Ya She

Chapter 15: The Four Seasons

That day, as usual, the doctor went to the mute shop for breakfast after finishing his night shift. Since returning from Xi'an, his relationship with the boss had become even closer; if they were just good friends before, they were now brothers who would share life and death.

After all, they almost died in the Qin Shi Huang Mausoleum at Mount Li.

The doctor still finds that night too crazy. He himself is not sure if it was a dream, let alone confiding in others. People who hear it would probably just say that he has hysteria.

The doctor sat blankly at the counter of the Silent Tea House, watching the owner skillfully brew the first batch of spring tea that had just been harvested this year. The quaint and charming interior of the Silent Tea House was instantly filled with the aroma of tea.

The boss's clothes were no longer the old Zhongshan suit. They had retrieved half of a Qin Dynasty robe with black gold and jade embroidery from the underground palace of Qin Shi Huang's mausoleum at Lishan, and a master tailor had transformed it into a very fashionable shirt. This shirt was made of the same material as the original Zhongshan suit—all black—with deep crimson cloud trim embroidered on the cuffs and hem. The lingering crimson dragon, caught off guard, had secretly landed on the new shirt; its head now rested on the boss's right shoulder, its body winding along his back. It hadn't changed since the shirt was made, as if in hibernation. While this offered some reassurance, its menacing appearance still sent chills down one's spine.

The doctor wasn't interested in the new shirt; what interested him was the boss—he seemed to want a single hair and a drop of blood from the boss for testing…he wanted to know about his anatomy…he really wanted to dissect him himself…his hands were itching…the doctor was itching with curiosity, ever since he learned that the boss had lived for over two thousand years, he had been completely unable to suppress his thirst for knowledge.

But he knew his boss hated lab tests, and if this wasn't kept secret, there would be no peace in the future. The boss noticed the doctor's green glare and calmly poured the brewed tea into the cup in front of him. Actually, he also wanted to understand the real reason for his immortality. What he had told the doctor before was just speculation. Sophisticated medical examinations, if kept private, were acceptable.

But he wasn't in a hurry. After all these long years, time was the last thing he had in abundance.

The shopkeeper concealed a smile, mentally calculating how long the doctor would agonize over this request. The doctor, reclining leisurely in a rosewood armchair at the silent shop, read the newspaper and sipped spring tea. He had entrusted his cousin with taking Apache the dog home to care for when he accompanied the shopkeeper to Xi'an a while ago. Who knew that such a close relationship would lead to such a strong attachment? He had gone to ask for it back several times, but the dog refused, and he figured it was unlikely to be returned.

It was early morning, and the Silent Shop was usually deserted, so when the doctor saw a handsome man carrying a painting tube, wearing a simple, clean white shirt and black-rimmed glasses, push open the door and walk in, he was quite surprised.

The other person nodded arrogantly to the owner behind the counter, then walked confidently into the back room of the Silent Shop.

The doctor's eyes nearly popped out of their sockets as he watched the man walk around the jade screen, then turn back and whisper to the shopkeeper, "Who was that man? He acted like he was in his own home!"

The shopkeeper held the delicate cup to his nose, inhaling the aroma of the tea, then looked up and said casually, "He's a teacher from the nearby art university. He comes here to copy calligraphy and paintings. He comes often, and sometimes he stays inside all day. You rarely see him."

"Copying calligraphy and paintings?" the doctor repeated doubtfully. When did the boss become so kind? "Why is he being treated so specially? Could he be some reincarnation of a famous artist?" It's understandable that the doctor was suspicious. After all, he had heard of reincarnations of Huo Qubing, Xiang Yu... and even he himself was said to be the reincarnation of Fusu. Maybe that painter who just walked in was some kind of amazing figure...

The heavy, carved wooden door was pushed open again, and the curator, leaning on a cane, walked in. The first thing he saw was a towering terracotta warrior standing prominently at the entrance. Adjusting his gold-rimmed glasses, the curator exclaimed incredulously, "This...this is Qin Shi Huang's terracotta warrior? Who forged this? How can it be so exaggerated? Wow! And it's even a real bronze sword..."

The doctor coughed to hide the laughter that welled up in his mouth. A fake? Good heavens! If the curator knew this terracotta warrior had chased itself out of the Qin Mausoleum, he'd be utterly astonished. But he also knew that even with the curator's sharp eyes, he would never believe such a brightly colored terracotta warrior was genuine. Usually, the residual paint on newly unearthed terracotta warriors would fade quickly; he didn't know how the owner had preserved the colors on this one. If the curator knew this terracotta warrior could move… The doctor turned his face away, struggling to suppress his laughter.

Although the curator found the terracotta warrior a bit strange, he didn't think much of it. He glanced at the owner sitting behind the counter, raised an eyebrow and smiled, "Changed your shirt? I think the original clothes suited you better."

"That outfit has been worn for so long, it's time to change it." The shopkeeper took out a new cup, placed it in front of the curator, and filled it with tea.

The curator sat behind the counter, looked around the store, and asked in confusion, "I clearly saw someone come in just now, where is he?"

The doctor pointed behind him and said, "Go into the inner room."

"What!" The curator was struck dumb, his expression one of envy, jealousy, and hatred, just like the doctor's! He knew, of course, that the things inside were far better than those displayed outside, but he didn't even have the chance to go in!

The boss repeated the reasons he had just given the doctor, but the curator persisted in trying to get information out of him: "Which ancient painting did he copy?"

The boss didn't hide anything from him, saying casually, "He's been copying Zhan Ziqian's 'Treading in the Snow' lately, but he's making very slow progress, probably only drawing one stroke a day."

One book a day? The doctor clicked his tongue in amazement. What a snail's pace!

He turned his head and saw the curator clutching his chest, his face contorted in pain, and he was immediately startled. "Uncle, what's wrong? Do you have a heart condition?" The doctor quickly jumped up and helped the curator sit down.

The curator took out a handkerchief to wipe the fine sweat from his forehead, and said tremblingly, "I...I would have a heart attack even if I didn't have a heart condition! Zhan Ziqian! How could it be Zhan Ziqian's 'Treading in the Snow'?"

"Zhan Ziqian? Is he famous?" The doctor had never heard of this name and didn't think much of it.

“Of course it’s famous!” The curator slammed his cane down heavily, making a dull thud. “Among the extant landscape scroll paintings, the ‘Spring Outing’ by the Sui Dynasty painter Zhan Ziqian is the earliest discovered and most perfectly preserved ancient painting. It’s currently housed in the Palace Museum in Beijing, and it even bears the inscription of Emperor Huizong of Song. According to unofficial historical accounts, Zhan Ziqian’s most famous work is the ‘Four Seasons’ series, and ‘Spring Outing’ is just one of them. Other works include ‘Children Playing in Water,’ ‘Falling Leaves,’ and ‘Treading in the Snow.’ However, there aren’t even any copies of the other three paintings, and many people question their very existence… Boss, could I take a look?” The curator pleaded with the shopkeeper.

The boss nodded unexpectedly: "The first room on the right. But those three pictures are only visible to those with a special connection, so be prepared."

