Chapter 67: How Could Qing Li Paint Zhao Mengxian’s Portrait?

Chapter 67: Why Would Qing Li Draw a Portrait of Zhao Mengxian?

Qing Li glanced at the blood on his fingertips, then used his other clean hand to retrieve a fresh handkerchief from under the pillow, wiping the blood from his lips and fingers. His movements were graceful and composed, as if this were nothing out of the ordinary. Yet, the thin inner robe made his shoulders and back appear even more frail. When he lifted his gaze, he met Commander Xing’s wide eyes, filled with anxiety.

“Did I frighten you?”

Xing Fang was indeed startled. This person had been under his constant watch, and the Emperor had just instructed him to take good care of him. Yet, in the blink of an eye, he was coughing up blood.

“What’s wrong with you? His Majesty has ordered a royal physician and two medical attendants from the Imperial Hospital to care for you. I’ll send someone to fetch them right now.”

As Xing Fang spoke, he made to rise, but his arm was gently held back by a light touch.

“No need. I have my own medicine. Please fetch me a cup of water.”

With these words, the man took a celadon bottle from a small box by the pillow and poured out a pill into his hand. Xing Fang immediately stood up to get him water. For the past few days, there had been no one specifically assigned to attend to him in the room, so the water had been boiled by the imperial guards and brought in. Perhaps it had been too long, as the water was now cold.

“It’s cold. Is that alright? Should I have someone boil some fresh water now?”

Qing Li raised his hand.

“It’s fine.”

Seeing him take the medicine with cold water and cough lightly, Xing Fang suddenly felt a pang of guilt. This man was not a prisoner and was also with child. Had he been too neglectful these past few days?

The man on the bed leaned against the soft pillow at the head of the bed, his pale face tinged with an unnatural flush on both cheeks. When he lifted his eyes, they seemed like distant mountains veiled in mist, adding a touch of delicate beauty to his features. His gaze fell upon the person standing awkwardly before the bed.

“Commander Xing, is there something you need?”

Only then did Xing Fang remember why he had come in. Clutching the measuring tape he had been holding, he stammered slightly.

“Ah, well, it’s nothing urgent.”

Qing Li lowered his eyes to look at the object in Xing Fang’s hand.

“What is this?”

Xing Fang found it difficult to meet Qing Li’s gaze. Every time he looked at him, he felt tongue-tied. He decided to lower his head and spoke.

“Ah, I noticed your clothes no longer fit properly, so I thought of having the seamstresses at my residence make you a couple of new sets. Worried that you might not want others to know, I bought a measuring tape to take your measurements myself.”

Qing Li’s brow relaxed, a hint of laughter in his eyes.

“Commander Xing knows how to take measurements?”

Xing Fang unconsciously scuffed the sole of his boot against the floor.

“I just learned it from a seamstress. Um, if it’s inconvenient for you, it’s alright. I could teach you, and you can measure yourself?”

Qing Li glanced at the floor he had been rubbing for a while, suppressing a smile as he spoke.

“I’m not very comfortable moving around these days. I’ll trouble Commander Xing to do it.”

With that, he supported himself on the bed, preparing to rise. Only then did Xing Fang look up and hurriedly say,

“It’s alright, no rush. If you’re not feeling well now, I can come back later.”

Qing Li straightened his robe, gripped the bedpost, and stood up. A faint smile touched his lips.

“Let’s do it now. Otherwise, I’m afraid the floor tiles in front of the bed will be worn down by the Commander.”

The foot that had been rubbing against the floor instantly stilled. Xing Fang felt as if a fire were burning on his face.

Xing Fang tried to calm his breathing and followed the method the seamstress had taught him: measuring height, sleeve length, and shoulder width. While measuring, he avoided making eye contact with the man as much as possible. But when it came to measuring the waist—an unavoidable step in making clothes—he grew nervous.

“Please extend your arms.”

Qing Li did as he was told, spreading his arms. Xing Fang spoke awkwardly.

“Excuse me.”

After saying this, he slightly bowed. The man’s rounded abdomen was right before his eyes. Trying his best not to touch him, he reached around his back with the measuring tape, gently looping it around his waist and abdomen before quickly letting go. But the moment he released it, he realized he had forgotten to note the measurement on the tape.

In that instant, Xing Fang’s palms broke out in a sweat.

“Um, let me measure again. I forgot the measurement just now.”

As soon as he said this, he nearly bit his tongue. It sounded as if he were purposely trying to take advantage of the man. Qing Li tilted his head slightly and looked at him.

“Commander Xing, I won’t bite.”

“Ah?”

When Xing Fang finally recorded all the measurements, he let out a sigh of relief.

“Please rest, Qing Li. I won’t disturb you further.”

“Just call me Qing Li.”

This was the first time in all these days that Xing Fang had learned his name. Qing Li—a very pleasant name.

“Commander Xing, I’d like to paint. Do you have paper, ink, and brushes?”

“Yes, I’ll have someone bring them right away.”

When Xing Fang stepped outside, the cool breeze after the rain brushed against his face, and he felt the burning heat on his cheeks gradually subside. He immediately ordered someone to prepare paper, ink, brushes, and an inkstone and deliver them to Qing Li. Only then did he remember that he hadn’t asked in detail why the man had coughed up blood. Moreover, since he had his own medicine, did he have some preexisting condition? This matter needed to be reported to the Emperor.

