Chapter 309 Golden Peacock Headdress

Chapter 309: The Golden Peacock Headdress

Meng Wan could paint landscapes too, but his true strength lay in narrative painting.

Meng Wan mixed several pigments himself, his thoughts churning.

Though he'd been summoned on the spot, wasn't this an opportunity in itself? Masters of painting like Xiang Yun created works for those who truly understood the art.

Meng Wan's paintings were of another category—created for the common people. This was what they called painting from the heart, letting the art convey meaning.

He steadied his mind and quickly decided what to paint. His brushwork was fluid and seamless; even when he paused for a moment, it was like a swallow skimming the water, without breaking the seamless flow of his work.

Song Tingzhou tried to keep his eyes on the brush so as not to distract him, then realized his worry was unnecessary—when Meng Wan was truly in the zone, he wasn't easily distracted.

Song Tingzhou's gaze then naturally wandered to Meng Wan's hands, his upper body, his slender neck, his jade-like profile, his lips slightly red at the center, and the tiny vermilion mole on his cheek, even redder than his lips.

A Yan's eyes were a lot like Wan'er's—soft and sly when he smiled, and when he wasn't smiling, every line of his face was exquisitely beautiful, so beautiful you couldn't bear to interrupt.

"Lord Song, Lord Song?" Someone called out softly to Song Tingzhou, jerking him back to reality. He shifted his gaze away, the affection in his eyes still lingering. The Minister of Revenue, Kou Wen, who had called him, felt his scalp prickle and goosebumps break out upon meeting his eyes.

"Maybe... tone it down a little," Kou Wen advised kindly.

With this many people in the hall, really? Sure, Meng Fulang was good-looking, but hadn't he seen enough after all these years?

After all, he'd just filed a complaint against Song Tingzhou and his husband for breaching decorum, and now he was looking at him with such fiery eyes—you'd think he was some kind of lecher.

Song Tingzhou dropped his gaze and scanned the hall. Sure enough, many people were looking their way, most observing Meng Wan.

Anyone ranked above the third tier was rarely a lecherous idiot, and they'd seen plenty of beauties before. They were mostly just curious what kind of person Song Tingzhou's husband was, or just itching to get a closer look at Meng Wan's painting.

Meng Wan worked fast today, using bold colors. Soon, big swaths of color flooded the rice paper. This time, even Kou Wen craned his neck to look, occasionally letting out little puzzled noises.

Meng Fulang's painting looked pretty ordinary?

Now he's going wild with the ink.

Why so dark?

Why would he paint it like that?

Oh, I get it! That's brilliant.

When Meng Wan finally set down his brush, Song Tingzhou automatically reached to rub his shoulders, but the quick-eyed Eunuch Xi tapped his hand away with his horsetail whisk.

Sir! His Majesty is right there!

When Meng Wan looked up, he found himself ringed by crowds of onlookers, with the Emperor right in the middle, who'd shown up at some point.

Meng Wan hurriedly knelt in salute. "This subject is at fault for making Your Majesty wait."

The Emperor's weathered face broke into a gentle smile. "No need for that. You painted fast enough."

Wang Zan was there too, quietly stirring the pot. "Meng Fulang need not be modest—this is already excellent. If you'd just pulled out that Heshan Sugar Mill painting for comparison, Prince Yerqiang might've had doubts. That's why His Majesty summoned you to paint here in the great hall. Anyway, you've only been painting for an hour. The Tibetan Empire's painting surely took longer. Am I right, Prince Yerqiang?"

His tone was unhurried, even cordial, yet it grated on the people he was needling.

Yerqiang's chest tightened with frustration, but he couldn't find the words to argue back. He could only huff and stare down at Meng Wan's painting.

The painter he'd brought was studying it too, not saying a word for a long time.

Amateurs look at technique; experts read the heart.

Meng Wan's painting was still in his signature narrative style. The scroll split in the middle with no visible line—the earth and sky merged so naturally that you could clearly see two stories unfolding without any jarring break.

The painting showed two brothers who grew up on a farm. The older brother worked the fields with their parents every day, no complaints, while the younger one was always sneaking off to sit outside the schoolhouse and listen to the teacher.

When they grew up, the older brother took over the family's few acres, worked hard, got married, and had kids. The younger brother packed up and left home to go into business.

Years later, because he could read and write, the younger brother's business kept growing. But the older brother's village and fields got hit by enemy soldiers.

With his fields ruined, the older brother put on armor and went to war, while the younger brother shipped grain and supplies from behind the lines. In the end, the older brother became a hero guarding the border, and the younger brother became a rich royal merchant honored by the Emperor.

