Whoever can strike me hard will be rewarded handsomely.

The young disciple's eyes were like searchlights, staring intently at him, as if accusing him of breaking his promise.

Sure enough, the next sentence caused a scene.

The boy tapped his knuckles on the wooden table with a loud "thump, thump," vividly mimicking his expression and tone: "Of course not! How can something given to your youngest disciple be delayed?"

Jiang Jibai coughed lightly, his fist pressed to his lips, and said, "I didn't drag it out. It's almost finished, just a few strokes away..."

The young man wasn't about to listen to his "excuses." He unleashed a barrage of attacks: "You, Jiang the Great Scholar, you break your promises and enrich yourself by lying, even to your own little disciple! You're strict with others but lenient with yourself! Where is your justice? Where is your fairness...?"

Jiang Jibai's head was buzzing from the boy's nagging. He reached out and pinched the boy's incessant mouth: "How could I forget Young Master Bian's request? I've been drawing whenever I have time these past few days. I only need a few strokes and the inscription. I'll go draw it now and get it to you right away."

Qin Ji, still somewhat skeptical, glanced sideways at Jiang Jibai: "Could it be that someone, in order to meet the deadline, is trying to cut corners and just send his junior disciple away?"

"Are you so easily dismissed?" Jiang Jibai chuckled as he stood up, releasing his junior disciple's mouth and giving him a light tap on the forehead, his voice tinged with a helpless emphasis: "Ancestor!"

Qin Ji snorted softly through his nose, rinsed the bowl haphazardly in the bucket of water, and placed it on the stove.

Jiang Jibai didn't expect his pampered little disciple to wash the dishes properly. It would be a favor if he could even rinse them in the bucket. He got up and went to his study.

Qin Ji shouted that he wanted to "supervise the work" and followed after them without stopping.

The two entered the study one after the other.

Under the boy's intense gaze, Jiang Jibai casually opened the lid of a long, rectangular wooden box on his desk and took out a folding fan.

As soon as the box was opened, a faint scent of sandalwood wafted to the tip of the nose. The aroma was very light, intertwined with the scent of ink, creating a calming and soothing fragrance.

Qin Ji's gaze was drawn to it.

The fan ribs are made of sandalwood, with a purplish-red luster and delicate texture. They feel slightly heavy in the hand. The sixteen ribs are arranged neatly, and the edges of each rib are polished to a warm and smooth finish. When held in Jiang Jibai's hand, they appear even more dignified and elegant when held by his slender, jade-like fingers.

With a "whoosh".

Jiang Jibai opened the fan with a crisp and clean motion, without the slightest hesitation.

His opening and closing movements were fluid and graceful, displaying an elegant and refined demeanor.

Qin Ji suddenly realized that the poison master and the fan were quite a good match; they looked respectable and were very intimidating.

It wasn't until Jiang Jibai placed the fan on the desk, took a brush from the brush holder, and dipped it in ink that Qin Ji noticed the content on the fan.

Jiang Jibai was indeed not fooling him; the fan already had a lot of content drawn on it.

A few tiled houses, a small courtyard, pottery jars and grape trellises by the wall, and a few clumps of plum blossoms extending from next door—everywhere is filled with the atmosphere of life.

This is the house where Jiang Jibai lives.

Limited by the size of the fan, not everything is depicted in detail, but it is simple and appropriate, with great depth. The brand-new grape trellis has not yet been climbed by vines, and the scattered spots on the branches are plum blossoms in full bloom.

The painting was nice, and Qin Ji liked it quite a bit, but no matter how he looked at it, he couldn't see any connection between the painting and the saying "a great scholar's belly can hold a boat."

Surely a renowned scholar wouldn't go off-topic when painting a fan with a given theme?

Since he said it wasn't finished yet, he wanted to see how Jiang Jibai's few missing strokes could actually capture the theme.

Qin Ji pulled up a stool and sat down beside him, resting his chin on his hand as he watched.

Jiang Jibai slowly and deliberately lowered his wrist to place the brush, lightly touching the fan surface with the tip of the brush.

With just a few strokes, a few broken tiles "fell" from under the roof, and a little figure peeking out appeared on the roof.

Despite being a simple sketch with figures only the size of peanuts, the little figures seem to come alive, with every stroke exuding arrogance and unrestrainedness, vividly illustrating what it means to "climb onto the roof and tear off the tiles."

Faced with such "smear campaign," Qin Ji was outraged, banging on his desk and protesting, "When did I ever climb on the roof and tear off the tiles?"

Jiang Jibai smiled and retorted, "When did I say this painting was of you?"

Qin Ji choked.

On the matter of taking things personally...

Poison Master, insidious!

"You're going off-topic!" Speechless, Qin Ji tried to find fault elsewhere.

Jiang Jibai took a step forward and added a few more strokes.

Not far from the eaves, a figure in a wide robe and long sleeves was sketched with a few strokes.

The man stood with his hands tucked in his sleeves, looking up at the boy peeling off the roof tiles; every line of his expression conveyed a sense of helplessness.

"Where is the boat pole?"

Where is the magnanimity?

Qin Ji pressed on with two more counter-questions.

Jiang Jibai answered his question using the same phrasing: "Where are the accessories?"

"Where is the ruler?"

Qin Ji, reminded by him, looked back and forth between "Jiang Xiaoru" and, sure enough, the figure in the wide robe had nothing hanging from his waist.

Qin Ji: "..."

Qin Ji poked at the figure on the folding fan with a vicious grin, "Looking so helpless, I don't think Scholar Jiang is quite willing to put on this show."

Jiang Jibai chuckled and untied the accessory from his waist, placing it on the desk: "So, tell me, are you full or not?"

Threaten me? Do you think I'll fall for that?

Qin Ji slammed his fist on the table and stood up: "I can't hold it in!"

Jiang Jibai reached out and wiped the powder off his junior disciple's face. "Are we settling the score for breaking into a house and scaring your teacher?"

"You're ordering your teacher around, and you have no respect for hierarchy? I'll settle the score with you for that!"

Qin Ji's arrogance faltered, and he fell silent, but he still grumbled in dissatisfaction.

Jiang Jibai picked up his brush and wrote a line on the fan: "Presented by Jiang Jibai to his one and only, and most beloved, little disciple."

Qin Ji's gaze followed the words under his pen, and when it landed on the words "favorite," his feigned dissatisfaction turned into an unconscious grin that revealed his eight large teeth.

He calls himself a great Confucian scholar, yet he couldn't even remember his disciple's requirements and was smuggling in his own ideas.

Who cares about your wholesale "favorites"?

Jiang Jibai put down his brush, blew on the ink to dry it, and seeing his young disciple's barely suppressed smile, couldn't help but chuckle, saying, "My lord, are you satisfied?"

...

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