N-A-A Chapter 95 You are not qualified to draw a portrait of a goddess
Chapter 95 You are not qualified to draw a portrait of a goddess
Chapter 95 You are not qualified to draw a portrait of a goddess
Kyoto, Taichang Temple.
The sun was high in the sky, casting dappled, shimmering light on the ground through the branches and leaves of the ancient trees in the courtyard.
Several minor officials in their uniforms were hurrying along the corridor carrying files when they suddenly stopped.
At the entrance of the courtyard, a tall figure strode in.
Zhou Tong walked very fast. His square face was expressionless, but the light in his eyes was so intense that it was hard to look directly at him.
The minor officials exchanged glances, lowered their heads, and stepped aside, none of them daring to step forward and ask questions.
Zhou Tong walked straight through the front yard without stopping, all the way to the back yard.
His gaze swept across the side rooms on both sides, finally landing on the door of a study on the west side.
This is where Fan Jian drew the goddess portrait.
The two Taichang Temple attendants guarding the door saw Zhou Tong approaching and quickly stepped forward, raising their hands to stop him: "Commander Zhou, Lord Fan is currently—"
Zhou Tong didn't even glance at them.
He exuded an overwhelming aura of violence, as if he had just come from a battlefield and was still carrying the smell of blood.
The two waiters' hands froze in mid-air, their words stuck in their throats.
Zhou Tong walked to the door.
He raised his foot and kicked out fiercely!
"Bang!"
The entire wooden door detached from the frame and flew into the room, crashing heavily to the ground and raising a cloud of dust.
In the study, Fan Jian was standing in front of a large drawing table, holding a brush in his hand, concentrating on sketching the white-clad figure on the rice paper.
The loud thud of the door being kicked open made him shudder, and the tip of his pen drew an ugly ink mark on the drawing paper.
"Who?!" Fan Jian suddenly raised his head, his face instantly contorted with anger.
He put down his pen, strode to the door, and was about to start cursing.
Upon seeing that the person standing outside the door was Zhou Tong, Fan Jian swallowed back the words he was about to say.
Zhou Tong was still wearing his armor, and his face was covered in dust. He stood there staring at Fan Jian as if he were staring at a corpse.
"Zhou Tong," Fan Jian suppressed his anger, his voice turning serious, "What are you doing? Do you know I'm in charge of drawing the portrait of the goddess?!"
"To paint a portrait of the goddess?" Zhou Tong's voice was deeper than his, each word carrying weight. "Fan Jian, what a holy person the goddess is."
He took a step forward.
The leaves rustled.
"You, a man who abandoned his wife and children," Zhou Tong stared into Fan Jian's eyes, "what right do you have to paint a portrait of the goddess?"
The moment the words fell.
Zhou Tong moved.
He suddenly raised his right leg and kicked Fan Jian in the chest!
Fan Jian never expected Zhou Tong to make a sudden move.
His pupils contracted, and he tried to back away, but his feet hadn't moved yet.
"Bang!"
That kick landed squarely on his chest.
Fan Jian was sent flying backward, his back crashing into the tables and chairs behind him before he landed in a pile of wood shards.
A sharp pain shot through my chest, a sweet taste filled my throat, and I coughed up a mouthful of blood.
He clutched his chest, looked up, his eyes wide with disbelief as he stared at Zhou Tong: "Zhou Tong—you—"
By this time, the outside world was in complete chaos.
Wen Zisheng, the Minister of the Court of Imperial Sacrifices, heard the commotion and rushed over with a group of people.
As soon as he reached the study door, he saw the door that had been kicked open, Zhou Tong standing in the doorway, and Fan Jian lying inside with blood at the corner of his mouth.
Wen Zisheng's expression changed.
He waved his hand, signaling the onlookers behind him to step back, then took two steps forward and cautiously began, "Commander Zhou, what is this—"
He didn't dare say anything more.
The Fan and Zhou families are related by marriage; Zhou Tong is Fan Jian's brother-in-law.
This is their family matter, and it's not appropriate for an outsider like him to meddle.
But this is the Court of Imperial Sacrifices!
Fan Jian now bears the heavy responsibility of painting the portrait of the goddess. If anything were to happen to him...
Zhou Tong ignored Wen Zisheng.
He stepped into the study and came to stand before Fan Jian.
Fan Jian was still sitting in the pile of wood scraps, his chest aching so badly that he was gasping for breath.
"Your son has only been dead for a few days, his body is not even cold yet."
"You know how much of a blow my sister suffered."
"She is currently pregnant and lying at home, unable to take her medication, and there is a risk of complications at any time."
"And you?" Zhou Tong bent down, his angry face close to Fan Jian's. "What are you doing right now?!"
"Fan Jian".
"What right do you have to touch the image of the goddess? You are defiling the goddess of Qing Kingdom!"
