The Heart Given to Brighten the Moon - Chapter 7

Should Shen Danxin be angry?

Yes!

Should Shen Danxin demand an explanation from Song Mingyue?

Absolutely!

But should Shen Danxin violate the Three-Point Covenant?

Definitely not!

Thus, Shen Danxin, who by all rights should have made a grand entrance and helped the long-suffering Song Mingyue regain some dignity instead swallowed her pride and slunk back to the servants’ quarters.

Because Zhao Zongqian had deliberately placed them in these two small, separate tile-roofed shacks, few people ever visited this tiny patch of land, save for the occasional visit from Lvling next door. There was a small clearing in front of the house, furnished with a stone table and two stools, their state of disrepair no better than those found in the Cold Palace.

The sun was at its peak. Shen Danxin, returning a step later, saw that Song Mingjue had already taken a book and seated himself on a stone stool to read. Seeing her return, he pointed toward the house and gave a helpless, wry smile.

Shen Danxin nodded, giving him a “leave it to me” look regardless of whether he could read her meaning and stepped inside.

Inside, Song Mingyue had prepared a basin of water and spread the rabbit-fur cloak across the chipped tea table. She was using a cloth of an unidentifiable original color to meticulously scrub at the two black muddy footprints on the snow-white fur. Clearly, she was making little progress.

If you knew this would happen, why do it in the first place? Shen Danxin grumbled internally, but she didn’t dare say it aloud for fear that the “young beauty” would flare up and meet her with another icy glare. She stood to the side, cleared her throat, and said, “You need so soapberries to get that clean.”

Song Mingyue turned and glared at her, her voice cold. “Do I not know that? Do I need you to teach me? But soapberries are no common item; do you think just anyone can afford them?”

Shen Danxin pondered for a moment, then asked persistently, “Where are there plants and wood around here?”

“In the corner outside” Song Mingyue replied without looking back. Hearing retreating footsteps, she turned and demanded, “What are you doing now?!”

By the time Song Mingyue chased her out, she saw Shen Danxin had already gathered a small pile of dry brush and wood in the clearing. Shen Danxin laughed and said, “I have a brother who loves the outdoors. I mean, he loved trekking into deep mountains and forests for weeks at a time. His ability to live off the land was quite remarkable. Hey, lend me a light.”

Song Mingyue crossed her arms, narrowing her eyes at this new trick, showing no intention of moving. Seeing this, Song Mingjue took the initiative to fetch a pair of flints from the house. Unfortunately, Shen Danxin didn’t know how to use them, so Song Mingjue had to do the honors. The dry brush instantly ignited into a roaring flame. Once the yellowed wood had burned out, Shen Danxin stomped the fire out. In the winter air, the embers—which had been scalding moments ago cooled rapidly.

Shen Danxin pinched a handful of the ash, holding it out in her palm like a prized treasure for Song Mingyue to see. “Something even common households have, right? Come, I guarantee this will wash it clean, cleaner than Princess Zhao Hui’s face.”

Song Mingyue didn’t care much for the cloak anyway; at worst, she’d just have to be thick-skinned and beg Lvling again. She wanted to see what kind of magic Shen Danxin could conjure. Following her back inside, she watched as Shen Danxin sprinkled the wood ash over the muddy footprints, poured a handful of clear water over it, and scrubbed vigorously with the cloth.

Heh! It actually worked!

Song Mingyue blinked. She stepped forward, pushing Shen Danxin aside to stare in disbelief at the rabbit-fur cloak, which had magically returned to its brilliant, snow-white state.

“How did you achieve this?” Song Mingyue asked, once again showing that look of innocent curiosity.

The praise sent Shen Danxin’s heart soaring. She explained, “Though wood ash looks unremarkable, it possesses a magical ability to remove stains. How about it? No less effective than soapberries, right?”

Song Mingjue, drawn by the commotion, was filled with wonder. He spared Shen Danxin a few extra glances. “Miss Shen, you are truly a master in hiding. Could you be some hidden sage? What other skills do you have? Pray, open our eyes further.”

In her moment of triumph, Shen Danxin blurted out, “My portrait painting is top-tier. If I claim to be first, no one would dare claim second.”

The Song siblings locked eyes, both filled with surprise. They asked in unison: “Truly?”

A boast once spoken is like water poured out. Shen Danxin felt a bit nervous and stammered, “O-of course it’s true. It is just that your tools here are incomplete; I cannot paint properly.”

To her surprise, Song Mingjue volunteered, “I have some connections with the servants at the Scholars’ Academy. Tell me what you need, and I shall find a way to get it.”

Seeing Song Mingyue’s eyes darting around, Shen Danxin sensed trouble. She deliberately made it difficult: “Do you have charcoal sticks? For portraits, the most important thing is precise and clear lines. Even the stiffest wolf-hair brush cannot match the delicacy of a charcoal stick.”

Where would one find a “charcoal stick” in ancient times? Song Mingjue asked with a troubled face, “What is a charcoal stick? I have never heard the masters mention such an object.”

Several of the stones weighing on Shen Danxin’s heart dropped. She waved a hand and said with feigned regret, “Ah, those pedantic masters of yours who only know how to read the Four Books and Five Classics or paint ink-wash landscapes, how could they know the wondrous tools of hidden masters? These charcoal sticks are excellent things; a portrait drawn with them is indistinguishable from the real person.”

“Is it truly so mysterious?” Song Mingjue pondered, rubbing his chin.

Song Mingyue wasn’t as easily fooled as her brother. She taunted, “Are you perhaps just lacking the skill and trying to save face?”

