The Art of Teasing - Chapter 157

Chapter 157

After Ye Ling had sent Lao Kang on his way, she phoned Wen Shishu to relay the outcome of the negotiations, then supported Wen Zhengyu as they returned to their little courtyard.

She had long since gathered from Wen Zhengyu's way of navigating social obligations that Wen Zhengyu actually rather enjoyed a bit of lively commotion and was never one to shy from stirring things up.

The matter between Lao Kang and Wen Shishu was not one into which outsiders could easily interject. For the two of them, there was not half a cent's worth of benefit to be had—only a thorough drenching in foul water. On top of spending money during the New Year holiday to get things done, she had also offended people. By stepping forward like this and laying bare every last asset Lao Kang possessed, she had effectively made an enemy. Blocking a man's path to wealth is no different from killing his parents—this grudge ran deep. She had, for the moment, only stripped his assets without causing him other losses. Lao Kang's greatest pillar of support remained intact. Given the right opportunity, he would surely seek to retaliate against her or her brother in kind.

Kang Bai, after all, shared blood ties with the Wen family. Such bonds of kinship were the most tangled and intractable of all. It was not possible to simply sever all contact, nor to relentlessly destroy him as one would an outsider. What lay ahead was an endless tangle of disputes.

To wade into another family's private affairs of three—outsiders would inevitably say the two of them were meddling in other people's business.

Wen Zhengyu and Wen Shishu were blood-related aunt and niece, and Wen Zhengyu was even named among the heirs of Wen Shishu's estate. The moment Wen Zhengyu intervened, Kang Bai would unquestionably conclude that Wen Zhengyu was scheming after his family's fortune. A rupture into outright enmity was now inevitable.

That Lao Kang and Kang Bai had dared to come knocking repeatedly was precisely because of these considerations.

But clearly, he had not accounted for the fact that Wen Zhengyu's mental circuitry operated quite differently from that of a normal person. Any reasonably normal human being would not have brought Old Master Lu home to live with them. Who knew how many people Old Master Lu's son had harmed, how many he had offended, whether he had caused the ruin of other families, and whether those people were willing to let his family off the hook? It was an invitation to endless trouble. Wen Zhengyu had no grasp of the principle of self-preservation. She possessed that very literati stubbornness—a refusal to become the sort of person who clings obsequiously when others are prosperous and keeps a cold distance when they fall from grace.

All Ye Ling could do was praise her for her fine character, privately curse her as a little troublemaker, and then step forward to play the villain herself. Playing the villain was something she was well accustomed to anyway—playing the villain for other people was playing the villain; playing the villain to shield her own family was also playing the villain. She had long since offended more than her fair share of people. Even within the Wen household, her offenses were not limited to a single Lao Kang. Wen Shiyi now loathed her to the bone. He was in the wrong toward the Lian family and dared not provoke them, dared not hate them. But she was the one who had stepped in to deal with him, so naturally, Wen Shiyi—and those among the Wen family who sided with him—had to hate her instead.

Yet, having said all that, even if she were not deeply fond of Wen Zhengyu, she would still be willing to maintain ties with her. Wen Zhengyu remembered personal debts of gratitude. If she helped Wen Zhengyu now, then when she herself encountered difficulties in the future, Wen Zhengyu would likewise help her. Wen Zhengyu had extensive connections and would surely be able to exert some influence. That Wen Zhengyu could, even in a situation like Old Man Lu's, step forward and help arrange a place for him to settle down—that was extraordinarily rare. A troublemaker carried the drawbacks of a troublemaker but also the advantages of one. Even Old Madam Zhang could not say whether this quality of Wen Zhengyu's was good or bad. She just let it be.

In the matter of Wen Shishu, although it appeared at first glance that Wen Zhengyu had engaged in a bit of meddling, the ones who ended up disgusted were outsiders like the Kang family. Words like "We take care of our own"—when they fell upon the ears of one's own family, they were still quite gratifying.

Ye Ling did not know what Kang Bai had felt upon hearing those words, but judging by his expression and reaction at the time, the only reason he had not shoved Wen Zhengyu into the lake was the sheer presence of Zhuo Yao standing right beside her.

Ye Ling was not the type to do good deeds anonymously—especially not with Wen Zhengyu, that naive fool who could be sold off and still help count the money. After they returned to their small courtyard, she first sought out Wen Zhengyu to recount the whole affair, then demanded compensation, insisting that Wen Zhengyu feed her pastries.

Wen Zhengyu, as blind as a bat despite her eyes being wide open, fumbled several times around the plate before finally managing to grasp a piece of pastry—and promptly smeared it right onto Ye Ling's nostril.

Ye Ling looked at Wen Zhengyu in silence, then took the pastry herself and stuffed it into her mouth.

Wen Zhengyu let out a small grunt. "Sorry. The double vision is just a little bit bad today."

Ye Ling held up two fingers. "How many?"

Wen Zhengyu said, "Two."

Ye Ling changed the number.

Wen Zhengyu said, "Six."

