In Yan Xu’s study hung a painting.

The painting depicted evening clouds over mountains, brilliant and beautiful, completely different from the staid and somber colors in his study.

Occasionally, court colleagues would visit his study and, seeing this artwork so different from the study’s style, assumed he was a lover of paintings. Word spread, and those in officialdom trying to curry favor with him searched everywhere for authentic masterpieces to present as gifts. Unexpectedly, he showed disdain for all the authentic works, ordering them all returned.

Those who received this cold reception were puzzled—if he wasn’t a lover of paintings, why hang such a piece in his study? Actually, upon careful inspection, while this painting had delicate brushwork and vivid colors, it still fell somewhat short of true painting masters. Yet Yan Xu treasured it like a precious jewel.

Yan Xu paid no attention to outsiders’ speculation.

Every day he would gently dust it with a silk brush, open the window only halfway to prevent wind damage, place a table beneath the wall, and in winter light a brazier to prevent frost damage…

People in the Privy Council secretly whispered that Yan Xu treated this painting like a peerless beauty, yet showed no tender care for actual beauties—he was a “strange man.”

Others in court gossiped that this was because Yan Xu had been rejected by Duke Zhaoning’s wife in his youth, breeding resentment and jealousy in his heart, which twisted his character and led to such behavior.

He always listened coldly, without a word.

A guard entered from outside and said quietly: “Sir, the carriage is ready.”

Yan Xu made a sound of acknowledgment, put away the silk brush he’d been using to dust the hanging painting, and turned around: “Let’s go.”

The carriage went to Danfeng Terrace.

When autumn came to the capital, the maple leaves at Danfeng Terrace were the finest. Today there was also rain. The tea house windows were half-open, the fine rain like smoke, the red leaves covering the mountains like fire. He sat quietly, gazing at the distant peaks.

“The empty river, fallen trees, and mournful wild geese, frost enters the red maples as all grass withers… The butterfly knows not if life is but a dream, following spring colors up cold branches again…” A white-haired old man recited softly while serving a pot of clear tea and a plate of crab shell pastries, stroking his beard and smiling at him: “Guest, you’ve come again this year.”

He nodded faintly.

Every autumn, Yan Xu would come to the tea house at Danfeng Terrace for tea. The tea house owner was an old acquaintance who reserved a window seat for him year after year. Each time he came, he would do nothing but sit quietly watching, leaving after finishing one pot of tea.

“Others come on sunny days, but you always choose rainy days,” the old man laughed and sighed. “In all these years, you’re the only one who appreciates maple leaves in the rain. Oh wait, that’s not right,” as if remembering something, the old man continued: “A few days ago, a young man came, also on a rainy day, and waited in this old fool’s tea house until midnight, until all the lights were out.”

Yan Xu looked down at his tea: “Did he wait for the person he wanted to see?”

“I heard he did.”

“Is that so?” Yan Xu put down his teacup and said indifferently: “Then his luck was better than mine.”

“And you, guest, do you plan to keep waiting here forever?”

“Is that not allowed?”

The old man smiled.

“This old fool is getting on in years, already half in the grave. Who knows which day this tea house won’t be able to open anymore. When that time comes, if you want to wait, there won’t be this pot of tea and pastries on the table.”

He was silent for a moment, then said: “I understand.”

The old man tremblingly stood up, leaning on his walking stick to leave. After taking two steps, he stopped again and said quietly: “The maple leaves at Danfeng Terrace turn red every year. This old fool still remembers the young lady who used to be by your side—now no one eats these crab shell pastries.”

“Not waiting for someone is common. After all, people as fortunate as that young man are rare.”

“So many years have passed. You needn’t be so obsessive, guest. After finishing this pot of tea, leave early.”

With that, he slowly walked away.

The tea house was left with only one person again, fine rain pattering outside the window.

On the table beside the teapot, a plate of crab shell pastries baked to crispy perfection, orange-yellow in color. He had never liked these greasy pastries, yet he lowered his head and slowly picked up one to put in his mouth.

“Crunch—”

It was as if a woman’s delighted laughter came from beside his ear: “Isn’t it delicious? I didn’t lie to you, did I? The crab shell pastries at this tea house really are the best!”

He suddenly closed his eyes.

…

This tea house had actually been recommended to him by someone, and the crab shell pastries were that person’s favorite.

Thanks to her, he had discovered this excellent scenic spot among the maple-red heights.

Yan Xu was born in his youth to a fourth-rank civil official’s family. He was the son of a concubine, and his concubine mother had a weak temperament. After accidentally offending the main wife, she was punished and caught a cold, dying of illness not long after. After his concubine mother’s death, his father treated him even more coldly, the main wife was harsh, and he really couldn’t stay in the house anymore. So he made his own way, and by chance became a minor clerk in the military bureau.

He was extremely skilled, always acted calmly, and had a desperate quality when handling affairs. There were many such people in the military bureau, but when he repeatedly gave his achievements to his superiors, their attitude toward him gradually changed.

He quickly gained his superiors’ favor.

A knife that was both fast and sharp, not only thorough in handling affairs but also tactful and understanding—such a person was beloved by those above, no matter where.

He was promoted rapidly, gradually making his mark in the Privy Council.

His father went from initial disdain and looking down on him, to gradually changing his attitude, to later warmly trying to build closer relations. He only felt disgusted. Later, when there was an uprising in the military bureau, he single-handedly suppressed it, suffering severe injuries and leaving a long scar at the corner of his eye.

After that incident, he became a personnel officer in the military bureau.