The color drained from Fan Jian's face and slowly returned to its normal hue.
Zhou Tong's words were like a knife, piercing through what he had been deliberately trying not to think about these past few days.
He knew he had neglected his wife.
But he thought that once the matter of worshipping the gods was finished and the portrait of the goddess was completed, he would go back to spend time with his wife and make amends to her.
It will only take a few days at most.
He didn't think he had done anything wrong.
"Zhou Tong," Fan Jian struggled to his feet, clutching his chest, "do you know how important it is to paint the portrait of the goddess? Do you know that this is His Majesty—"
"Anyone can draw," Zhou Tong interrupted him, "except you."
"Because you're not qualified."
"If the goddess knew that her portrait was painted by someone like you, who abandoned his wife and children—"
The Imperial Study.
Emperor Qing was leaning against the soft couch, intending to rest for a while, but as soon as he closed his eyes, the image of Ye Qingmei's gaze from last night appeared in his mind.
Eunuch Hou entered quietly.
He whispered, "Your Majesty, news has just arrived—Commander Zhou stormed into the Court of Imperial Sacrifices and beat up Lord Fan."
"What?!" Emperor Qing sat bolt upright. "Zhou Tong hit Fan Jian?!"
"It seems—it seems that Lord Fan has been so focused on painting the goddess portrait that he has neglected his family." Eunuch Hou's voice was very low. "Commander Zhou's sister is not doing well right now. He says that Lord Fan is not qualified to paint the goddess portrait—"
Eunuch Hou then gave a detailed report on what had happened at the Court of Imperial Sacrifices.
Emperor Qing's heart skipped a beat.
He revered Ye Qingmei as a goddess, hoping to let her rest in peace and never "come back."
But if what Zhou Tong said is true, letting someone who doesn't care about the lives of his wife and children paint the goddess's portrait—
Isn't this blasphemy against the goddess?
What if Ye Qingmei feels humiliated and "comes back"?
A cold sweat broke out on Emperor Qing's back.
"Reveal my imperial decree." He immediately told Eunuch Hou, "Zhou Tong forcibly entered the Court of Imperial Sacrifices and injured Fan Jian, which should have been severely punished. However, considering the circumstances, he should be given twenty strokes of the cane and his salary deducted for one year. Since Fan Jian is injured, he is no longer suitable to paint the goddess portrait. Instruct the Ministry of Rites..."
The Court of Imperial Sacrifices and the Qing Temple selected other painters to paint.
Eunuch Hou quickly bowed and said, "This old servant will take care of it right away."
Not long after.
Eunuch Hou arrived at the backyard of the Imperial Academy.
"Imperial edict has arrived!"
Eunuch Hou's voice rang out in the courtyard.
Everyone knelt down.
Fan Jian clutched his chest, slowly stood up from the pile of rubble, and then knelt down as well.
Eunuch Hou quickly read aloud: "His Majesty's decree states that Zhou Tong forcibly entered the Court of Imperial Sacrifices and injured a high-ranking official, which should have been severely punished. However, considering the circumstances, he is to be punished with twenty strokes of the cane and a one-year salary deduction. Since Fan Jian is already injured, he is no longer suitable to be in charge of the goddess portrait project. The Ministry of Rites, the Court of Imperial Sacrifices, and the Temple of Heaven are hereby ordered to select another person to continue the painting. So be it!"
After reading it aloud, Eunuch Hou looked at Zhou Tong and said, "Commander Zhou, come with me."
Zhou Tong didn't speak, but gave Fan Jian a deep look before turning and walking out.
The people in the courtyard slowly dispersed.
Wen Zisheng quickly sent people to help Fan Jian up and to clean up the mess on the ground.
Fan Jian sat in the chair, his chest still aching, his mind a jumbled mess.
Just then, the sound of a wheelchair turning came from outside.
Chen Pingping was pushed into the courtyard by a black-clad rider.
He stopped in front of Fan Jian, his face expressionless, just staring at Fan Jian.
Fan Jian raised his head, his lips moved as if he wanted to say something.
"Actually, Zhou Tong is right," Chen Pingping spoke first, her voice cold. "You are indeed not qualified to draw Miss's portrait right now."
Fan Jian's face turned even paler.
"You know how dangerous your wife's condition is right now," Chen Pingping continued. "Fei Jie should have told you that she's pregnant, emotionally unstable, and could have something happen to her at any moment."
"If Miss knew about this, knew that you would abandon your own dying wife just to paint her portrait—"
She will never forgive you.
Done.
Chen Pingping signaled to the black-clad riders behind him to push him away.
Fan Jian sat alone in a chair.
He looked down at his hands, stained with blood and ink.
"I—" he murmured, "Was I really wrong—"
"Light Eyebrows—Am I really—not worthy to draw you—?"