Chapter 188

Chapter 188: Doomed, Perhaps

“What’s this?” Shang Hang Yu took the scroll from Sheng Zhi Wan and held it near the candlelight.

He clearly saw a scene drawn upon it: a bitter winter, frozen waterways, burning piles of cotton, and beside them, people from the Ciji Orphanage wailing and rushing about to put out the flames.

At the very edge stood several men dressed as officials and a few wealthy gentlemen watching from a safe distance.

The picture precisely captured everything Du Yi Zhi had described in his letter. Those unaware would surely believe the artist had personally witnessed this event.

Even the expressions on the faces of the wealthy gentlemen were painted vividly.

Shang Hang Yu’s eyes widened in astonishment. This painting technique—he had seen it recently, hadn’t he? On that Garden Stroll painting he had won at auction?

Impossible!

Slowly, his gaze fell upon the small characters at the corner of the scroll.

Xian Yuan Zi.

His suspicion was confirmed. Yet, his heart pounded fiercely.

“Princess, you… you know Xian Yuan Zi?” Know her? More than just know!

But he dared not voice his true guess aloud. Who could accept that Xian Yuan Zi, revered by countless scholars, the painting fairy even the Emperor could not find, was a young woman—one not yet twenty?

Impossible!

Sheng Zhi Wan gave him a sidelong glance. “Second Young Master Shang already knows the answer. Tomorrow, please display this painting publicly. Also, find some people to subtly guide public opinion. You know what they should say.”

“Of course.” Shang Hang Yu hesitated. “But, Princess, could you allow one small addition?”

Sheng Zhi Wan raised her brows curiously as Shang Hang Yu swiftly drew a dagger across his finger, letting drops of blood fall onto the painting.

Understanding his intent instantly, Sheng Zhi Wan’s lips twitched as she quickly handed him a handkerchief. Shang Hang Yu casually tucked it away into his robe.

She frowned slightly, but before she could speak, he said, “With the blood of the painting fairy, the Du clan and Ji Prefecture’s magistrate are truly finished.”

“Not the entire Du clan,” Sheng Zhi Wan corrected firmly, “just the Southern Du branch.”

“Right,” Shang Hang Yu swiftly agreed, quietly pushing the handkerchief deeper into his robe.

Noticing this, Sheng Zhi Wan merely looked away.

Truthfully, Sheng Zhi Wan hadn’t painted solely based on Du Yi Zhi’s description. Three years ago, in her previous life, she had briefly visited Ji Prefecture. Though only passing through, the sights hadn’t changed much.

She had effortlessly captured the scene, adding Du Yi Zhi, Magistrate Yan Hai, and the others mentioned in Du Yi Zhi’s letter—figures she recalled from before.

The faces were vague, but familiar enough to be recognized by those who knew them.

What mattered was that “Painting Fairy Xian Yuan Zi” had personally witnessed it, immortalizing the tragedy with her brush.

They couldn’t deny their guilt now.

The next morning at the Gathering Worthies Teahouse.

It was the largest, most elegant teahouse in the capital, famous for displaying the finest poetry and paintings. Scholars and noble youths visited regularly, hoping to see their own work displayed—and to earn the thousand silver ingots awarded as compensation.

Today, however, visitors watched curiously as servants carefully removed all previously displayed pieces, replacing them with a large white cloth.

“What’s going on?” asked a confused young scholar.

“It’s not the first day of the month. Could it be there’s a masterpiece so extraordinary the owner decided to display it immediately?”

The workers remained silent, diligently smoothing the cloth, heightening curiosity. Soon, a crowd had formed, filling even the streets outside.

Finally, the shopkeeper clapped his hands, signaling the servants to pull away the covering. A rough painting appeared before everyone.

Despite its hasty brushstrokes, it captured their attention completely.

“This style—it’s Painting Fairy Xian Yuan Zi!” shouted a student.

“It truly is her!”

“Even His Majesty couldn’t commission a painting from Xian Yuan Zi! Who exactly is this teahouse’s mysterious owner?”

Excitement rippled through the crowd until someone noticed the crimson drops.

“Wait! Is that blood?”

“Who would dare mar a fairy’s artwork?”

“Sacrilege!”

Suddenly, a scholar gasped, “This scene—it looks familiar.”

“Familiar? You’ve seen this?”

“That’s near my home! Next to the Ciji Orphanage—I haven’t been back in three years!”

“Where’s your home?” someone asked urgently.

“Ji Prefecture!”

A stunned silence fell over the teahouse.

“I heard Ji Prefecture is suffering from the winter disaster right now,” someone whispered.

“Yes, they say even the waterways are frozen solid…”

Slowly, comprehension dawned. One by one, eyes widened in shock as realization set in.

“So…this painting depicts Ji Prefecture?”