The curator immediately hobbled towards the inner room, leaning on his cane. The doctor followed curiously. The owner didn't stop him, but simply focused on wiping his teacup with a soft cloth. Less than a minute later, the doctor emerged from behind the jade screen, muttering sullenly, "You're lying! That room just has blank sheets of paper hanging there! It's a wonder that painter could stare at blank paper like that!"

"I already said that only those with a special connection can see this. Didn't the curator come out with you?" the owner chuckled.

"No, he also saw a blank sheet of paper, but there was a sheet of paper on the artist's table that was already filled with drawings, and the curator was studying that drawing." The doctor added, "Should I call him out?"

"No need. Since the artist hasn't said anything, let him stay." The boss wasn't that heartless.

"Oh." The doctor sat down again, but no longer had the mood to read the newspaper. "Boss, the curator said that although those three ancient paintings looked like blank sheets of paper to him, the paper was indeed very old. Are they really the other three pieces of the legendary 'Four Seasons' painting? Who is that painter? How could he see them?"

The shopkeeper stopped wiping the teacups and asked with a smile, "Want to hear a story?"

"I want to hear it." The doctor immediately leaned closer; he was bored!
"Hmm... let me think, this goes back to a very long time ago..."

During the Northern Song Dynasty.

"Speaking of this young Prince Duan, everyone in the capital knows him! Leaving aside his renowned calligraphy and paintings, let's talk about his youthful romantic escapades..." On the second floor of a teahouse in Bianliang, the capital, a storyteller was enthusiastically recounting the latest gossip, while the audience listened intently. For ordinary people, these scandalous affairs were the sweet treat of their leisure time.

In a corner of the teahouse by the railing sat two young men dressed in fine clothes. One of them, wearing a royal blue robe, smiled broadly and asked the other, wearing a crimson outer robe, in a low voice, "Your Highness, this is about you! But I had no idea you had this story."

Another boy picked out a tea cake from the small tea caddy handed to him by the servant, patiently crushed it into powder with a mortar and pestle, and placed it on a tea tray to wait for the kettle next to the table to boil.

Distractions are most dangerous when ordering tea, and seeing this, the young man in blue stopped talking. Soon, the water in the kettle boiled. A servant brought over a set of sky-blue lotus-leaf shaped teacups. The young man couldn't resist picking one up and examining it closely. The glaze was smooth and lustrous, pure as jade. It felt like silk to the touch, the glaze like piled-up fat, and the hidden crackles shimmered and changed under the sunlight—clearly a rare treasure. He glanced at the inscription on the bottom of the cup and muttered with envy and resentment, "The Emperor really treats you well! You dare to use something bestowed upon you by the Emperor in the street? Aren't you afraid of breaking it?"

The purple-robed youth glanced at him and said indifferently, "Things are meant to be used. If they break, I'll just ask my elder brother for more." With that, he picked up the kettle from the stove and gracefully scalded the pot, warmed the cups, dried the pot, placed the tea leaves, roasted the tea, and poured in water… As the boiling water poured into the teacups, he picked up the tea whisk and began to whisk the tea with even force. The tea dust in the cups, scalded by the boiling water, released rising steam and aroma, instantly filling the air and making one feel refreshed and relaxed.

Soon, the tea and water in the teacup blended together, foaming up like piled clouds and snow.

"Cousin, your tea-making skills are getting more and more amazing!" The boy in blue stared at the teacup placed in front of him. In the azure teacup, the foam was pure white, and the water droplets were still visible, which was the highest level of tea-making.

"Speaking of which, a few people from Japan recently went around learning our tea ceremony, and they did it quite well. It seems they even planned to take it back to their country!"

"They tried to draw a tiger but ended up with a dog instead. They don't understand the essence of our dynasty's tea ceremony. Their blind imitation is just a waste of money," the purple-robed youth commented casually. He then took another teacup, repeated the steps, and ordered a cup of tribute tea for himself.

The two young men, one in purple robes, was none other than Prince Duan, Zhao Ji, who had recently gained considerable fame in Bianliang (Kaifeng), the capital of the Song Dynasty. The other, in blue, was Zhao Lingrang, a fifth-generation descendant of Emperor Taizu of Song, Zhao Kuangyin, and a member of the Zhao family's imperial clan. They were of the same generation, of similar age, and shared similar interests, so Zhao Lingrang addressed him as "cousin" repeatedly, much to the dismay of his family members who often pointed fingers at him for his lack of respect. However, having grown up within the vast imperial clan, Zhao Lingrang naturally knew proper boundaries, but when he mingled with Zhao Ji, his address to him as "Your Highness" carried a hint of playfulness.

Zhao Ji didn't care. He was made a prince when he was three years old and didn't think the title was anything special. On the contrary, he loved to hide his identity and wander among the common people. He liked Zhao Lingrang's unpretentious attitude.

After Emperor Huizong (Zhao Ji) had also prepared a cup of tribute tea for himself, he gestured for Zhao Lingrang to pick it up. Zhao Lingrang then felt the perfect temperature warming his palm. The sky-blue tea cup was thick and rich due to the fusion of tea and milk. Zhao Lingrang admired it for a moment, then tilted his head back and drank it all in one gulp. After drinking the tea, the tea foam in the cup remained sticky and did not dry, exhibiting the "biting cup" phenomenon that only occurs at the most refined stage of tea preparation.

Emperor Huizong finished his tea and looked with satisfaction at the bite marks left on the cup.

As Prince Duan, Zhao Ji, he naturally had to do everything to the best of his ability.

Zhao Lingrang picked up the kettle beside him and poured water into the teacup in Zhao Ji's hand. The water flowed in a graceful arc through the air before pouring into the teacup. The hot water rinsed away the tea foam clinging to the cup's surface. Zhao Ji drank the remaining tea, in high spirits. He wiped his hands with a towel handed to him by a servant and asked with a slight smile, "Da Nian, what's the program today?"

Zhao Lingrang inwardly grumbled about the nickname his father had given him; even his younger brother's name, Yongnian, sounded better than his own, Danian! But he didn't dare actually ask Zhao Ji to change it, since calling him by his childhood name showed affection. Zhao Lingrang finished his cup of tea, smacked his lips a few times, savoring the aroma, before smiling and saying, "A new antique shop has opened on East Street; let's go see what treasures they have!"

This suggestion was exactly to Zhao Ji's liking, and he immediately got up and went outside without even eating tea and snacks.

Zhao Lingrang picked up two exquisite tea candies, popped them into his mouth, and instructed the servant accompanying him to tidy up the set of tribute tea utensils before chasing after Zhao Ji.

The storyteller in the teahouse was still swaying his head as he recounted the romantic escapades of the young Prince Duan, and the people around him listened with great interest, completely unaware that Prince Duan had just been right beside them.

Bianliang, the capital of the Eastern Kingdom, was a very prosperous city. Many merchants and travelers came and went from Bianliang, and they all said that no other city in the world could compare to its prosperity and beauty.

Even the arrogant Emperor Huizong (Zhao Ji) deeply agreed with this. The layout of Bianjing (Kaifeng) no longer followed the closed-off ward system of the Tang Dynasty capital. Merchants could open shops anywhere as long as they paid taxes. Thus, new streets sprang up one after another, houses stood in rows, and shops on both sides of the street had identical eaves, adorned with curtains and filled with precious objects and goods from all over the country. The streets were bustling with people and vehicles, a scene of peace and prosperity.

