On the wedding day, my wife was abnormal

On a midsummer afternoon, the cicadas' chirping was sparse, yet the warm room of the Prince Regent's Palace was filled with a refreshing coolness. The icebergs at the four corners silently emitted a chill, dispelling the summer heat outside. The air was filled with the elegant fragrance of cold plum blossoms and pine smoke.

Beneath the east window of the warm room, where the light was the softest and brightest, stood a large red sandalwood painting table inlaid with mother-of-pearl. A sheet of fine, slightly ivory-yellow rice paper had been spread on it, held down at the corners by warm, Hetian jade paperweights.

On the treasure chest nearby, various paint dishes, brush washers, water drops, color plates, and inkstones are arranged in an orderly manner, like a small and exquisite studio.

Murong Yan didn't lean on the couch as usual, but sat upright in a huanghuali wood armchair covered with dark green shimmering satin. Her posture wasn't stiff, but rather a naturally graceful and lazy air. She still wore the same dark black robe with a hundred phoenixes.

The extremely dark black background, under the soft light filtering through the thin gauze curtains, presents a texture that is calmer than the deepest night and softer than the smoothest black jade. It absorbs the light, but reflects the subtle luster of faint blue and dark purple from the deepest part, mysterious and noble, making her already snow-white skin look like the finest mutton-fat white jade, with a soft halo.

Above the robe, the one hundred phoenixes, woven with countless rare gold and silver threads and using the peerless "gold-plated velvet" and "beaded embroidery" techniques, shone extremely restrained and softly under the diffuse light. The red gold was warm, the rose gold was soft, the silver was bright, and the purple gold was noble. The tiny red and blue gems on the phoenix eyes reflected the star-like glimmer. The hundreds of phoenixes were in peaceful postures, either perched or flying, and looked lifelike, as if they were just resting on her body for a while and would flap their wings and fly away at any time.

The extremely wide flared sleeves fell naturally, covering the armrests of the armchair. The fine black pearl tassels on the edge of the cuffs remained motionless, exuding a warm luster.

The giant black jewel-studded train, which was three meters long and seamlessly connected to the robe, was handled with extreme care. It was not spread out randomly, but four maids held the four corners and spread most of the train evenly on a specially made wide low couch covered with dark dark-flowered brocade behind Murong Yan, forming an extremely gorgeous background. Only a small part at the end hung down on the carpet.

The black diamonds, black jade and deep sapphires inlaid on it sparkle with cold and bright starlight under the soft light, as if placing her in a slowly flowing inky galaxy. The ultimate luxury has become an indispensable part of the painting.

She did not wear her hair in a complicated bun. Her cloud-like black hair was loosely tied up with a long, transparent black jade hairpin. The rest of her hair was like a waterfall, draped over her shoulders, flowing over the phoenix pattern on her black robe and the backrest of her armchair. The black and white were distinct and breathtaking.

She was barefoot, with a pair of delicate and beautiful feet sticking out from under the layers of her black robe, resting naturally on the cushioned footrest.

Lin Zhen didn't sit across from her, but stood behind the drawing table. He was wearing a simple, elegant, rain-blue linen gown, with wide sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing his sturdy forearms. Several paintbrushes were tucked between his fingers, his expression focused and gentle, his gaze constantly shifting between the drawing paper and Murong Yan.

"Yan'er, just like that, don't move." His voice was low, with the unique tranquility when painting, and his eyes were burning, as if he wanted to capture every inch of light and shadow of the person in front of him in his heart.

Murong Yan nodded slightly, with a very faint, almost imperceptible smile on the corner of her lips. Her eyes did not look directly at him, but fell on a swaying banana tree outside the window. Her eyes were a little lazy and empty, and her posture was natural and relaxed.

The hand under the wide flared sleeves rested lightly on the armrest of the chair, and the fingertips were stained with a light balsam juice, forming a sharp contrast with the dark black of the ink robe.

Lin Zhen concentrated for a moment, then leaned over to start writing. He didn't use strong colors, but instead chose a wolf-hair brush, dipped it in light ink, and began to outline her.

The tip of his pen moved across the paper, making a subtle rustling sound. His gaze would occasionally lift, gazing deeply at her for a moment. His gaze was focused and intense, filled with undisguised admiration and love, as if he were meticulously copying her eyebrows, her nose, her lips... and the gorgeous, yet suffocatingly heavy, black robe she wore.

Though Murong Yan stared out the window, she could clearly feel his gaze, a tangible presence. It felt like warmth, lingering across her cheek, neck, and the line of her shoulders, shrouded in her black robe... It made her feel slightly uncomfortable, yet also filled with a strange, cherished, sweet feeling. A faint pink tinged her ears.

Time flowed quietly at the tip of the brush. Lin Zhen painted with extreme meticulousness and patience, occasionally pausing to frown in thought, or switching to a thinner brush to outline the particularly intricate details of the phoenix wings on the black robe, or the subtle luster of the black jade hairpin in her hair.