Shen Danxin gave a “hehe” laugh. “Actually, charcoal sticks aren’t particularly rare; craftsmen often use them to mark measurements. It’s just that you rarely see them used for writing or study. Mingjue, go ask the craftsmen; they’ll surely have some. Fetch me one or two.”

Song Mingyue gave Shen Danxin an annoyed glare and stopped her brother as he was about to head out. She said coldly, “Mingjue, you stay and study. I shall go.”

Once Song Mingyue had left, Shen Danxin dared to ask, “Little brother, do you have any drawing paper?”

Song Mingjue was stunned for a moment before realizing Shen Danxin was calling him. Having already labeled her a “hidden master,” he didn’t mind. He smiled and said, “I do. The Eldest Prince praised my calligraphy recently and rewarded me with a sheet of high-quality Liuxuan paper. I shall fetch it.”

Ancient papermaking techniques were naturally inferior to modern ones. Shen Danxin felt the texture between her fingers for a moment and sighed, “If some grass fibers were added and the pulp were soaked more thoroughly, it would be even better.”

Song Mingjue stared in shock. He asked softly, “Miss Shen even understands these things?”

Shen Danxin smiled. “I’ve dealt with these objects since childhood; how could I not know? The quality of a single sheet of paper depends on everything from the selection of raw materials to the meticulousness of the process. This Liuxuan paper is good, but for drawing, Jingsheng paper would be even better.”

Though Song Mingjue had the privilege of studying with the princes, the quality of the “four treasures of the study” provided to him was worlds apart from theirs. He knew of good things, but he didn’t quite understand why they were good.

As they chatted, Song Mingyue returned. Seeing the two talking happily and seeing Mingjue looking at Shen Danxin with sheer admiration she huffed, “Here, the charcoal sticks you wanted.”

Shen Danxin took them, felt them for a moment, and sighed softly, “They’ll do. I’ll make them work.”

Song Mingyue couldn’t stand her self-important air. She let out a cold snort and turned to go inside. Shen Danxin quickly called her back. “Hey, Miss Mingyue, don’t go! If you leave, who am I supposed to draw?”

Song Mingyue turned back and pointed at herself in surprise. “You want to draw me?”

Shen Danxin walked behind her, gently nudging her as she laughed. “Take it as my apology, alright? If I don’t draw you as a heavenly beauty today, famous far and wide, I, Shen Danxin, shall never pick up a brush again!”

Song Mingyue, curious to see the outcome, didn’t resist. She allowed Shen Danxin to seat her on the stone stool and set her pose.

“Just sit here and don’t move. Just endure it for twenty half an incense stick’s time.” Shen Danxin patted her shoulder, walked back to her own stool, and sat. She picked up a piece of broken wooden board she’d found somewhere, spread the snow-white paper over it, and gripped the charcoal stick like a pair of scissors. Her expression shifted instantly, becoming incredibly focused.

Seeing her look the part, Song Mingyue composed herself and became a silent model.

Shen Danxin first held the charcoal stick vertically in front of her face to measure Song Mingyue, then bowed her head to begin sketching. In the intervals, she would occasionally look up at her, her expression always intensely focused. Song Mingyue couldn’t help but feel a ripple in her heart. Could Mingjue truly have ‘picked a treasure’? Is this eccentric Shen Danxin really an undiscovered master?

Brilliant white snow, a clear blue sky, a dilapidated tile-roofed shack in a meager courtyard the cracked and worn stone stools only served to highlight the woman’s world-toppling beauty. Three thousand strands of silken hair, willow-leaf brows, a delicate, straight nose, and vermilion lips. A pair of eyes clear as autumn pools, like the bright moon in the sky, yet hiding a hint of worldly sorrow. All of it, beneath Shen Danxin’s hand, leapt onto the paper one by one.

Song Mingyue couldn’t see it, of course, but she could see Song Mingjue’s expression shift from surprise to absolute awe. Several times she almost lost her patience, wanting to see for herself.

Is it truly that wondrous?

Half an incense stick’s time passed. Song Mingyue had become lost in thought watching Shen Danxin draw until Shen Danxin finally lifted her brush and exhaled. Only then did she snap out of it. She gathered her skirt and ran to the drawing. She let out a gasp; only one phrase remained in her mind: A stroke of the gods!

“Marvelous!” Song Mingjue looked at his sister, then at the drawing, and clapped in praise. “Truly marvelous! Miss Shen, if this drawing were to be revealed, forget the present world even a hundred years from now, no one would be able to match it!”

Shen Danxin calmly removed the paper and handed it to Song Mingyue with a slight smile. “This is a drawing of you, so it belongs to you.”

Song Mingyue was speechless with shock. Looking at this startlingly realistic drawing was like looking into a mirror. But as she looked closer, a hint of displeasure arose. The woman in the drawing, though dressed simply, still had a transcendent aura yet her eyes were filled with sorrow and grievance, clearly indicating an unhappy life. It felt like a waste of her ethereal grace.

As the artist, Shen Danxin saw Song Mingyue’s slight frown and knew the reason. She said, “I held a brush at three, began drawing at four, and by twelve I could draw a portrait with uncanny realism. Miss Mingyue, do not blame me; an artist’s brush does not lie to the heart. I draw what I see. When the day comes that your grievances vanish, I shall draw you another. I hope by then you can truly live up to this ‘peerless’ reputation.”

Song Mingyue didn’t respond. Pursing her lips, she carefully rolled up the portrait and went inside.

Shen Danxin was thrilled.