fist to his lips and gave a light cough. “Shi Xi, I’m sorry. If I hadn’t wanted to see Mr. Qiao’s painting, it wouldn’t have been ruined, and you wouldn’t have made a wasted trip—”

Chi Can was particularly forgiving. Waving his hand, he said, “There’s no point in talking about this now. I’ll think of another way.”

“My father still has a painting of the ‘Five Oxen’ by Master Han—”

Chi Can interrupted Zhu Yan’s words, “My mother isn’t interested in works by old masters of the previous dynasty. She only likes Mr. Qiao’s paintings.”

Qiao Zhao’s eyes flickered.

Princess Changrong cherished her grandfather’s paintings?

Her mind was sharp, and she quickly thought of the time over three years ago when Chi Can came to ask her grandfather for guidance on his painting skills.

Everyone knew that in his later years, her grandfather was weak and no longer had the energy to teach anyone. Could it be that Chi Can’s request for guidance was just a pretense, and his true intention was to obtain one of her grandfather’s paintings?

Given her grandfather’s reputation and status in the literary world, if Chi Can had directly asked for a painting back then, he likely would have been refused outright. But by persistently seeking instruction, he eventually wore down her grandfather, who finally gave him a painting just to dismiss him.

Qiao Zhao couldn’t help but take a deep look at Chi Can.

That year, he would have only been fifteen or sixteen. He truly wasn’t simple.

Thinking of those rumors, Qiao Zhao grew even more puzzled.

Wasn’t it said that Chi Can and Princess Changrong had a strained mother-son relationship? Then why would he go to such lengths for a painting she likes?

Qiao Zhao couldn’t help but ponder this when Yang Houcheng suddenly slapped his forehead and exclaimed, “I remember now! My father has a painting by Mr. Qiao, a gift from the Empress Dowager in the early years.”

Yang Houcheng was the heir to the Marquis of Liuxing, and the Liuxing Marquis household was the Empress Dowager Yang’s family. By blood, Yang Houcheng should call the Empress Dowager his grandaunt.

Chi Can glanced at Yang Houcheng, his expression half-smiling. “You just remembered?”

Yang Houcheng scratched his head. “I was hoping we could ask Mr. Qiao to paint a copy, so I wouldn’t have to touch my father’s treasure. That painting was a gift from the Empress Dowager and painted by Mr. Qiao himself. My father cherishes it dearly. If he knew I took it, he’d break my legs—”

“But Mr. Qiao is not good at painting,” Qiao Zhao couldn’t help but interject, immediately drawing the attention of all three.

“How do you know?” Chi Can asked impatiently, annoyed by her interruption.

The young girl’s eyes widened slightly, her tone utterly earnest. “I admire Mr. Qiao. I’ve always been practicing by copying his paintings and paying attention to his stories. But I’ve never heard even the slightest hint that Mr. Qiao is skilled in painting.”

Her words left the three looking at each other in confusion.

It did seem true. Mr. Qiao had served as an official in the capital for many years, yet no paintings of his had ever circulated. They had merely assumed that since he was Mr. Qiao’s son, he must also excel in painting—how foolish.

“Can I take a look at the ruined painting?” Qiao Zhao asked.

Chi Can glanced at Zhu Yan.

That painting was the one he had asked for his mother three years ago. Since his friend wanted to see it, he had brought it out. Now that it was ruined, it naturally held no value.

With a bitter smile, Zhu Yan turned back to the cabin. He soon returned, holding a long box.

One could tell he cherished paintings. When he opened the box, he used a pristine white cloth to carefully lift the painting and gently spread it out in front of Qiao Zhao.

The painting depicted a pond with green waters and a sunset spreading across half the canvas. A small bridge stood alongside its reflection, and seven or eight ducks appeared lifelike, as if a flap of their wings could make them swim right out of the painting. Unfortunately, a blot of ink had marred the artwork.

Qiao Zhao’s gaze deepened.

As expected, this was the painting her grandfather had given to Chi Can.

Her grandfather had made his name in his early years by painting ducks. Because of the childlike charm in those works, it was also the first style she learned and excelled at.

With confidence growing in her heart, Qiao Zhao said, “I can paint this.”