Chapter 80 The Better Days of Yu Hualiang: Cause for Concern

The story of Master Yu the painter had spread throughout the entire community of artists—everyone knew that the Seventh Prince’s residence had once employed the imperial painter Yu Hualiang, who was now dead.

It was said that before Yu Hualiang died, the Seventh Prince had treated him well. Any painter with a hint of talent now harbored hopes of presenting their work to the prince, eager to recommend themselves. If their art caught the prince’s eye, it would mean a lifetime of glory and fortune.

Yet, no matter how impressive the works presented, none pleased the prince. Among the members of the Qionglin Painting Society was an artist from a wealthy family with relatives in official positions at court—someone everyone felt obliged to acknowledge. He, too, coveted the post of the Seventh Prince’s court painter, but no matter how hard he tried, he could not create a work that would astonish anyone. So he devised a plan.

He decided to buy someone else’s painting and pass it off as his own. He had just acquired a Nighttime Lotus Pond scene from the Wenchuan Painting Society in Brocade City. The moment he laid eyes on it, he felt as if he could be drawn right into the scenery. It was as though he were living within that tranquil beauty, with moonlight shining clearly on the water, and the fish in the pond so vivid that even the patterns on their tails were visible. He could almost hear the crisp chirping of insects at his ear. He clapped the table in amazement—if the Seventh Prince saw this painting, would he not soar to success?

In the three years since Yu Hualiang’s departure, the Seventh Prince had sent people searching for him every year. But in a world so vast, looking for one man was like searching for a needle in the sea—an impossible task.

As early summer arrived, the prince, weary from reading memorials, looked up at the paintings on his wall and lost himself in thought once more. If only Yu Hualiang were still by his side.

He picked up his token, considering the years past. Though the prince could not bring himself to believe Yu Hualiang was truly gone, he had spent all these years longing for a man he could not forget.

Just two nights ago, Yu Hualiang had appeared again in his dreams. In the silent night, he sat alone on the grass watching fireworks. The prince had tried to embrace him, but suddenly the whole world vanished in a burst of light, like the fireworks themselves.

Awakening from the dream, the prince gripped the token, drenched in cold sweat, wondering if Yu Hualiang was sending him a sign to watch the fireworks.

In a few days, it would be his birthday—more precisely, both his and the Fourth Prince’s birthday. He sighed, set aside his memorials, and summoned Ye Fang. “Go and put out the word—buy some fireworks to set off on my birthday.”

Ye Fang was surprised; the Seventh Prince had never made any requests for his birthday before. Still, it was a good sign—these past three years, the prince had been perpetually gloomy, so perhaps fireworks might bring him joy.

On his birthday, the prince watched the fireworks with no expression on his face, still puzzling over Yu Hualiang’s message. What was the meaning behind the fireworks?

The Fourth Prince drew near and said, “Seventh Brother, what elegant taste you have.”

The Seventh Prince exhaled and gave a respectful bow, “Happy birthday, Fourth Brother.”

“Haha, the same to you. But why do you still look so unhappy?” the Fourth Prince sighed, “Ever since that little painter of yours died, you haven’t smiled once. Let it go—it’s been so long.”

The Seventh Prince remained silent. The Fourth Prince patted him on the shoulder and whispered, “All right, I know you liked him. I’ve even found a few who look just like him, especially for you…”

“Fourth Brother,” the Seventh Prince interrupted him, “Thank you for your thoughtfulness, but there’s no need. Keep them for yourself.”

“Eh?” The Fourth Prince wanted to say more, but the Seventh Prince had already walked away.

Just then, news came that a certain official had presented a painting to him. Though the prince was in no mood, when the servants unfurled the painting for the guests to admire, the Seventh Prince’s eyes lit up.

A wave of familiarity washed over him. He snatched the painting from the servant and examined it closely. Then, before everyone’s eyes, he took the painting and left.

The official who had gifted the painting was overwhelmed with pride, and the others congratulated him for backing the right horse.

Sure enough, not long after, the prince sent someone to inquire about the painting’s origin.

Having accepted a bribe from the painter of the Qionglin Society, the official recommended him to the prince.

The Seventh Prince did summon him to the residence, but the first place he was brought was the interrogation chamber. Under pressure, the man finally confessed the painting’s true source: the Wenchuan Painting Society in Brocade City.

It was the first time in three years that Ye Fang saw the Seventh Prince smile, his hand trembling slightly as he held the painting, unable to contain his excitement.

He compared the painting with those hanging in his room and realized—they were all by the same hand.

Which meant Yu Hualiang was still alive.

The prince lay on Yu Hualiang’s former bed, fingers caressing the purple jade token. In his joy, he could not hold back his tears.

Ye Fang entered and, upon seeing the prince in such a state, felt tempted once more to summon an exorcist.

“Your Highness, a message has already been sent by carrier pigeon, instructing them to investigate Brocade City at once.”

The Seventh Prince smiled, “Ye Fang, pack our things. We’re going to Brocade City.”

Ye Fang hesitated, “Your Highness… but at court—”

With a cold glance, the prince silenced him immediately. “Just do as I say. I have my own plans.”

This time, the Seventh Prince requested leave from the Emperor, claiming he wished to travel incognito to observe the people. Quietly, he departed for Brocade City, disturbing no one.

Early summer sunlight was warm, the breeze gentle. Seeing Yu Hualiang again felt like a lifetime had passed.

Brocade City’s Changfeng district buzzed with life, merchants selling every imaginable good. Yu Hualiang had set up a small table at the roadside, displaying a few paintings. Though his clothes were worn, his face bore a carefree smile—he seemed at ease with the world. When he lifted his sleeve, the prince noticed scars on his arm.