Ye Ling said, "Not bad. You're not brain-damaged yet." During Wen Zhengyu's hospitalization, she had witnessed Wen Zhengyu attempting to use the toilet and reaching for it from a distance of thirty-four centimeters away. The fact that Wen Zhengyu had only managed to feed pastry to her nostril today was a standard Ye Ling was more than content with.

Wen Zhengyu said softly, "We are Second Aunt's maiden family. If we do not stand up for her, then no one will."

Ye Ling cast a long, thoughtful glance at Wen Zhengyu. "It seems her love for you hasn't been wasted after all." For Wen Zhengyu's sake, Wen Shishu had stormed into a hospital room to raise hell with Zhao Si, then deliberately spread the scandal to ruin the Zhao family's reputation. If Wen Zhengyu had chosen to shrink back when Wen Shishu herself was in trouble, that would have been a true cause for heartbreak.

Her little troublemaker still had a strong sense of human feeling after all. So, she resumed feeding fruit to her little troublemaker.

It was rare for Ye Ling to have free time, so she stayed at home to accompany Wen Zhengyu.

Wen Zhengyu, by nature, could not bear idleness. Though she was a recluse and had once spent long stretches of time alone in the small courtyard, she had always been busy with her painting. In her spare moments, she would play the zither or drink tea, letting time flow past like water. Now, convalescing from her injuries, she could not walk, could not see clearly, and could not sustain her focus for long—yet, unlike during her previous hospitalization when she had been constantly drowsy, she simply could not sit still.

She sought out Ye Ling to talk, but sometimes the things Ye Ling said were so infuriatingly speechless—like tiny fish and shrimp that keep nibbling at the bait but never bite the hook—it left one feeling thoroughly stifled. Too lazy to deal with Ye Ling, she turned her attention to the potted landscapes in the courtyard instead.

Not long after, Ye Ling came over carrying a book, sat down beside Wen Zhengyu, and said, "Bored, are we?"

Wen Zhengyu cast a glance at Ye Ling, then at the book in Ye Ling's hands. She had no idea whether Ye Ling was here to taunt her again or simply laugh at her. She continued studying the potted landscapes.

Ye Ling opened the book and cast a sidelong look at Wen Zhengyu. "So you do have a temper after all. Fancy that—you've actually learned how to get angry." With that, she opened the book and began to read aloud for Wen Zhengyu.

Ye Ling's voice was naturally pleasant to the ear, and when she read aloud, it became an expressive, vivid performance. Her Mandarin was impeccably standard—each word crisp and perfectly rounded. Wen Zhengyu reflected that even if Ye Ling had not gone into business, she would have had a brilliant future as a voice actress. And her appearance was also top-tier—not inferior to film and television stars, and completely natural at that, untouched by cosmetic enhancement.

After Ye Ling finished reading a chapter, she waved her hand in front of Wen Zhengyu's face—Wen Zhengyu had been staring at her, utterly lost in a daze. "Come back to earth. I'm reading aloud for you here; at least pay attention."

Wen Zhengyu's face flushed slightly as she hurriedly looked away.

"Oh? Blushing, are we?" Ye Ling was instantly filled with delighted curiosity as she scrutinized Wen Zhengyu. "Were you just now blushing from staring at a beauty?" She leaned in closer. "Go ahead and stare. With looks like mine, I guarantee a lifetime won't be enough."

Wen Zhengyu glanced at Ye Ling. Ye Ling's shamelessness never failed to surpass her previous estimations.

Ye Ling laughed. "If you want to look, then look openly and without shame. What's mine is yours—why sneak around? Oh, that's right. You watched me secretly while I was sleeping and even painted me. Hiring a life model costs money, you know. With looks like mine, even with money, it'd be hard to hire me. Even between a married couple, accounts should be settled clearly. Shouldn't you be paying me compensation?"

Wen Zhengyu braced her hands on the chair and rose to her feet.

Ye Ling slanted a look at her. "Surely you're not thinking of defaulting on your debt through domestic violence?" Even as her mouth kept running, her hands and feet moved even faster. She hurriedly rose and steadied Wen Zhengyu.

Wen Zhengyu shot a glance at Ye Ling, thinking to herself: And who's the more violent one here? It was Ye Ling who had slammed a cup of scalding tea onto the ground right at the toe of Lao Kang's shoe.

Wen Zhengyu made her way to the study, pulled open a drawer, and found the packing tape. She had barely gotten it into her hand before Ye Ling wrapped her arms around her waist. Ye Ling's arms then tightened fractionally, and Wen Zhengyu immediately stopped moving.

Ye Ling ground her teeth. "I read to you, and this is how you repay me—by trying to tape my mouth shut with packing tape."

Wen Zhengyu counted herself fortunate that they had been drinking tea in the courtyard and she was bundled up in thick clothes; otherwise, Ye Ling would surely have squeezed her waist clean in two. Ye Ling slowly tightened her grip without the slightest intention of loosening. With no other recourse, Wen Zhengyu very spinelessly surrendered. She turned around and pressed a gentle kiss to Ye Ling's cheek.

Ye Ling fought it for two seconds but utterly failed—a huge grin split her face, her eyes crinkling into slits. "Fine, you're forgiven." She released Wen Zhengyu's waist, then planted a kiss of her own on Wen Zhengyu's cheek.