Before the Song Dynasty, the opening of markets was subject to strict curfews, with city gates and ward gates closing after nightfall. However, this restriction was broken after the Song Dynasty, and the previous emperor, Emperor Shenzong, further developed many night markets, promoting the prosperity of the markets. Although opening a shop became easier, the East Street, lined with established brands, rarely had openings for new shops. Therefore, when Zhao Lingrang mentioned that an antique shop was located on East Street, Zhao Ji knew that it must be a shop of considerable importance.

Without real strength, how could one possibly open a shop on East Street?

"Cousin, we've arrived." Hearing Zhao Lingrang's voice, Zhao Ji looked up and saw the two seal-script characters on the antique shop facade. He nodded in approval, "Ya She, what a tasteful name! It's much more elegant than names like Xuande Pavilion or Sanbaoxuan." Zhao Lingrang knew this antique shop would suit Zhao Ji's taste, and said with a smug smile, "I knew you'd like it, cousin. But I've only heard about Ya She from others; I've never been inside. If you think it's all show and no substance, don't blame me!"

Before Emperor Huizong could say anything, the door of the antique shop creaked open a crack, and a two-year-old boy squeezed out through the gap.

When Zhao Ji saw that the child was fair-skinned and adorable, he was wondering whose young master he was, but his attention was completely drawn to the bronze sword the child was holding.

To say he was holding it wouldn't be entirely accurate, as the sword was almost as long as the boy's height. At his age, he couldn't possibly lift such a heavy bronze sword, so he gripped the hilt with both hands, while the tip of the scabbard drooped to the ground. Although it was an undrawn bronze sword, Zhao Ji's discerning eye allowed him to recognize it as at least a famous weapon from the Spring and Autumn or Warring States period.

Zhao Lingrang, who grew up collecting antiques, felt a pang of heartache when he saw the little boy dragging the bronze sword away. He quickly bent down to help him lift the sword tip. In that instant, Zhao Lingrang saw the bird-script characters engraved on the scabbard and exclaimed in surprise, "Cousin, this is the genuine Yue King's sword!"

Emperor Huizong raised an eyebrow. The Song Dynasty had a tradition of valuing literature over military prowess, so he wasn't particularly interested in the renowned Yue King's sword. But this antique shop was giving such a precious item to a two-year-old as a toy; it was clear how many treasures it contained. Huizong's eyes lit up, and he stepped into the shop.

Compared to the bright sunshine outside, the antique shop was much darker inside. Behind the heavy, carved wooden door, two long palace lanterns burned softly, and the shop was filled with a pleasant fragrance. Following the source of the aroma, on a rosewood counter, sat a gilded dragon-shaped incense burner, wisps of smoke slowly rising from the dragon's mouth. The shop's decor was elegant and pleasant, lacking the mercenary feel of ordinary shops, but rather like entering the hall of a wealthy family. Every antique there was priceless. Even Emperor Huizong of Tang, raised in the imperial family, couldn't help but admire it and naturally felt a desire to befriend the owner.

Although the shop was large, Zhao Ji glanced around and knew that there was no one inside. He was not in a hurry, and looked up at the two couplets hanging in the hall. If he was not mistaken, they should be the calligraphy of Emperor Taizong of Tang, Li Shimin.

"Who are you? This shop isn't open yet!" A clear child's voice suddenly rang out. Zhao Ji turned his head and saw the little boy who had been playing with the Yue King's sword squeeze in through the crack in the door, his big, bright black eyes staring intently at him.

Zhao Lingrang, who was carrying the Yue King's sword for him, rubbed his nose and chuckled, "Even if you don't open a shop, you still have to open one, right? Hey kid, do you have any rare calligraphy or paintings in your shop?"

The little boy was initially reluctant to let these two people in, but Zhao Lingrang's words clearly made him think of him as the shop owner. He immediately puffed out his little chest and said arrogantly, "Of course! Come with me!" With that, he dragged the Yue King's sword and ran into the inner room.

Emperor Huizong frowned, clearly disapproving of Zhao Lingrang's trick of deceiving a child. Zhao Lingrang, however, knew his cousin's weakness and said with a smile, "Cousin, even this little kid knows which painting is the most valuable, so it must be true. Besides, before this shop officially opens, reserve the good items first, so they won't be snatched up by others." Without waiting for Emperor Huizong's reply, he took off chasing after the little boy.

Zhao Ji knew that Zhao Lingrang was right; many antique shops had prized possessions that they rarely showed to the public. In this Silent Shop, even the sword of the King of Yue from the Spring and Autumn and Warring States periods could be used as a toy by children, and the calligraphy of Emperor Taizong of Tang could be used as couplets. So, the calligraphy and paintings that were considered the shop's prized possessions were even more unimaginable.

After struggling for a moment, Zhao Ji walked towards the inner room. Just as he turned past a huge mica glass screen, he heard Zhao Lingrang, who had gone ahead of him, say angrily, "You little brat! You dare lie to your young master?"

"I didn't lie to you! The boss said this place is the best, and I've never been here before!" The little boy's aggrieved voice rang out. Not being able to explain much, he stomped his foot and ran out. The tip of the Yue King's sword in his hand dragged on the ground, making a "sizzling" sound. As he ran past Zhao Ji, he didn't forget to look up and make a big face at him.

"What's going on?" Zhao Ji asked, puzzled, when he saw Zhao Lingrang chasing after him.

"There were clearly four sheets of white paper hanging in that room! And that brat even took the opportunity to tear off my sachet. Yingying specially embroidered that for me!" Zhao Lingrang explained angrily, then hurriedly chased after the little boy.

Emperor Huizong was greatly surprised. He didn't believe that what was hanging there were just four blank sheets of paper, but Zhao Lingrang had no reason to lie to him. He had already come this far, and an inexplicable impulse drove him toward the house that hadn't been opened.

There were no windows or other furnishings in the room, only a Changxin Palace Lantern lit on a round table in the center. When Zhao Ji looked at the four walls of the room, a surge of joy overwhelmed him.

Hanging on these four walls were clearly four exquisitely painted landscapes! The four paintings depicted the exact same scenery, differing only in the season depicted—one for spring, one for summer, one for autumn, and one for winter. When Zhao Ji saw the signature at the corner of the painting, even the well-traveled Emperor Huizong couldn't help but tremble slightly. This was none other than Zhan Ziqian's legendary "Four Seasons Painting"!
The four paintings were grand and serene in composition, with ancient and vibrant colors. Zhao Ji stood in the center of the room, slowly turning around and changing his perspective. It was as if the four seasons were cycling through his vision. Scholars and ladies were enjoying the spring, children were playing in a stream in the height of summer, old people were feeling melancholy among the fallen leaves, and travelers were rushing through the snow... Zhao Ji was deeply attracted and did not think about why Zhao Lingrang said that these were four blank sheets of paper until a voice suddenly rang out.

"Can you see these four paintings?"

Zhao Ji seemed to awaken from a dream, suddenly realizing he wasn't alone in the room. A young man had appeared at the doorway. He was dressed in ancient Qin and Han dynasty attire—a wide-sleeved, tight-fitting robe with a black straight hem that elegantly draped to his feet, further emphasizing his handsome features; he looked like a figure straight out of an ancient painting. Realizing his staring was extremely impolite, Zhao Ji quickly coughed lightly to cover it up, saying, "You are…"

"The owner of this shop." The other person smiled slightly and gave a reply that surprised Zhao Ji.