Everyone in the Privy Council knew there was such a ruthless person who would risk his life when provoked. That long scar at his eye corner seemed to become a kind of mark—when people saw him, they thought of his fierce appearance covered in blood when his blade swept past, and everyone kept a respectful distance.

Yan Xu didn’t care at all. On the first day after his promotion, he had his father move his concubine mother’s memorial tablet into the ancestral hall.

Given his concubine mother’s lowly status, her tablet originally wasn’t qualified to enter the Yan family ancestral hall.

However, rules had always been determined by people.

When one reached high positions, rules could also be changed for people.

After his concubine mother’s tablet entered the ancestral hall, he went to Danfeng Terrace. He had no particular hobbies and lived a plain life. When not on duty at the military bureau, he just wanted to sit alone and look at mountains and water. Anyway, others feared him and mocked him behind his back for being strange and fierce, but he didn’t care.

The maple leaves at Danfeng Terrace wouldn’t talk, and the autumn wind never meddled in affairs. He sat quietly and heard rustling sounds from the grass.

He thought it was an assassin coming to kill him. During his days at the Privy Council, he had become an open target, with countless people wanting him dead. He quietly waited for the assassin to strike, planning to cut the other’s throat with one stroke, but after a long time passed, the other party still didn’t move.

Until there was a “smack” sound, and an exasperated voice came from the grass: “It’s almost October, why are there still so many mosquitoes!”

It was a young woman’s voice.

He frowned and saw a woman jump out from the grass behind him.

This woman was very young, wearing a pomegranate-red long dress, with beautiful and lively eyes and brows. When she saw him looking, she seemed to realize she had been exposed and smiled embarrassedly. When she smiled, dimples appeared on her cheeks.

Yan Xu looked at her coldly, moved his long blade, and the object in front of the woman flew toward him, landing in his hand.

“Hey, that’s my thing!” she called out.

Yan Xu remained unmoved.

He had just seen her sneakily trying to hide this object, looking extremely evasive.

When he unfolded the object in his hand, he couldn’t help but be slightly stunned.

It was actually a painting.

The ink on this painting wasn’t yet dry, depicting evening clouds and maple leaves in flowing strokes, with quite beautiful colors. He himself was also prominently featured, just a back view.

He couldn’t see his own back, so this was the first time he discovered that his silhouette sitting and watching maple leaves was actually so lonely.

“I’m, I’m sorry,” the woman said quietly: “I was painting here and happened to see you. I thought you were very suitable for the painting, so I painted you in without your permission…”

Before she could finish speaking, Yan Xu tore the painting to shreds.

“Hey!” she was alarmed, “Why did you tear up the painting?”

“Who gave you permission to paint me?” He was cold, his tone fierce.

Others would be intimidated just seeing the scar at his eye corner, but this young lady was remarkably brave. After shrinking back once, she continued loudly: “You’re sitting here, isn’t that just asking to be painted? Everything in these mountains—people, mountains, water, leaves—are all scenery. I’m painting my scenery. What does it have to do with you?”

Scenery?

Yan Xu found it incredible. What kind of scenery was he? Yet this woman was perfectly righteous about it.

She even came to pull his sleeve, persistent and unyielding: “You destroyed my property, so you should compensate me. Don’t think you can just let it go like this. My guards are not far away. If I call out, they’ll immediately come and capture you.”

Not wanting to entangle with her, he threw down a silver coin.

“You think a little silver can dismiss me? What do you take me for?” She stuffed the silver back into his hand.

“What exactly do you want?”

“Simple,” the woman said: “You sit here and let me paint another one.”

Yan Xu was speechless.

He didn’t know why she was so obsessed with painting him. He wasn’t as handsome as Pan An, had ordinary looks, and was fierce and terrifying. Ordinary women would avoid him at all costs, yet this one showed no fear and even approached voluntarily.

“Impossible.” He turned and walked away.

“Hey, don’t go,” she followed him, “you’re the soul of this painting. Just let me paint one.”

“Ridiculous.”

Yan Xu thought this woman’s mind was a bit strange.

He treated her coldly and intimidated her, but nothing worked. He actually wasn’t good at dealing with entanglements—in the past, his blade could cut through all complications.

But he couldn’t very well kill an unarmed woman here with one stroke.

The woman looked at him, as if sensing his determination to never agree to be painted, finally stepped back and thought for a moment: “How about this—there’s a tea house in these mountains where the crab shell pastries are the best. If you treat me to a plate of crab shell pastries, we’ll call it even.”

He stood motionless.

“Come on,” the woman walked a few steps, saw he wasn’t moving, and turned back to urge him: “If we’re late, we’ll miss the first batch.”

He should have turned and left, not wanting to deal with this person. Yet perhaps it was the beautiful scenery of the tea house she mentioned, or perhaps he was attracted by the excellent tea she described—in the end, he still followed.

Just as the woman had said, hidden within Danfeng Terrace was a tea house. The tea house owner was an old man, with very few customers inside. The woman familiarly ordered several dishes and sat down with him at a window seat.

The tea and snacks were quickly served.

One pot of clear tea, one plate of crab shell pastries.

He picked up the teacup and took a sip. The tea was very bitter, but after drinking it, a fragrance lingered between his teeth and cheeks—indeed good tea.

The woman put aside her messy painting silks and art box, wiped her hands, then picked up a piece of crab shell pastry to taste: “The first batch is indeed very fragrant! Want to try some?”

Yan Xu turned his head away.

She laughed, sweet dimples on her cheeks.

“Let me introduce myself—I’m called Su Ningshuang. What’s your name?”