Qing Li sat behind the desk in the main room. When his gaze fell upon the paper, the faint smile that had touched his lips upon seeing Xing Fang faded slightly. After a long moment, he raised his hand, his wide blue sleeves draping over the edge of the desk. He picked up the brush, and with a skilled hand, his strokes flowed across the paper, gradually outlining a figure. Then, with finer strokes, he captured the person’s features.

Soon, footsteps approached from outside the courtyard, accompanied by the sound of several people talking. Soon after, his door was knocked on.

“Enter.”

The first to step inside was still Xing Fang, but this time he was followed by several others, three of whom wore official robes.

“Qing Li, this is Physician Song and two medical attendants. They will be responsible for looking after your health.”

Physician Song had already been instructed by Xu Yuanli. He cupped his hands in salute to Qing Li.

“Qing Li, if you experience any discomfort, you may inform me. If you need any medicine, feel free to let me know as well. By His Majesty’s decree, you may have access to any medicines from the Imperial Hospital or the palace.”

Qing Li returned the gesture. Only then did Xing Fang step forward with the others.

“These are the people His Majesty has selected from the palace to serve you: Biyue, Zhutao, Fushun, and Delai. They will attend to your personal needs, while the imperial guards on duty will handle other duties in the courtyard. By His Majesty’s decree, you are free to move about anywhere within this residence.”

As Qing Li looked at the new servants, he recalled the figure who had left that morning. Though the man was not one to speak much, he clearly had everything well in hand.

The attendants went to the servants' quarters to unpack their things. Qing Li stopped Xing Fang, who was about to leave.

“Commander Xing, please stay. There is a person in this painting I would like you to take a look at.”

Xing Fang did not refuse and went directly to the desk, his expression freezing when he saw the painting on it. Qing Li could tell from his expression that he recognized the man.

"Who is this?"

After a brief pause, Xing Fang spoke:

"This is the current Zhongshu Ling (Secretariat Director), Lord Zhao Mengxian."

How could Qing Li have drawn a portrait of Zhao Mengxian? Xing Fang felt a surge of surprise. He had brought this person out of a place like the Qinghui Pavilion, but the subsequent investigation was not his responsibility—that was the job of the emperor’s covert guards. How did Qing Li have any connection to Zhao Mengxian? And how could he draw such a detailed portrait without knowing his identity?

Qing Li didn't seem all that surprised by the answer, but his expression as he gazed at the painting on the desk was hard to read.

"Zhao Mengxian—as the White-robed Strategist from the popular legends?"

Xing Fang nodded.

"Yes, Lord Zhao served as a strategist in the army back then."

Qing Li looked up.

"When did Commander Xing begin serving the emperor?"

"Over a decade ago. At the time, I was just a common soldier in the Western Frontier Army. The emperor was selecting personal guards from the army, and I was chosen after defeating the others, so I’ve been by his side ever since."

"So, Lord Zhao has not known the emperor as long as you have."

Xing Fang nodded. Qing Li spoke again:

"I recall that the White-robed Strategist was quite renowned for his talent. Did the emperor recruit him?"

Xing Fang shook his head.

"No. At that time, the world was in turmoil, with many rebel lords rising in arms. Talented strategists emerged everywhere, but the emperor was never very fond of them, believing they were too slick at pulling strings behind the scenes and often employed underhanded methods. So, he rarely recruited strategists. I remember it was Lord Zhao who came to the army voluntarily to offer his services. He spoke with the emperor in the command tent for three hours. I don’t know what they discussed, but from then on, Zhao Mengxian stayed in the army as a strategist. The emperor has always treated him with respect."

"I’ve heard that this head of the civil officials has never married?"

At these words, Xing Fang’s heart clenched. His gaze inadvertently drifted to Qing Li’s abdomen. Qing Li had been pregnant for some time now, yet no one had come looking for him, nor had he made any move to find the father. Who was the child’s other father? Qing Li could draw such a detailed portrait of Zhao Mengxian and showed such interest in him. Could it be... could the child be Zhao Mengxian’s?

For some reason, the thought of this possibility made his heart sink.

He scarcely remembered how he left Qing Li’s room. Qing Li did not ask him to keep the matter confidential, so Xiao Chen was bound to find out about today’s events.

Perhaps because he knew Xiao Chen was now safe, Ling Yehan finally felt a great weight lifted from his mind. However, before he could spend a few more intimate days with Xiao Chen, court affairs began to pile up. The epidemic had completely subsided, and the matter of filling the official posts left vacant since court was suspended due to the outbreak needed urgent attention.

Now officially serving in the Ministry of Personnel, Ling Yehan could not avoid this responsibility. Moreover, he did not want to shirk it—if he handled it, it would spare Xiao Chen the trouble. Thus, early in the morning, Ling Yehan reluctantly left the Zichen Hall (the emperor's quarters) and headed to the Ministry of Personnel.

Xiao Chen, feeling increasingly lethargic, slept for another half-hour after Ling Yehan’s departure before finally rising.

After the noon meal, Zhang Fu bowed and spoke:

"Your Majesty, the Imperial Garment Bureau has delivered your ceremonial robes for the sacrificial rites. Would you like to try them on?"

"Have them brought in."

Xiao Chen instructed attendants to bring breathable white silk gauze for abdomen binding. Zhang Fu looked uneasy, and the palace attendants nearby hesitated to proceed.

"Your Majesty, abdomen binding is harmful to both you and the prince. If anything were to happen, the Marquis would be beside himself with worry."