Emperor Huizong was surprised that the owner of the antique shop was so young, but judging from his demeanor, he was probably a wealthy young man from a fallen family. Knowing he was in the wrong, Emperor Huizong cupped his hands and sincerely said, "I have been presumptuous and have trespassed. Please forgive me."

"It's alright, it must have been Le'er who brought you in. He's always been mischievous." The shopkeeper chuckled, clearly at a loss as to what to do with the child.

"Your son is lively and adorable; he will surely become a great talent in the future." Zhao Ji also laughed, thinking that Zhao Lingrang, who had been tricked, had not yet returned and was probably being tormented to death by that little devil.

“He’s not my son, just… a relative’s child,” the shopkeeper explained casually, raising an eyebrow slightly. As if unwilling to continue the conversation, he turned to the paintings hanging on the wall and asked, “Can you see these four paintings?”

"Of course." Zhao Ji nodded, puzzled. Although the room was dimly lit, it was enough for him to see the scenery in the four paintings, even the smallest details of the tree branches were clearly visible. "How much would you give me Zhan Ziqian's 'Four Seasons' painting?"

The shopkeeper didn't speak, but stared at him with an inscrutable gaze. Zhao Ji let him look at him nonchalantly, assuming the shopkeeper was considering how much to ask for. After a long while, the shopkeeper finally spoke quietly: "You can't afford it."

Zhao Ji frowned. As a prince of the Song Dynasty, there were few things he couldn't afford. He secretly thought it was a trick to inflate the price, but he still couldn't control his tongue and sneered, "If you can say it, I can afford it!" He rarely acted so impulsively, but upon seeing these four paintings, he couldn't suppress his desire and felt an overwhelming love for them. A thousand pieces of gold couldn't buy what he loved, and he decided to get these four paintings at all costs.

The shopkeeper looked at him, his expression becoming serious, and said calmly, "If you want to own these four paintings, you must maintain your true self."

"Original intention?" Zhao Ji was completely taken aback when his boss uttered such an unrelated term.

"If I were to accept ten thousand bushels of grain without considering propriety and righteousness, what good would ten thousand bushels of grain do me? Would it be for the beauty of palaces, the service of wives and concubines, or for the poor and needy I know to benefit from me?" the boss said slowly, his clear voice echoing throughout the room, leisurely and open.

"...Is this not going to stop? This is what is meant by losing one's original heart." Zhao Ji continued, picking up where he left off. This passage comes from Mencius's "Gaozi," and the concept of "original heart" also originates here, referring to a sense of shame and integrity. Mencius gives the example of some people who, in the face of life and death, would rather die than submit and even sacrifice their lives for righteousness, but in times of peace, they can disregard shame and even resort to unscrupulous means to pursue fame and profit, losing their original principles and virtues.

"Yes, if you want to own these four paintings, you must maintain your integrity." The boss's expectation was very calm, as if he didn't trust him to do so at all.

Emperor Huizong of Tang, enraged, laughed and said, "Oh? Is that all you need?"

"Yes, that's all." The shopkeeper still smiled slightly. "Since you've decided to take these four paintings, then touch the paper of these four paintings with your hand. These four paintings will bring you endless power and wealth, but if you cannot maintain your original intention, then they will ruthlessly take them back and charge you several times the reward."

Emperor Huizong casually touched the four pieces of paper, his good impression of the antique shop completely vanished after just a few words of conversation. If it weren't for the fact that the four paintings were genuine, he would have turned around and left long ago.

Zhao Ji chuckled inwardly. He was already a prince; what position could offer more boundless power and wealth?

Just as he withdrew his finger from the last painting, "Treading in the Snow," a series of hurried footsteps echoed in the corridor. Zhao Lingrang rushed in, his expression filled with alarm and uncertainty, and said in a panic, "Cousin...cousin! Something terrible has happened! People from the palace...the palace has sent word...saying..."

An ominous premonition rose in Zhao Ji's heart, and he asked sternly, "What did you say?"

Zhao Lingrang gritted his teeth, knelt down with a thud, and said, "They say His Majesty is critically ill!" These words exploded in Zhao Ji's ears like a thunderbolt. After a brief blank, Zhao Ji subconsciously thought that his elder brother still had no children, and the throne... and what possessed even more boundless power and wealth than the position of a prince was...

Will these four paintings bring him boundless power and wealth?
Zhao Ji subconsciously looked at the boss beside him, and when his eyes met the subtle smile on his lips, he couldn't help but feel dazed.

The shopkeeper stood alone in the room, gazing at the "Four Seasons Painting" hanging on the four walls, remaining silent for a long time. He couldn't understand why the "Four Seasons Painting" had chosen Zhao Ji as its destined person.

"They're gone?" A clear child's voice rang out, interrupting the boss's thoughts.

"Le'er, give me the Yue King's sword." The shopkeeper's face darkened as he reached out his hand to the little boy at the door.

After hesitating for a moment, Le'er glanced at the boss's face, reluctantly handed over the Yue King Sword, and complained sullenly, "Le'er can't draw it, and nobody else can!"

The shopkeeper held the Yue King's sword in his hand, reached out and touched Le'er's soft hair, and said with a light smile, "You are not the owner of this sword, so naturally you can't draw it."

Le'er pouted, but being a child, he forgot about it in the blink of an eye after his tantrum. Only then did he notice the difference in the room and exclaim in surprise, "Huh? Paintings!" He had clearly seen four blank sheets of paper just now; how did they suddenly become four ink paintings? Le'er looked at the shopkeeper with disdain, thinking that the uncle had misjudged someone and was hungry; he hadn't lied! It was the shopkeeper who had lied!

“Once the ‘Four Seasons Painting’ has recognized its owner, it will naturally manifest itself.” The shopkeeper sighed. “I just don’t know how long this will last.”

Le'er tilted her head and listened, seemingly understanding but not quite, but wisely refrained from interrupting.

"Though possessing keen insight and a benevolent heart, once they become wealthy and powerful, they will betray their relatives and friends, abandoning their original intentions..." The boss's calm voice flowed through the quiet room, like an unspoken proverb...

Zhao Lingrang straightened his robes and walked into a side hall of Yanfu Palace. Zhao Ji, who had been on the throne for two years, was wearing a bright yellow casual dress and stood with his hands behind his back in the center of the room, intently admiring the "Children Playing in Water" painting hanging in front of him.

Zhao Lingrang fanned himself with his folding fan. The well-ventilated room felt even more stifling in the sweltering summer heat, and he wondered how his cousin could bear it. Zhao Lingrang knew that the paintings hanging on the walls were personally delivered by the owner of the Silent Shop after Zhao Ji ascended the throne. He was completely surprised that the owner hadn't asked for a single penny. He had assumed that hanging those four blank sheets of paper there, in a seemingly mystical manner, must have had some ulterior motive, but the other party hadn't asked for anything in return.

