Chapter 101
Chapter 101: “Capital Beaux Album”
Lin Yu Ning hugged the ten hard-won scripture volumes to her chest as she returned to her room. Excitement flushed her cheeks as she spun once, unable to stop moving.
Before her joy even cooled, a brand-new, terrifying problem reared up.
She paced, steps quick, mind racing—until a name leapt into her thoughts.
The next morning, as soon as it was light, she ordered her maid to wrap the ten precious volumes in brocade. She tucked them close and marched out, head high, straight for the Yun Lang Art Studio.
Her luck was almost offensively good.
Through the window lattice, she caught sight of Zhao Lü Liu inside.
Zhao Lü Liu wore a pale green dress like spring water. Her head was bowed, wrist lifted as she mixed pigments on a palette with careful attention. Sunlight fell through the window bars and painted her side profile with quiet grace, giving her the air of someone born from books and ink.
“Sister Green Willow!”
Lin Yu Ning’s voice arrived before she did. She swept her skirt up and rushed inside.
No greetings. No warm-up.
She hurried to the table and laid the ten volumes out in front of Zhao Lü Liu with both hands, so careful it looked like worship.
“Sister Green Willow, look!”
Her voice turned sweet—too sweet—thick with flattery.
“These are all scriptures my cousin copied by hand lately. Smell them—the ink, the sandalwood. Every character is filled with Buddhist spirit!”
Then she leaned in, dropping her voice as if the walls might steal the plan.
“I want to ask you a favor. In the blank spaces of each volume, draw a small portrait of my cousin. Chanting, watching clouds—anything. You capture him best. The price is negotiable, or… we can sell them and split the money.”
Zhao Lü Liu’s gaze caught at once—not on Lin Yu Ning’s words, but on the writing.
The strokes were strong, disciplined, tranquil. Each character seemed to carry quiet force in its bones. For a painter, it was almost unbearable.
Her slender fingers reached out, the tips stained with faint blue-green. She brushed the paper lightly, slowly, as if touching a priceless work, trying to feel the writer’s mood through the page itself.
After a long moment, she lifted her eyes.
The melancholy softness that usually lived there remained—but behind it was something new, something firm, almost fever-bright.
“Third Miss.”
Her voice was gentle, but it didn’t waver.
She slid the ten volumes back toward Lin Yu Ning, careful and absolute.
“I cannot draw on these scriptures.”
“What?”
Lin Yu Ning froze, disbelief buzzing in her skull. “Why? Is the space too small? Sister, we can negotiate! Thirty–seventy? You take seven, I take three!”
Zhao Lü Liu shook her head, expression steady.
“I don’t want a cut. Not a single coin.”
She paused, gaze locked on Lin Yu Ning like a hook.
“I ask only one thing of Third Miss.”
“Find a way to let me see Yuan Jue—the Buddhist Scion—just once. If I can be close enough to sketch him, then forget these ten volumes. I would paint as many as you want, free of charge.”
Lin Yu Ning stared as if she’d been struck.
She’d expected bargaining. She’d expected greed.
She had not expected this.
Her thoughts clattered like a hundred abacus beads at once. She looked at Zhao Lü Liu’s near-desperate determination, then down at the ten volumes shining like silver in her mind, and felt torn clean in two.
Money was lovely.
But this condition was deadly.
Lin Yu Ning’s eyes rolled, quick as always. A new idea sparked.
She leaned forward, voice low, a warning threaded through it.
“Sister Green Willow, I still remember what you said at my house last time. My Big Aunt… she doesn’t think well of you. If you try to enter through the front gate to see Cousin, it’ll be as hard as climbing to heaven.”
Zhao Lü Liu’s expression didn’t falter. If anything, pride rose in it—an artist’s stubborn, lofty pride.
She gave a soft, dismissive snort.
“You think I’ve gone to such lengths because I’m infatuated with your Buddhist Scion cousin like those ordinary girls in the capital?”
She lifted her chin, as if announcing something solemn.
“I am doing this for my art.”
“My Capital Beaux Album is one portrait away from completion. One final piece is missing—Yuan Jue, the Buddhist Scion, in ordinary clothes, drawn from life.”
She stared at Lin Yu Ning, each word precise.
“Do you understand what that means to a painter who chases perfection?”
“Capital Beaux Album?”
Lin Yu Ning’s eyes went round as bells. It sounded like forbidden gossip from the rivers and lakes—so shocking she forgot to breathe.
“Sister… what is that? Is it… all handsome men?”
Zhao Lü Liu gave her a look that said, plainly, You really are still a child.
But her voice held a subtle lure.
“If you can get me inside—if you can let me look at your cousin from far away, quietly, without being discovered—long enough for me to finish this piece, that is enough.”
“And when it’s done, I will not only draw on these ten scripture volumes for free… I will also sell them for you on consignment through the Yun Lang Art Studio, and…”
She paused deliberately, letting the bait hang.
Lin Yu Ning’s ears practically stood straight up.
“I will also give you a copy of the Capital Beaux Album to look at.”
Zhao Lü Liu smiled, calm and certain.
“Well, Third Miss?”
“This deal—any way you count it—puts all the advantage in your hands, doesn’t it?”
Lin Yu Ning’s mind detonated.
The thought of owning that mysterious album sent a thrill shooting straight up her spine. She nearly floated off the floor.
She forced her grin down, cleared her throat, and put on a thoughtful face as if weighing the fate of kingdoms.
“Ahem. Since Sister is sacrificing herself for art… then fine!”
“I’ll think of a way. But we set three rules: you can only look from far away, you cannot make a sound, and you absolutely cannot be discovered.”
Zhao Lü Liu watched her struggle to look serious while practically sparkling with joy. Quiet amusement warmed her eyes.
She nodded with elegant composure, returning to the calm poise of a painter.
“Of course,” she said softly. “Everything will follow Third Miss’s arrangements.”