The warm room was extremely quiet, with only the subtle sound of water dripping from melting ice, the friction of brushes against paper, and the shallow breathing of the two people.

An unknown amount of time passed before Lin Zhen suddenly spoke softly, breaking the silence. "Yan'er, could you lower your cuffs a little further? The pearl tassels will cast a perfect shadow."

Murong Yan's eyelashes trembled when she heard that. She moved her wrist slightly under the flared sleeves as she was told, letting the cuffs hang down more naturally, and the string of black pearl tassels swayed gently.

"Very good..." Lin Zhen whispered, and quickly used his pen to capture the light and shadow of this moment.

After a while, he spoke again, his voice softer: "Yan'er, look at me."

Murong Yan was slightly startled, then slowly withdrew her gaze from the banana leaf and turned to him. The moment their eyes met, she saw the undisguised affection and concentration in his eyes, and her heart trembled violently, and the temperature in her cheeks rose quietly.

Lin Zhen looked at his reflection in her clear eyes, his lips curled up slightly, his brush moving swiftly as he sketched the flicker of her eyes and the fleeting shyness. He was so absorbed in the painting that it seemed as if the only thing in the world was her, the image on the paper.

Murong Yan felt a little embarrassed by his gaze and subconsciously tried to look away, but the tenderness and pleading in his eyes held her still. She could only lower her eyelashes slightly and let him paint her. This stillness and gaze filled the air with a silent yet dense ambiguity, more moving than any words could ever express.

Halfway through the painting, Lin Zhen needed to blend more delicate colors to depict the color of her lips and the blush on her cheeks. He didn't call for a maid, but instead ground cinnabar and rouge himself, mixing them with clear glue. Throughout the process, his gaze kept glancing at her, as if afraid to miss even the slightest shift in her expression.

When he approached the painting table again and dipped the tip of his brush into the delicate rouge, he looked at the person in the painting and the person in front of him, and suddenly whispered, "Yan'er's lip color... is more delicate than this cinnabar..."

Murong Yan's cheeks flushed instantly upon hearing this, as if stained with the finest rouge. She glanced at him with a reproachful look, her hands tightening slightly beneath her flared sleeves. "Husband...paint well..."

Lin Zhen chuckled softly, feeling extremely happy. He finally put pen to paper, adding a thrilling red to the lips of the person in the painting.

When the last stroke was completed, Lin Zhen put down his brush and breathed a long sigh of relief, but his eyes were still fixed on the painting, examining it carefully, as if checking for any shortcomings.

Murong Yan also slightly relaxed her somewhat stiff back and asked softly, "...Is the painting finished?"

"Well," Lin Zhen replied, his voice filled with a hint of satisfaction and fatigue after completing a masterpiece, "Come and see?"

He didn't pick up the painting immediately, but walked over to her and held out his hand. Murong Yan placed her hand in his palm, using it to push herself up. The three-foot-long tail moved with it, making a gentle rubbing sound on the brocade couch.

Lin Zhen took her hand and walked to the drawing table.

On the drawing paper, a woman dressed in an extremely gorgeous golden and ink phoenix robe came to life. She had a peerless appearance, a graceful temperament with a hint of laziness, clear eyes, and delicate lips, and she looked lifelike.

Even more astonishing is how Lin Zhen not only captures her spirit with pinpoint accuracy, but also depicts the magnificence of the black robe, the agility of the phoenixes, the flowing flared sleeves, and even the brilliance and heaviness of the sprawling, jewel-encrusted train with exquisite detail and vividness! The entire painting is both a tribute to the person and a masterful depiction of the magnificent garment.

Murong Yan looked at herself in the painting, her eyes filled with astonishment and disbelief. She had never seen herself wearing this black robe so clearly before.

"Husband...you paint so well..." she murmured, her tone full of admiration and a hint of shyness.

"Yan'er is just like that." Lin Zhen hugged her from behind, rubbing his chin against the top of her head. His voice was low and satisfied. "I just... put what I saw into words."

Murong Yan leaned in his arms, her eyes still lingering on the painting, her heart filled with sweetness and emotion. She suddenly noticed the eyes of the person in the painting, the tenderness and dependence contained in them, which she herself had never noticed.

"I...was this how I looked at my husband?" she asked softly, her cheeks turning even redder.

Lin Zhen chuckled, turned her around, and looked deeply into her eyes: "Yes, always." He lowered his head and kissed her eyes, "My Yan'er, the way you look at me will always be like this."

Murong Yan's heart was beating fast, and she took the initiative to put her arms around his neck and kissed him with her red lips.

Beside the drawing table, the ink on the finished painting is still wet. In front of the drawing table, the inky phoenix nestles in the arms of her lover, sharing this unspoken deep affection and tacit understanding.