However, this was a minor matter, and Zhao Lingrang quickly put it out of his mind. He looked at Zhao Ji in front of him with admiration. His cousin had become emperor at the age of nineteen, repeatedly issued edicts seeking honest advice, expelled treacherous officials, exonerated wrongful convictions, and accepted loyal suggestions. All of these were praised by the court and the people.

However, Zhao Lingrang also harbored a vague unease. The struggle between the New Party and the Old Party had been fierce during the reign of Emperor Cheoljong, and he believed that many people were unsure whether the New Party's reforms were better or the Old Party's conservatism was superior. Recent decrees, however, hinted at changes. Due to the constraints of being a member of the royal family, Zhao Lingrang rarely participated in politics, but he had heard that these changes by Emperor Huizong were related to Cai Jing, who had recently risen to prominence in the court.

Cai Jing was appreciated by Emperor Huizong (Zhao Ji) because of his excellent calligraphy. Zhao Lingrang had met Cai Jing a few times but did not have a good impression of him. However, he did not know how to tell Emperor Huizong. Their relationship was no longer that of cousins. He could not even call him "cousin" as he used to. Whether in private or in public, he could only bow his head and humbly kneel down.

Seeing that Zhao Ji had come out of his reverie, Zhao Lingrang quickly knelt down to pay his respects, as was customary. "Greetings, Your Majesty." (Note: During the Song Dynasty, the emperor was addressed as "Your Majesty." The saying goes, "The three emperors ruled the world through officialdom, the five emperors ruled the world through family," because the emperor was expected to be impartial and selfless, hence the title "Your Majesty.")
"Get up." The childishness of his youth had faded from Zhao Ji's face, replaced by an arrogant and condescending air. "Da Nian, I called you here today so you could think about whether Yanfu Palace is a little too small?"

Zhao Lingrang pondered the implied meaning of those words, then was shocked to discover that his cousin intended to expand the palace. Yanfu Palace had always served as an imperial retreat for the Song emperors, renowned for its unique elegance, yet no emperor had ever complained that it was too small… Zhao Lingrang felt the air in the room growing increasingly stuffy and suffocating, making it almost impossible for him to breathe.

He knew he had to say something. Zhao Lingrang felt a tickle in his throat, then chuckled and heard himself say, "...Your subject also thinks so."

Emperor Huizong was overjoyed and nodded with a smile, "Yes, it's too hot here. Let's go outside and talk in detail!" With that, he took the lead and walked out of the side hall.

Zhao Lingrang took out a silk handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the sweat from his forehead.

It's easy to go from simplicity to extravagance, but difficult to go from extravagance to frugality. This time it's just the expansion of Yanfu Palace, but what about next time...? Zhao Lingrang dared not think about it. Years ago, Emperor Huizong had told him, almost as if it were a joke, about the origins of these four paintings. He said the reward for these paintings was simply to maintain one's integrity. Zhao Lingrang smiled bitterly. Now, not only his cousin, but even he himself, could not maintain his integrity and were willing to say things against his conscience.

With a silent sigh, Zhao Lingrang turned and walked out of the side hall. In that instant, the painting of "Children Playing in Water" on the wall slowly faded...

Emperor Huizong changed into civilian clothes and walked along East Street with several guards.

Time flies by like flowing water; he has been on the throne for a full ten years.

He felt he was a good emperor. Although the tedious political affairs were difficult to handle, Prime Minister Cai had taken care of them all, allowing him to devote his time and energy to his most beloved art of calligraphy and painting. He took charge of the Hanlin Academy, established the Xuanhe Painting Academy, and personally served as its director. Recently, he has been compiling books such as "Xuanhe Calligraphy Manual," "Xuanhe Painting Manual," and "Xuanhe Antiquities Illustrated."

But recently, something happened that he couldn't understand at all, and he urgently needed someone to explain it to him. According to the person who had inquired, the antique shop called "Dumb Shop" hadn't been open for the past few days. He heard that a funeral had been held there a few days ago.

"The owner is dead?" Zhao Ji frowned. He hadn't been to the Silent Shop even once in all these years, so what a coincidence! Several guards, trying to guess the emperor's thoughts, disregarded the fact that the Silent Shop was still closed, forcefully cut off the iron lock on the door, and pushed it open.

When Zhao Ji entered, he found that the layout was almost exactly the same as it had been ten years ago, and the antiques on display were still the same. Zhao Ji couldn't understand it. Could it be that the antique shop's business had become so dismal? Had it not sold a single antique in ten years? Zhao Ji almost felt as if he had stepped into the past, especially when he saw the owner of the Silent Shop slowly step out from the inner room.

His features were as youthful as they had been ten years ago, without the slightest change. He was still wearing that dark black Hanfu, his face as pale as a sheet of paper.

Emperor Huizong immediately guessed who had passed away, and he sighed, "Please accept my condolences."

The only people in the Silent Shop were the two he had met years ago. Now that the owner was here, it meant that the one being buried was Le'er. Ten years ago, Le'er was two years old, so even after ten years, he would only be twelve. Over the years, Zhao Ji had witnessed the deaths of several of his sons, and a feeling of shared sorrow welled up in his heart as he sympathized with the owner.

"It's nothing. It's time for him to go." The shopkeeper, pale-faced, seemed completely unconcerned that his beloved child of many years had left so easily. He then asked indifferently, "What important matter brings Your Majesty here today?"

Emperor Huizong sensed the impatience in the other person's tone, but he didn't take it to heart. After all, no one would be in a good mood after the death of their closest loved one. Emperor Huizong gestured to the guard beside him, who immediately handed him a narrow brocade box. After Emperor Huizong waved his hand again, the guards filed out in a well-trained manner, leaving Emperor Huizong and his master alone.

Emperor Huizong of Song carefully opened the brocade box in his hand, took out a scroll, and unfurled it on the long table.

The drawing paper was completely blank.

The shopkeeper, seeing the blank canvas, raised an eyebrow knowingly and asked casually, "Which of the 'Four Seasons' paintings is this?"

Zhao Ji nervously licked his lips and said, "It's 'Children Playing in the Water.' 'Spring Outing' is still hanging there perfectly fine. Actually, this 'Children Playing in the Water' painting has long been blank. I thought some palace servant had accidentally damaged the scroll and put a blank sheet of paper there. But yesterday I suddenly noticed that even the colors in 'Fallen Leaves' painting were starting to fade, and that's when I realized something was wrong..."

The boss smiled slightly and said unhurriedly, "Everything in this world is fair. Since you chose to gain unlimited power and wealth, but failed to maintain your integrity, then the 'Four Seasons Painting' will naturally take away some corresponding rewards."

"What reward?" Zhao Ji asked anxiously.

"This is 'Children Playing in the Water'." The shopkeeper just smiled and didn't answer directly, but simply repeated the name of the painting.

Emperor Huizong was speechless, as if someone had grabbed him by the throat. He was twenty-nine years old, but apart from his eldest son, born before his ascension to the throne, none of his princes had survived to adulthood; all had died young without exception… He had a vague feeling that something was amiss. The death of one or two children might be an accident, but for every child to die before the age of five was simply outrageous… He had always thought that someone had secretly cast a curse, but he never imagined that the painting was the culprit…

"Boss... how... how can this be resolved?" Even as the ruler of a country, Zhao Ji knew that he was just a mortal and could not resist these supernatural matters.