What hardships must he have endured over these three years?

Suddenly, a stout woman approached, slapping the table. “Hey! Painter, is my commission ready or not?”

Yu Hualiang greeted her politely, “Ah, it’s you, madam. No need to worry, I’ll find it for you right away.”

He shuffled through the paintings on his table and handed her a portrait of an infant wrapped in swaddling clothes.

She nodded and handed him eight copper coins. Yu Hualiang counted them and said, “We agreed on ten, madam.”

“Oh, come now, we’re neighbors. Why fuss over two coins?” she protested.

The Seventh Prince watched, rage building in his chest. Yu Hualiang had once been a first-rank court painter, born into the prestigious Yu family—a youth who had never wanted for anything. Now he was reduced to selling paintings for ten coins apiece on the street.

The prince’s heart ached with sorrow. He longed to take Yu Hualiang into his arms and comfort him, but the memory of him leaping from the cliff—especially his parting words, “You’ve always pushed me too hard”—cut too deep.

Though the prince didn’t know how Yu Hualiang had survived, he dared not approach recklessly. If he lost him again, he might never find him.

Yu Hualiang clicked his tongue, “We’re neighbors, but do you really need those two coins more than I do?”

The woman was left speechless. Yu Hualiang raised his voice, “If you say my painting isn’t worth it, I’ll give it to you for free! Go ahead, point out a flaw!”

She glared at him, determined to find fault with the picture, but after a long scrutiny, she found nothing amiss. Reluctantly, she smiled and handed over the remaining coins.

Yu Hualiang accepted the payment with a thank-you. After the woman left, he was counting his earnings when the sunlight over his table was suddenly blocked. Looking up, he frowned—this nosy woman again!

“Young Master Ding, have you considered my offer?” asked Widow Wang.

Yu Hualiang tucked the money away and replied with feigned annoyance, “Widow Wang, are you determined to pin your hopes on me?”

Widow Wang stamped her foot, her voice shrill, “Oh, what a thing to say! It’s not my fault you’re so handsome. I have match requests lined up from the north to the south of the city!”

Yu Hualiang rolled his eyes and began to pack up, but Widow Wang quickly pressed her hand down on one of his paintings. “Not interested? The Wang family’s daughter is lovely and refined—”

Seeing Yu Hualiang’s reaction, she quickly continued, “What, not her? The Sun family, who own the mill in the north—such a pretty girl, and wealthy too!”

Yu Hualiang’s face darkened as he tried to retrieve his painting, but Widow Wang persisted, “Still not her? Then the Li family, their daughter—”

“Out of the way, old woman! Ding Liang is my brother-in-law!”

Yu Hualiang recognized that voice immediately—it could only be Qi Feng, eldest son of the Qi family and a member of the Wenchuan Painting Society.

When Yu Hualiang first arrived, he’d sold his paintings on the street to anyone who would buy. But as a newcomer, no one paid him any mind. In the depths of winter, his hands were so numb from cold that he accidentally dropped his inkstone, shattering it and splattering ink on someone’s shoes.

That someone was Qi Feng. He was a tall, imposing figure with a commanding presence, nothing like a painter at all, and he was flanked by several attendants who made him look all the more intimidating.

Yu Hualiang thought he was in trouble for sure.

He was not one to invite trouble—if he could avoid a beating, he would. He apologized immediately, but to his surprise, Qi Feng stared fixedly at his paintings.

Thus, Qi Feng became Yu Hualiang’s first customer. Recognizing his talent, Qi Feng tried every means to recruit him to Wenchuan Society.

But Yu Hualiang refused. He’d heard that paintings from Brocade City were often sent to the capital; if someone recognized his work, it would spell disaster.

Who could have guessed that Qi Feng, determined to keep him, had even tried to use his own sister as bait. Yu Hualiang had been trying to avoid both of them, but today seemed to be a particularly unlucky day.

When it rains, it pours.

Widow Wang, unwilling to cross Qi Feng, shot him a glare, then smiled at Yu Hualiang, “Young Master Ding, do think it over. I’ll come back for your answer in a few days.”

As soon as she left, Qi Feng sidled up. “Brother Liang, have you made up your mind?”

Yu Hualiang replied grumpily, “Who are you calling Brother Liang?”

Qi Feng was baffled, “But… isn’t that what your little companion always calls you?”

“Master Qi, please step aside—I’m packing up,” Yu Hualiang said, issuing a clear dismissal.

But Qi Feng, shameless as ever, persisted, “Packing up? Perfect! Brother Liang, how about a drink on me?”

At the mention of drinking, Yu Hualiang bristled, “Don’t talk to me about drinking!”

“Why not?”

“Last time, you dragged me to your painting society, got me drunk, and tricked me into painting for you! Where’s the painting now?”

Qi Feng stifled a laugh, “That? Probably hanging in someone’s house by now.”

Yu Hualiang was indignant, “You sold it!”

Qi Feng protested, “But I paid you, didn’t I?”

This left Yu Hualiang speechless. He had been tipsy at the time and had happily agreed to sell a painting for a silver ingot.

Seeing Yu Hualiang at a loss for words, Qi Feng slung an arm around his shoulder. The Seventh Prince, watching from a distance, felt his gaze harden with jealousy—he wished he could chop off Qi Feng’s arm right then and there.

Yu Hualiang brushed off the offending arm and said coldly, “I won’t be tricked again. Stop bothering me.”