Wen Zhengyu's gaze wavered. She felt the two of them were being rather nauseatingly affectionate.

Seeing that the sun had already dipped below the courtyard walls and the air had turned cool and shadowed, Ye Ling drew Wen Zhengyu into the study to sit. She switched on the light and said, "If you don't like me reading to you, just say so. I'll paint for you instead."

Wen Zhengyu was slightly taken aback. Ye Ling can paint?

Then she recalled that Ye Ling was fond of her paintings and possessed at least some level of artistic discernment. It should only be natural that she knew how to paint.

"Do you need me to mix the pigments?" Wen Zhengyu asked.

Ye Ling hesitated for a moment. "Yes, mix them."

Wen Zhengyu found this strange. Was mixing pigments something that required hesitation? Then she reconsidered—perhaps Ye Ling was simply deciding which style to paint. She used the furniture for support as she retrieved a palette and pigments, then asked Ye Ling which colors to prepare.

The corners of Ye Ling's mouth curled upward. She was about to paint, and someone was actually mixing her pigments for her. "A figure painting," she said. "Of you."

Wen Zhengyu's cheeks grew a little warm, but she still hummed an acknowledgment.

She mixed the pigments in a state of near-blindness and semi-consciousness.

Ye Ling looked at Wen Zhengyu with a touch of apprehension. "If I don't paint well, you won't hit me, will you?"

Wen Zhengyu said, "No." Ye Ling was no professional artist; displaying some amateur ability would already be quite impressive.

Ye Ling was instantly put at ease. "Fine. When it's done, we'll get it mounted." She helped Wen Zhengyu settle into a nearby chair and even arranged her into a pose, chin propped on her hand.

Wen Zhengyu sat there, watching as Ye Ling wielded the brush across the paper, brandishing it in bold, sweeping strokes. From time to time, Ye Ling glanced over at her, eyes brimming with laughter, the smile on her face barely contained.

Wen Zhengyu grew suspicious. Is painting me really that amusing?

Her heart began to prickle with unease. Ye Ling's smile was simply too peculiar; it gave her a rather ominous feeling.

A proper figure painting should take many days to complete, but Ye Ling wielded her brush in grand, sweeping gestures, very much in the style of her grandfather's splashed-ink landscapes. To apply splashed-ink technique to a figure painting—the artistic style was nothing short of utterly bizarre. Typically, the resulting image would be beautiful to the point of being an absolute eyesore.

In under ten minutes, Ye Ling set down her brush and, mimicking Wen Zhengyu's earlier cadence, declared, "Done. It needs to dry; we can put it away tomorrow."

This was, in Wen Zhengyu's experience of viewing figure paintings, the fastest she had ever seen—sketches included. Some sketches took longer than this.

She did not wait for Ye Ling to help her. Both apprehensive and intensely curious, she slowly made her way over to look.

Ye Ling's painting was executed in heavily saturated, bold strokes and occupied an exceptionally large portion of the paper, to the extent that even Wen Zhengyu's somewhat blurred and doubled vision posed no obstacle whatsoever. The most conspicuous feature of the entire painting was a long mane of black hair. The chin-propping posture, the figure's contours, even the chair—all were rendered in what might charitably be called an abbreviated style, if scribbled scrawls could be considered an artistic style. The color scheme—as far as she could discern with her current vision—was slightly off but not drastically so; it matched the colors she was wearing today. But this painting style...

Wen Zhengyu truly did not know how to evaluate it.

Ye Ling arched an eyebrow. "Even if my painting is excellent, you don't need to stare at it so fixedly. Be careful not to get dizzy."

Wen Zhengyu felt an overwhelming urge to dig up the paintings she had done at age three and compare them with Ye Ling's to see which of them truly painted better.

Ye Ling's painting could, at best, be deciphered as a vaguely humanoid shape with long black hair, propping its chin while seated in a chair. If not for the upright sitting posture—had it leaned even slightly askew—it would be the spitting image of a cheek-scratching monkey, or rather, a disheveled old mountain spirit with wild, unkempt hair.

Ye Ling raised her brush once more, dipped it in ink, and inscribed: Kunlun Divine Phoenix!

The calligraphy swept across the page in soaring strokes of dragon and dancing phoenix, exuding a uniquely domineering flair.

Wen Zhengyu was momentarily speechless at the inscription. She cast another glance at Ye Ling and thought to herself: Perhaps once the ink is dry, I'll cut the calligraphy out and have that mounted instead? The painting itself was too shameful to be seen in public, but the calligraphy could at least hold its own.

Ye Ling bared her teeth in a wide grin. "Shall we mount it?" There was a hint of menace in her voice.

Wen Zhengyu hummed an acknowledgment. "Once it's dry, we'll send it off to be mounted." Inwardly, she amended: The calligraphy, cut out and mounted separately. She dared not voice this addendum. She had learned her lesson—never again would she threaten to tape Ye Ling's mouth shut.

The Kunlun Divine Phoenix painting possessed the power to ward off evil spirits! Truly, it was a work that would startle heaven and make ghosts weep!

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