The shopkeeper didn't speak. He raised his hand and slowly rolled up the scroll again. Only then did Zhao Ji notice a clean cut on the right sleeve of the shopkeeper's Hanfu, as if it had been slashed by a sharp sword. Zhao Ji knew this garment was probably something the shopkeeper cherished; otherwise, he wouldn't have worn it for ten years, even with a tear, and still been reluctant to replace it. Since he needed something from the shopkeeper, Zhao Ji played to his tastes, saying, "Shopkeeper, this garment is torn. Take it to the Embroidery Institute to get it mended. I guarantee the embroiderers there have exquisite skills."

The shopkeeper paused, his hand still holding the scroll; clearly, Zhao Ji's suggestion had touched his heart. The Embroidery Academy was Zhao Ji's personal embroidery workshop; perhaps there was hope. He didn't want to die like this. Le'er was the reincarnation of Fusu, and he was powerless to stop his fate of dying at twelve, but he was unwilling to accept it. He had endured this for thousands of years, and although his clothes had been accidentally injured by the Yue King's sword, he still wanted to live. This was his only obsession, and Zhao Ji had precisely seized his Achilles' heel.

“Your Majesty, this garment is not made of ordinary fabric; ordinary embroiderers cannot handle it.” The shopkeeper’s gaze flickered as he looked at Zhao Ji. “Furthermore, I require that the garment be sewn in the same room.”

Zhao Ji nodded repeatedly. This matter was not worth mentioning at all. He could also tell that the clothes must be an antique from the Qin and Han dynasties, which was why the boss valued them so much.

After pondering deeply for a while, the shop owner closed the antique shop and returned with Zhao Ji to Yanfu Palace, his temporary palace outside the palace city.

Yanfu Palace was officially ordered to be renovated and expanded in the spring of the third year of the Zhenghe reign (1113), and was known as the Fifth District of Yanfu. The newly built Yanfu Palace was the same length from east to west as the Imperial Palace, only slightly smaller in size from north to south. In fact, it was equivalent to Emperor Huizong (Zhao Ji) building a new palace for himself. It stretched from Jinglong Gate in the east to Tianbo Gate in the west, with magnificent halls and pavilions and beautiful scenery, with dozens of pavilions and towers. Rocks were piled up to form mountains, ponds were dug to form seas, and springs were stored to form lakes. It was dotted with all kinds of rare and beautiful birds and animals and beautiful flowers and trees, making it a veritable fairyland. After the completion of the Fifth District of Yanfu, Emperor Huizong spent most of his time here and was reluctant to leave.

Zhao Ji intended to show off this magnificent palace, but as he led his boss along, no one noticed any shock on his face. Instead, he remained indifferent to the beautiful scenery before him.

Emperor Huizong took a breath and decided to take the boss to see it after Longevity Hill was completed, believing that the boss would be moved. The boss looked at the exotic flowers and lush greenery, and the rows of palaces and pavilions, and sighed helplessly.

With such a foolish ruler, it's no wonder the "Fallen Leaves" painting began to wither! The boss settled down in a side hall of Yanfu Palace. Yanfu Palace was now enormous, and besides, it wouldn't make a difference if he were there. Zhao Ji only treated him warmly for the first few days, but after seeing that the boss didn't offer any advice on how to preserve his lineage, he gradually stopped coming.

As for the "Four Seasons" paintings, Zhao Ji only left behind the well-preserved "Spring Outing" and "Snow Treading" paintings. The blank "Children Playing in Water" and the lightly painted "Falling Leaves" paintings had already been sent to the owner's residence. The owner carefully put away "Children Playing in Water," while "Falling Leaves" was hanging in the side hall where he was temporarily staying.

Zhao Lingrang often came to chat with him. Perhaps it was because the idle members of the imperial clan had nothing to do, or perhaps it was because of his disappointment with the current state of the court and the public. As soon as Zhao Lingrang came, he would drink, and after drinking, he would start complaining one after another.

"Hey! Boss! Do you have any way to make my cousin have a prince?" Zhao Lingrang swirled his wine glass, drunk. Only when he was drunk could he address the current emperor as his cousin. When sober, he could only respectfully call him Your Majesty.

The shopkeeper smiled faintly, "He was the one who insisted on mending my clothes; I never agreed to help him." Zhao Lingrang was stunned for a moment, then nodded in praise, "What a shrewd businessman! Truly a shrewd businessman! I admire him! I admire him!"

"A swindler?" The boss looked down at the half-finished, deep red dragon claw that had been sewn onto his right hand. He insisted on wearing the garment after the embroiderers finished sewing each day. Zhao Ji must have already learned from reports that the red thread used for sewing was actually stained with his blood.

The fabric used for his clothes was no ordinary material; each stripe of the fabric had a specific arrangement, so it could not be sewn up casually, and naturally, it could not be sewn up with ordinary silk thread.

In order to perfectly repair the garment, Emperor Huizong even personally drew the embroidery pattern for the dragon.

"Heh..." the shopkeeper chuckled softly. Zhao Ji had probably guessed the purpose of this garment, hadn't he? The shopkeeper sneered inwardly. Actually, he wanted to possess this garment, didn't he? Otherwise, how could a commoner like himself wear a garment embroidered with dragons? Dragon patterns were reserved for the imperial family; Zhao Ji's ambition was that one day he would be able to wear this garment himself.

Zhao Lingrang, oblivious to his boss's odd behavior, continued pouring wine, complaining, "Shady merchants are alright, but the most hateful are the treacherous officials! That Cai Jing actually wants to rebuild the city walls personally designed by the founding emperor!"

The shopkeeper was taken aback. Bianliang, the capital of the Eastern Capital, was located in the center of the country, a flat plain, making it a land of constant warfare. It lacked natural defenses, both mountains and passes, and its only advantages were convenient water transport and advanced transportation, but it was difficult to defend. Bianliang, lacking natural defenses, could only rely on fortifying its city walls, building thick and sturdy ramparts to replace natural defenses, and employing heavily armored troops to replace the defenses of passes.

The city wall design personally created by Emperor Taizu of Song is as winding and zigzagging as a riddle. No one could understand Emperor Taizu's intentions at the time, but they all built the city wall according to the plan, which has ensured the stability and peace of the Song Dynasty for hundreds of years.

"That Cai Jing actually thinks the outer city is a mess and an eyesore! He wants to order the outer walls to be rebuilt, turning those winding walls into square '口' shapes! Isn't that ridiculous?" Zhao Lingrang, drunk and acting crazy, slammed his fist on the table and roared. He wanted to say something more, but the alcohol had already numbed his brain, and he soon fell into a deep sleep.

The shopkeeper stared at the faintly colored painting of fallen leaves on the wall, his expression inscrutable. He said calmly, "It is indeed nonsense. 'Encircling someone with one's mouth'... isn't that just imprisonment?" The crimson dragon robe took two years to complete. The red thread stained with the shopkeeper's blood, combined with the skillful work of dozens of embroiderers from the Wenxiu Academy, made the red dragon seem alive, its claws outstretched, clinging to the garment with breathtaking realism, as if it would one day reign supreme. Perfect. That was all.

However, Zhao Ji did not get the garment as he wished, because before he could shamelessly snatch it, the shopkeeper had already left. He vanished silently from the heavily guarded imperial city, as if he were a ghost.