What a novel painting—looking at it was like reading a deep book.

Prince Yerqiang, being an amateur, was hooked too. The first thing he said when he snapped out of it was, "It looks like our Tibetan murals."

He couldn't bring himself to praise Meng Wan's work, but everyone else could see the truth. The ministers there were mostly top-tier scholars—the best of the empire's literati—so they naturally had refined taste.

The two paintings weren't even in the same league anymore. Just in terms of artistic vision, Meng Fulang had already blown the Tibetan painting out of the water. Even if someone copied it, they couldn't capture the deeper meaning—this was the difference between a regular painter and a true master.

Plus, Meng Wan's technique was better than the Tibetan painter's too. In one painting, he could show both the rich autumn wheat fields and the bloody, brutal battlefield, with every detail so vivid it felt like you could step right into the scene.

Nobody could say a bad word about a painting like that.

Honestly, Meng Wan would've rather painted the older brother farming his whole life, and the younger brother getting smart through study, going back home to open a school for his clan, teaching everyone to read—that was the real way.

But what was the occasion? With foreign envoys around, he couldn't show even a hint of Yu's weaknesses. If the Emperor snapped out of it later and took it out on Song Tingzhou, what then?

This was the imperial palace. Meng Wan wished he could tattoo "be careful" on his forehead.

He stayed in a respectful half-bow and smoothly rattled off the words he'd rehearsed twice in his head.

"His Majesty cares for the world and seeks peace, so the people of Yu can learn and grow wise, with talent after talent coming up to serve the court. And the soldiers defend our borders without fear, giving us this peaceful, prosperous age. I'm just an ordinary xiaoge, but I've seen with my own eyes the beautiful land under Your Majesty's rule. My deep loyalty to Your Majesty is more than I can put into words, so I can only offer this humble painting to show my true feelings."

Gou Zhengfang, the head censor, glanced at him, and as his eyes dropped, he couldn't help sneaking another look.

Song Tingzhou's husband, huh...

Beside him, Wang Zan muttered, "Too bad he's a xiaoge—otherwise they really should recruit him into the Censorate."

Kou Wen quietly agreed, "I bet His Majesty would rather make him a court historian."

The two looked at each other, both feeling a little inadequate.

When the Emperor heard Meng Wan's words, he was indeed pleased by the flattery. Everyone knew Meng Wan was sucking up, but how you did it, and where, was an art in itself.

Meng Wan had hit the exact right note with the Emperor. The Tibetan Empire had no choice but to admit Meng Wan was good.

Could they say the Yu Emperor was a bad ruler? Did they want those painted soldiers to reach the Tibetan Empire faster than Prince Yerqiang could get home?

Losing to a xiaoge was already embarrassing enough; saying anything more would just make it worse. The Tibetan painter was blunt: "I concede. You're very skilled. If you ever come to the Tibetan Empire, I'll welcome you with open arms."

His Yu wasn't as good as Prince Yerqiang's, and he'd tried to throw in an idiom, but it came out all wrong. Song Tingzhou's face immediately darkened, and he didn't even try to hide it.

Prince Yerqiang realized this talented young painter was the husband of the official who'd mouthed off at him.

With a cold laugh, Prince Yerqiang said to the Emperor, who'd already gone back to his dragon throne to admire the painting: "Your Majesty, the Tibetan Empire loves talented beauties more than anything. I humbly ask that Your Majesty give this beauty to your vassal as a consort."

His son was already eight—even if the Yu Emperor gave Meng Wan to him, it'd only be as a secondary consort. Yerqiang just wanted to needle Song Tingzhou, whether it worked or not.

His gaze swept across, and sure enough, Song Tingzhou's eyes had already sunk as if soaked in ice water, his resolute lips pressed into a cold, hard line, his whole demeanor radiating an oppressive, unshakable gloom.

In the great hall, anyone with half a brain could tell that Prince Yerqiang was targeting Song Tingzhou. The emperor's gaze shifted away from the painting. "Oh? Prince Yerqiang still has no princess? What a pity that Meng is already married off as a husband. How about I bestow a princess on you?"

The emperor would never marry off princesses or noble daughters to the Tibetan Empire, and the ministers with daughters felt a chill run down their spines.

Minister of Personnel Wu Wei, who had remained silent all along, gave Song Tingzhou a deep look before stepping forward. "Your Majesty, this year, the Tibetan Empire's tribute of silk and gems has dropped by nearly half from previous years..." He trailed off mid-sentence and quietly stepped back, a sign of how low-key he'd become.

