Chapter 2113 - 690: If Tang Song Wants to Marry You
The painting is already signed.
The aura of ambiguity still lingers in the air.
Ouyang Xianyue’s brush trembles slightly, her slender waist moving gently with it.
The two vigorous characters "Ouyang" on the rice paper have just dried, the essence flowing.
She slowly straightens up, the fabric making a slight rustling sound.
Under the covering of the cheongsam, her voluptuous body slowly rubs against his solid frame.
Tang Song’s breath quickens, his exhale brushing past the strands of her temple hair.
The elegant scent on her, mixed with the fragrance of incense and ink, swirls between them.
Ouyang Xianyue seemingly unaware, just lowers her gaze, calmly observing the newly signed painting.
A moment later.
She subtly steps forward, cleverly widening the distance slightly.
She asks, "Does this work?"
Tang Song, however, does not let go, his hand still enveloping her warm, jade-like hand.
His voice is deep and magnetic: "Yes, very beautiful. Your running script, adopting Mi Fu’s method, flows seamlessly, breaks conventional forms, and integrates your own character. It’s quite remarkable."
Upon hearing his extremely professional critique, Ouyang Xianyue’s body stiffens slightly.
She turns her head, a hint of interest flashing in her mature, profound eyes, "Well said, my enlightenment in cursive script indeed began with Mi Fu’s ’Shu Su Tie’. It seems you also have a great deal of knowledge about calligraphy?"
"Yes." Tang Song nods, unabashedly breathing in her captivating scent, "Because of you, I’ve also developed an interest in calligraphy, practiced in private, and have made some progress."
His [calligraphy skills] actually stem from [Ouyang Xianyue’s Soul Praise], practiced from her art.
This was not entirely flattery.
"Because of me?" Ouyang Xianyue’s look briefly wavers.
There’s a touch of uncertainty in her tone, questioning if she heard correctly.
He once wrote songs for Su Yu, played guitar, blended perfumes for Jin Meixiao, and played piano.
Yet now, he says he practiced calligraphy because of her?
What kind of joke is that?
She had never felt this emotional warmth from Tang Song in the past.
It didn’t sound realistic.
"I’m not lying to you." Tang Song’s right hand presses slightly, his fingertips sinking into her smooth, soft skin, "Indeed, because of you."
His words and the feel of his touch arrive simultaneously.
Ouyang Xianyue holds her breath.
A faint blush emerges on her neck, appearing especially enchanting under the light.
A moment later, she subtly presses her lips together, regaining her composure and reserve.
"Oh? Then I must have a good look."
She gently frees her hand from his grasp, placing the brush back on the rack.
Then she moves past him, fully extricating herself from his encircling presence and aura.
The fabric brushes past his fingertips, leaving a light scent behind.
Elegant, restrained, rational.
Out of his range, she seems to transform back into that dignified and opulent Precision Queen.
Ouyang Xianyue rolls up the just-finished painting and spreads out a new sheet of rice paper.
She slightly tilts her head, her lips curling into a slight smile, making an inviting gesture, "Please, sir."
The term "sir" here is spoken with a gentle and ambiguous tone.
Together with her slightly provocative gaze, it’s clear this isn’t just "Mr. Tang" but more like a call between a "husband and wife," filled with private affection.
Tang Song’s Adam’s apple moves slightly.
His mind stirred by this top-class lady.
He steps into the position where she stood earlier, selecting a suitably sized purple brush from the rack.
He lightly dips the brush into the ink, then lifts it.
He doesn’t immediately start writing, but stands still with his eyes closed for a moment.
When he opens his eyes again, his whole demeanor has undergone a dramatic transformation.
Ouyang Xianyue’s eyes light up, quietly watching him.
The brush descends like a startled dragon plunging into the sea, majestic and unstoppable.
As it moves, either lifting or pressing, either turning or twisting.
The brushwork and rhythm carry an innate restraint and wildness.
In the ambiance of the ink fragrance, lines of cursive script appear on the rice paper:
[The wind suddenly rises, ripples the pool of spring water. Leisurely leads the mandarin ducks along the fragrant path, gently pinching a red apricot bud. Leaning alone against the railing where the fighting ducks are, the jade hairpin falls askew. All day I wait for you but you do not come, I lift my head and hear the magpies joyful.]
Ouyang Xianyue lowers her head, her eyes deepening.
The writing is excellent, with a stable and spirited momentum, free and controlled, exuding a masterful style.
Yet, what truly moves her is this ’Yue Jin Men’ by Feng Yansi from the Five Dynasties.
It speaks of the longing of a woman at home.
In this quiet studio, it grows increasingly ambiguous.
It feels more like a response to her earlier painting inscription poem.
Implying he approved of her actions and intentions.
Ignoring the significant age difference between them and not creating a barrier.
Ouyang Xianyue’s suspended heart finally seems to relax.
A kind of joy she could hardly understand wells up inside her.
"Good writing." She arches her eyebrow lightly, her face regaining a dignified smile, "I have some insights into running and regular script, but I’ve always been weak in the free and easy cursive script. May I have the...sir’s personal guidance?"
"Of course."
Tang Song places the brush down, laying out a fresh sheet of rice paper for her.
Ouyang Xianyue picks up the brush, dips it in ink once more.
At the moment she concentrates to start writing.
A warm hand passes from behind, gently resting on her soft waist, then slowly moves downward.
Ouyang Xianyue’s body shivers, the tip of the brush smudging a small ink blot on the rice paper.