He only took the blank scroll of "Children Playing in Water". The pale "Fallen Leaves" scroll still hung forlornly on the wall. Every time Zhao Ji looked at it, he felt a pang of fear, as if a panic was tightly gripping his heart. He dared not look at it for long and ordered it to be put away.

The Four Seasons Painting has already taken away his offspring, and he doesn't want to think about what the Four Seasons Painting will take away from him next time.

Two years passed in panic, and the thirty-three-year-old Emperor Huizong still had no heirs besides the crown prince. One day, Zhao Lingrang sought out a Taoist priest from Maoshan Mountain. After examining the feng shui of the palace, the priest said that the northeast corner of the palace, the Gen position, was too low-lying, hindering the birth of offspring. Emperor Huizong then raised the northeast corner of the palace, building a beautifully shaped hill.

Strangely enough, after the hill was built, good news kept coming from the inner palace: one prince after another was born, and each one was very healthy, lively and adorable. As a result, Zhao Ji became convinced that the "Four Seasons Picture" was nothing but a deception, and he became even more devoted to Taoist arts.

The lengthy city wall reconstruction project was gradually completed. Time flew by, and Zhao Ji became increasingly obsessed with the new construction project. The "flower and stone tribute" caused widespread suffering among the people, but he completely ignored worldly affairs and indulged in pleasure.

When the Jin army marched south and besieged Bianjing (Kaifeng), their commander, seeing the perfectly aligned city walls, happily placed cannons at the corners of the fields and fired them indiscriminately. The walls were straight, and a single cannon shot easily destroyed the newly built walls. The entire Song capital was like a young girl whose clothes had been easily torn off, utterly unable to resist the invasion of the Jin army's iron hooves.

Zhao Ji stood hesitantly in the cold wind, his mind in turmoil. Inside the palace, the scenery was still breathtaking, but the distant roar of cannons could be faintly heard. Although the view was magnificent, he felt as if he had fallen into a hellish realm.

He held the rolled-up "Snowy Landscape" in his hand. Just a few days ago, when the Jin army besieged the city, he thought of "The Four Seasons Landscape," but when he found "Fallen Leaves Landscape," he only saw a blank sheet of white paper.

He abdicated two years ago, passing the throne to his crown prince. He gave up the supreme throne, but even that could not reverse the defeat.

Was he taking his country with him this time? The palace was in complete chaos. Palace maids and eunuchs, as if facing their doom, rushed out of the palace gates despite the guards' attempts to stop them. At first, the guards brandished their swords in a show of force, but Zhao Ji, seeing this, couldn't bear it and waved for them to let them pass. Instantly, chaos erupted within the palace; the once magnificent palace seemed transformed into a man-eating monster, with everyone scrambling to escape.

Emperor Huizong (Zhao Ji) was heartbroken to see a pot of Sichuan red peony overturned on the ground, ignored by everyone. He finally couldn't help but step forward and personally pick it up, then brushed the dust off the petals. He stared intently at the flower in full bloom, as if the sounds of gunfire and screams had faded away, and a sense of peace settled in his heart.

Everyone condemned him as a foolish and pleasure-seeking ruler, but... but... his hand, stroking the flower petals, trembled uncontrollably. Yet, deep down, he was merely a carefree prince who enjoyed writing, painting, and tending to flowers and plants.

Suddenly, a sigh seemed to come from afar. Zhao Ji looked in the direction of the sound and vaguely caught sight of a very familiar red dragon in the noisy crowd, but it disappeared in the blink of an eye.

Was it him? Did he come to reclaim the "Fallen Leaves" painting?
"Your Majesty, please seek refuge in Yanfu Palace!" a guard approached and whispered. Zhao Ji glanced longingly at the palace where he had grown up, choking back tears.

"The west wind shakes the door all night, a lonely lamp flickers in the desolate inn. I look back at my home mountains, three thousand miles away, but no wild geese fly south of the mountains."

Emperor Huizong of Zhao never imagined that he would become a prisoner.

He was once the supreme emperor! But now he has endured nine years of imprisonment, spending the rest of his life in the far northernmost city of Wuguo.

Emperor Huizong raised his hand to look at the full moon in the sky. Today was the Lantern Festival, the fifteenth day of the first lunar month. During his reign, every year on the Lantern Festival, people would watch lanterns all night long on the fifteenth day of the first lunar month. The entire city of Bianjing would be ablaze with lights all night long. From the main gate of the palace, colorful lanterns filled the courtyards, and candlelight shone like daytime, stretching endlessly—a truly magnificent sight. Oh, and yes, a cartload of sandalwood would be lit, and there would be a final burst of fireworks that soared into the sky…

In a daze, I could almost smell the captivating fragrance of sandalwood, and I could almost see the brilliant fireworks leaving dazzling trails in the night sky...

Emperor Huizong wrapped his only thin autumn garment tightly around himself. During his nine years of imprisonment in the north, food and clothing were often scarce, and many of his sons had starved to death. He closed his eyes, and bitter tears streamed down his face. He couldn't bear to think about it, but the images of his emaciated sons, groaning in pain, still appeared before his eyes.

He slowly unfurled the "Snowy Landscape" painting in his hands. In the end, only this painting remained of the "Four Seasons Landscape." The Jurchens had plundered all his possessions, but this was the only thing they hadn't taken. Perhaps it was because the painting on it was already blurred and indistinct; those Jurchens, unfamiliar with Central Plains culture, thought it was just a scribble.

Suddenly, a thought struck him. Zhao Ji felt something, looked up, and the first thing he saw was a lifelike crimson dragon amidst the swirling snowflakes.
"You...you've finally come." Zhao Ji looked at his boss's still youthful face with mixed feelings. He had aged, his temples were gray, and he was withered like a useless person. Where was the youthful spirit and arrogance of riding through the imperial city? But the other party was just as young as when they first met more than thirty years ago.

"Yes, I've come to take back this 'Treading in the Snow' painting." The shopkeeper smiled faintly, as if he had been waiting for a long time.

"Why me? Why me!" Zhao Ji felt a tightness and turmoil in his chest. During his nine years of imprisonment, he had been wanting to ask this question: "Why was I chosen for the 'Four Seasons Painting'?"

The boss's lips curled into a mocking smile as he said calmly, "It's quite laughable, really. This dynasty was a very peculiar one. It possessed breathtaking prosperity and a culture that later generations could not match, yet it was plagued by poverty and weakness, repeatedly subjected to pressure from other ethnic groups. Although there were many disputes within the court, it was one of the few dynasties in history to be truly enlightened, where even a scholar-official could criticize the current political situation without being persecuted. And its technology was increasingly astonishing; movable type printing, gunpowder, and the compass—these three inventions would surely change the future."

The boss paused, and a rare emotion flickered in his usually indifferent gaze—a mixture of lament, regret, and anger.

"But... the printing press, meant to spread culture, is used to print Taoist scriptures; gunpowder, meant to kill enemies, is used to make fireworks for amusement; and the compass, meant for navigation and exploration, is used for feng shui..." The shopkeeper's words were like sharp blades, each one cutting into Zhao Ji's heart. He knelt in the snow, heartbroken, knowing that he had ruined the legacy left by his ancestors and was a sinner for all time.