Song Tingzhou's brows furrowed low. "Your Majesty, no wonder Prince Yerqiang demands my husband—it seems his state's coffers are so depleted he can't even afford a princess back home."

"You're talking nonsense! Who said I don't have a princess!" Yerqiang stomped his foot in fury.

Song Tingzhou sneered. "Since Prince Yerqiang has a princess, why then demand one from His Majesty? Isn't that deliberate deception—committing the grave crime of deceiving the sovereign!"

Several of Yu's neighboring states had been conquered by the previous emperor, forced to become vassal states that paid tribute yearly and called themselves subjects.

So when Song Tingzhou accused Yerqiang of deceiving the sovereign, he was reminding him that in the Tibetan Empire, Yerqiang was a prince, but in Yu, he was just a subject. Even if he couldn't actually be punished under Yu law, the words made Yerqiang's anger boil, his temples throbbing.

"Your Majesty, forgive me, this humble foreign minister was rash." The fire blazing in his chest had to be forcibly suppressed, with no outlet, so he could only glare at Song Tingzhou with ever-deepening hatred.

Song Tingzhou acted as if he hadn't noticed, simply going back to his seat to tend to his husband. Meng Wan saw Song Tingzhou's demeanor in the court for the first time and found him ridiculously handsome, secretly giving him a thumbs up under the table.

The emperor, mindful of his dignity, wouldn't personally rebuke a foreign prince in the hall, but that didn't mean he was willing to tolerate these small states testing his limits.

After the Tibetan prince's arrogance was put down, music and dance began in the hall, and the scene returned to harmony. The other foreign envoys, who'd been waiting to watch the drama, were also remarkably well-behaved.

With the inner and outer courts being separate, Meng Wan had completed his mission and was escorted back to the inner hall by a palace attendant, with Eunuch Xi personally walking him out.

Before leaving, Song Tingzhou squeezed his hand and whispered, "Don't worry, take care of yourself and Mother."

Meng Wan nodded gently and replied in a faint breath, "You too."

He departed amid the melodious strains of strings, pipes, bells, and drums.

Song Tingzhou had his own matters to attend to, and his own battles to fight.

When Meng Wan returned, the others in the inner hall had already put down their chopsticks. Eunuch Xi, bowing and scraping, was reporting to the Empress on what had happened in the main hall and relaying the emperor's instructions.

Ignoring the probing glances of others, Meng Wan performed his bow and then sat obediently back in his seat. After Eunuch Xi left, the Empress immediately ordered her attendant to draft an edict and publicly bestowed gifts upon Meng Wan.

"Old Madam Chang, your family has gained an excellent husband."

Chang Jinhua, caught off guard at being called out, hastily bowed and gave thanks.

Four female attendants each carried a tray into the hall, stopping in front of Meng Wan before lifting the red brocade covers. On each tray lay intricate, ornate jewelry that together formed a complete set of head ornaments.

At the center was a pure gold peacock crown, each feather inlaid with evenly sized sapphires that gleamed brilliantly even in the dim lamplight.

The rest were filigree feather hairpins, centerpieces, side ornaments, and hairpins, all set with gemstones and tourmaline, dazzling in gold and green, catching the eye.

The Empress gazed at the headdress with a look of reminiscence. "This set of gold peacock headdress with gemstones was part of my dowry when I married. It bears no dragon or phoenix motifs, so it suits your usual attire."

Meng Wan had barely warmed his seat before rising again, feigning overwhelming gratitude as he walked to the center of the hall to bow.

A faint smile appeared on the Empress's face. "You have rendered great service to His Majesty. This is nothing much—keep it."

Noble families did not lack jewelry, but top-tier headdresses were still quite rare, let alone the Empress's dowry. Craftsmanship and value were secondary; the prestige and status were unmatched.

This was the keepsake of the most honored woman in the world!

The gemstones on the trays sparkled, and the eyes of palace consorts and noble ladies kept drifting over.

Only Luo Jining looked at the gems as if they were blue-green glass, rolling her eyes inwardly at the gasps around her.

The entire set of headdress was packed into a box by the attendants, who held it carefully and stood behind Meng Wan, to be handed to him upon leaving the palace.

The crowd, seeing this, muttered inwardly—what had the Shuntian Prefect's husband done in the main hall to deserve this?

"Empress, he's just a young lad. Something this precious might be too much for him to bear, don't you think?"

Meng Wan calmly shifted his gaze. Countess Huai'en was speaking to the Empress with righteous indignation, her tone as if she were Meng Wan's elder.

Some among those present already knew of the relationship between the two, while others looked utterly bewildered.

Why was it that when Meng Fulang received a reward, Lady Lin instead urged the Empress to retract the order?