Chapter 33: Painting

The chief examiner was Grand Secretary Zhong Ziqi, a small elderly man with a full head of white hair, known for his stern and upright demeanour. Unrolling the scroll in his hand, he began announcing today’s test topic.

For the “painting” category, the subject varied annually. This year, coinciding with the Chrysanthemum Banquet, the topic was simple—just like “calligraphy,” it featured chrysanthemums.

Five long tables lined the stage, each equipped with brushes, ink, paper, and inkstones. Contestants approached in order, while the drummer’s deep beat marked the evaluation’s start.

All eyes followed the five contestants, each distinct: Shen Yue, a famed talented lady; Qin Qing, proud and beautiful; Fan Liuer and Zhao Yan, inseparable companions; and Shen Miao—the usual fool of the group.

Men watched Shen Yue and Qin Qing, while women focused on Shen Miao.

Bai Wei whispered, “Shen Miao seems proper today. She hasn’t made a strange move.”

Indeed, Shen Miao had endured four prior evaluations filled with blunders: ruining a chess setup, spilling ink, snapping zither strings. People attended to witness her humiliation.

But today was different.

On the spacious stage, she sat poised, holding her brush with impeccable posture, as if trained by masters. A cold October breeze lifted stray hair strands, revealing an oval face framed by lowered eyelashes, exuding subtle beauty.

Her lotus-blue cape rustled as her brush moved gracefully, effortlessly flowing with restrained elegance. Even Madam Yi murmured to Ren Wanyun, “The Fifth Miss has truly grown up.”

Whispers rippled among the young ladies:
“She hasn’t messed up… Could she have changed?”
“Impossible. She’s likely just pretending. Even Shen Yue hesitates before touching the brush.”

Feng Anning sensed something unprecedented at today’s banquet. Would Shen Miao embarrass herself—or unexpectedly overturn everyone’s expectations?

Even the men noticed. Shen Miao, seemingly timid and vulgar, now radiated an aura of quiet dominance, making others feel her presence.

Pei Lang frowned. How could her temperament have shifted so drastically?

Fu Xiuyi barely restrained his astonishment. Shen Miao’s posture and movements reminded him of someone entirely different—the Empress herself. Rumors painted her as ignorant, crude, and timid. Now, he questioned everything.

“How strange,” muttered a blue-robed youth, observing her.
“Wasn’t Shen Miao supposed to be a fool? She doesn’t seem like one.”

Cai Lin, struggling to suppress curiosity, scoffed, “She must be acting.”

Su Minglang tugged at Su Mingfeng’s sleeve. “Big Brother, she will win, right?”
Su Mingfeng smiled mysteriously, giving nothing away.

As the incense-stick timer ended, the drummer struck again. Shen Yue and Qin Qing finished with confidence, yet in the evaluation arena, beauty never guaranteed victory. Shen Miao had completed her work flawlessly, calmly awaiting collection.

Shen Yue’s smile faltered.

“Alright, you may step down now.”

Once off stage, Shen Yue asked Shen Miao, her curiosity barely contained, “What did you paint?”

Shen Miao’s slight smile hinted at deeper meaning. She whispered to Guyu: “Deliver this to the second son of the Imperial Historian’s household, third from the left in lake green.”

Guyu hesitated, then bowed.

Shen Miao returned to her seat, casting a calculating glance at Pei Lang. Their eyes met. Silent yet piercing, it spoke volumes.

I’m sorry, Pei Lang, Shen Miao thought. Let me shake the seemingly unshakable foundation of the Ming Qi royal family. After all, you owe me.

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