He knew that the reason why only the "Spring Outing" painting among the Four Seasons paintings had not faded was because, before he turned twenty, he had never strayed from his true self. However, after ascending the throne, he was only a good emperor for a year and a half before being corrupted by absolute power and wealth.

If he were given another chance to start over, what would he do? Would he strive to become a wise ruler? If his elder brother hadn't died, and if he had remained a carefree prince, would the Song Dynasty have reached its zenith?
Zhao Ji felt the snowflakes fall on his face, then turn into tiny water droplets, slowly sliding down his cheeks and finally falling onto the snow, becoming a crystal-clear ice droplet.

How beautiful… Snowflakes drifted down, fine and dense, adorning the world in a silvery white, like a pure and elegant woman sitting upright and graceful. If he had a paintbrush, he would definitely paint this scene, not the endless politics and court intrigues…

How ridiculous! Even on the verge of death, all he could think about were these weak and powerless things. But what's most ridiculous is that these were the very things he had pursued his whole life—his so-called ideals.

He never wanted to be an emperor wielding immense power. The reason people suffer is that they pursue the wrong things.

Seeing Zhao Ji's bewildered expression, the boss said nothing more.

How many people can truly maintain their original intentions amidst boundless power and wealth? Let alone Emperor Huizong of Song, even Zhao Lingrang gradually betrayed his original intentions over time.

The boss sighed. Wasn't he the same? Could he say that he hadn't strayed from his original intentions?
"In your next life, be a simple painter..." The shopkeeper snatched the painting "Treading in the Snow" from Zhao Ji's hands. Zhao Ji was extremely reluctant to part with it. He tried his best to clench his palms, but he still couldn't hold onto the painting. He watched helplessly as the painting flowed away from his hands like water, the white paper as white as the snow on the ground.

Emperor Huizong slowly closed his eyes. He knew that this time, the "Four Seasons Painting" would take away his life...

五

The story ended amidst a flurry of snowflakes. Long after the shopkeeper's words had faded, the doctor still found it unbelievable. That painter was actually the reincarnation of Emperor Huizong of Song? He knew the guests at the Silent Shop were no ordinary people! But that arrogant young man was actually the emperor himself!

"The fall of the Northern Song Dynasty wasn't entirely his fault. His elder brother did a good job because Emperor Zhezong ascended the throne before he was ten years old, and his education was entirely arranged for the crown prince. As for Zhao Ji, he was destined to be a carefree prince from birth. The Song Dynasty was extremely wary of the imperial family. The furthest they could go was to visit the imperial tombs on the outskirts of the capital. They were never allowed to leave the capital or participate in court affairs..." The shopkeeper said calmly, recalling that Zhao Lingrang was actually a rare talent, but unfortunately, he was bound by the ancestral precepts of the imperial family and could not realize his ambitions. He could only devote himself to landscape painting, calligraphy, drinking, and merrymaking.

The doctor was deeply saddened and at a loss for words when he saw the painter emerge from the inner room, followed by the curator, who was using a cane.

"You came out very early today," the boss said, somewhat puzzled.

"Well, once it's finished, it's natural to come out early." The artist curled his lip; he was usually arrogant, and this was unusually polite to the boss.

The doctor, however, was oblivious to social cues. As soon as he heard the drawing was finished, he curiously gathered his money and asked, "Could I take a look at it?"

The painter's lips twitched at the doctor's overly familiar manner. Although he was quite displeased, he took the painting out of the painting tube and carefully unfolded it on the counter for the sake of his boss. "Treading on Snow" depicts the same scene as "Spring Outing," only in a different season. The painting is eighty centimeters long, depicting magnificent mountains and rivers and tourists returning home through the snow within its limited space. The painting showcases a vast space where water and sky meet, with green mountains and white snow, shimmering lake water, and a traveler riding a horse through the snow. Snowflakes dance in the air, creating a crystal-clear, breathtaking scene. The mountains and water are predominantly painted in shades of blue and white, with gold paint at the foot of the mountains. The branches on the mountains are depicted directly with ochre, and the snow between the leaves is rendered with water-soaked dots, creating a more detailed outline of the trees. The pine needles are not depicted in detail but rather with dark green dots. The figures are first dotted with pink, then darker colors are added to define the folds of their clothing.

The doctor had always felt that traditional Chinese landscape paintings could not compare to the realism of Western oil paintings, but upon closer inspection, he discovered that this painting truly deserved the praise of "a thousand miles of scenery within a small space," showcasing the landscape of a thousand miles within a small scroll.

The doctor nodded repeatedly, though he couldn't quite put his finger on it. But he still instinctively asked, "Is this painting for sale? How much?" In his mind, every painter naturally wanted to sell their work; otherwise, why would they paint it at all?
The curator, listening from the side, was practically fuming. He wanted to make a bid too! But the artist had painted it stroke by stroke every day, and he felt that even the thought of buying it would be an insult! The artist had an arrogant look on his face; he was definitely a person who thought highly of himself, and the doctor's words would only offend him!
Unexpectedly, the artist immediately replied, "Selling." He then gestured with his hand to indicate a number. The doctor gasped, "That's too expensive! Can you lower the price?" For him, a working-class man, it was an astronomical sum.

The curator gestured anxiously with his hands, indicating that he could pay that amount. But before he could speak, the painter said calmly, "Not less." And as he spoke, he slowly tore the painting apart.

The curator's eyes nearly bulged out; it was too late to save him, and he was so regretful he kept pounding his chest. Good heavens! Even if he didn't have a heart condition, he would have been driven mad by them! This painting was absolutely worth the price he asked for! Nobody in the world knows what the other three paintings of "The Four Seasons" look like; this copy is absolutely invaluable!
The doctor watched in astonishment as the painter tore up the painting he had spent several years working on, and sighed helplessly, "I was just casually negotiating the price! Why did you tear it up?"

"It's nothing. I think this painting is worth the price, but you're bargaining, which means you don't think it's good enough. What's the point of keeping something that's not good enough? I'll just keep working on my next one." The painter arrogantly raised his chin, threw the torn scroll into the stove beside him, picked up the painting tube, and left with a flourish.

The doctor was speechless and was even scolded by the curator after he recovered. Only then did he realize that the most difficult people to serve in the world are artists. You might offend them with just one sentence, because you're not even on the same wavelength!
After finally seeing the curator off, the doctor slumped into his chair, not wanting to move at all. The boss laughed and said, "Don't worry about him. He's never hidden his true self in this life. He's lived a much more carefree life, doing whatever he wanted."

"I didn't care!" the doctor scoffed. That painter must be a perfectionist who had wanted to destroy the painting for a long time, just looking for an excuse. "Whatever his personality is like, he's very strange. No wonder I couldn't stand him back then!" He could naturally tell that the twelve-year-old Le'er in the story was the reincarnation of Fusu.

“That was just one of your reincarnations, one you don’t remember,” the boss chuckled.

"Hmph, who said that? Maybe it will happen," the doctor retorted.

"Oh? So you remember you've dated a man?" The boss dropped a bombshell casually.

"What?!" The doctor was struck dumb by the words and almost fell off his chair.

"Hehe, that's another story..."

(End of this chapter)