Southerners

"What?" Hearing Meng Huan's words, Song Zhi stood up in shock.

Meng Huan invited him to watch the lantern together?

Meng Huan frowned: "What's wrong?"

Song Zhi realized that she had lost her composure, forced a smile, lowered her head and said, "Master, this...isn't very good."

Meng Huan: "What's wrong?"

"Small man, small man..." Song Zhi stumbled and said, "Young master wants to watch the lamp, so you can ask Miss Sa Lan or Duoer to accompany you. If you don't want them to accompany you, Miss Chaoman must be very willing to watch the lamp with you , the villain's status is humble...it's inappropriate."

Meng Huan looked at Song Zhi and said nothing.

Song Zhi bit the bullet, remembering that Meng Huan had revealed that aspect earlier, but he rejected it, so Meng Huan didn't mention it again.

Is there still that meaning now?

As soon as Meng Huan didn't speak, the atmosphere became extremely tense. Song Zhi almost knelt down for him, so she heard Meng Huan say: "Forget it, if you don't want to go, then don't go."

Meng Huan stretched out his hand and pushed Song Zhi onto the chair to sit down: "Don't be nervous."

Because winter had just passed, it was still a bit chilly after all, and the clothes were thick. Meng Huan's hand was on Song Zhi's shoulder, but he didn't feel it too clearly, but Song Zhi still shrank her shoulders as if frightened.

Seeing Song Zhi's reaction, Meng Huan withdrew his hand. He didn't know how he could tolerate Song Zhi's temper so much. Obviously, he himself had a bigger temper, so he said angrily, "Am I so scary?"

Song Zhi shook her head quickly.

After thinking about it, Song Zhi asked: "Master, what happened last night...do you have any clues?"

Meng Huan said: "I have found some, but after all, there are too many things involved, and it is impossible for me to find out all of them."

"Tell me the truth, when you painted Lord Ahema, did someone tell you to do something with it? Who was it?"

Song Zhi: "Yes...that person's name is Xitong."

Meng Huan asked, "You confiscated the money he gave you?"

Song Zhixin was slightly surprised that Meng Huan could even find out such a trivial matter, so she nodded.

"Why?"

"The boy said that the boy's family is gone, he is the only one who was taken captive..."

Meng Huan: "Do you think he is pitiful?"

Song Zhi didn't speak.

Meng Huan sighed, with a hint of resentment: "You are too soft-hearted, do you know that such kindness will sometimes bring you disaster?"

Song Zhi opened her eyes in confusion: "Xitong..."

Meng Huan waved his hand: "It has nothing to do with him."

At the end, he asked: "You don't want to go to Zhang Youcheng's house anymore."

Song Zhi was even more puzzled: "Why?"

Meng Huan seemed to be thinking about how to explain to Song Zhi, but in the end he only said: "Just listen to me, knowing too much is not a good thing."

Song Zhi lowered her eyes and didn't ask any more questions.With his status, there are many things that he really doesn't deserve to know, and he shouldn't know. Meng Huan's secrecy, involving the prince, Ahe Ma Pingzhang and Zhang Youcheng, is definitely not a trivial matter.Meng Huan can't talk nonsense about these things in the court.

"The villain knows."

"Since you came here this time to teach me how to paint, it's getting late today, so let's just forget about it. From tomorrow on, what do you think?" Meng Huan said.

Song Zhi was surprised: "Do you really want to learn painting?"

Probably Song Zhi's surprise gave Meng Huan the illusion of being underestimated, Meng Huan looked at Song Zhi: "Why, can't it?"

"Yes, yes, you can learn if you want, young master."

At dusk that day, Meng Huan took Sa Lan and Duo'er out of the house to watch the lanterns. After all, it was the last night.

Sa Lan gave Meng Huan the paper-cut of a pair of mandarin ducks crossing necks. Duo'er couldn't cut paper, but could only sing, so she sang a song for Meng Huan.

Song Zhi went back to her room. Lian Er's servants, no better than Meng Huan, could not leave the mansion at will, but Lian Er also wanted to watch the lights, so she begged Song Zhi to take her there, just for a while. Zhi had no choice but to take her there. Yue Mohai was returning to the Meng Mansion, but Meng Huan hadn't come back yet, and the Meng Mansion was still brightly lit.

The maids and servants gathered in the yard to play around, and Meng Huan didn't restrain them too much during the festival.

Early the next morning, Song Zhi arrived at the study on time.

Meng Huan would insist on practicing martial arts every morning. In winter, the dawn was late, and Meng Huan got up before dawn.

Song Zhi went to the study and waited for a while, and then Meng Huan came. He probably just took a bath, with a faint fragrance on his body, which smelled very nice, but not effeminate.

The paints were prepared by Meng Huan yesterday, they were all high-quality, the kind that Song Zhiping couldn't afford to use every day.

When she started teaching, Song Zhi began to talk eloquently, and the deliberate timidity in front of Meng Huan on weekdays disappeared. On the contrary, she showed a confident and calm demeanor, but this demeanor was not compelling. The unique bookish air on his body seemed extremely gentle.

"There are many types of paintings. According to the subject matter, they can be divided into figures, landscapes, flowers and birds, etc. According to the techniques, they can be divided into fine brushwork and freehand brushwork."

Meng Huan listened very carefully and looked at Song Zhi without blinking.

Then, Song Zhi introduced the differences between different types to Meng Huan, and then asked, "Which one do you like?"

Meng Huan, who seemed serious but confused: "..."

Song Zhi didn't realize that this person actually didn't understand anything, so she explained: "Throughout the ages, different people have their own preferences and strengths. I have to determine your preferences first, and then decide how to teach you."

Meng Huan said, "What about you? What do you like?"

Song Zhi: "I have learned both fine brushwork and freehand brushwork. In the early years, I was immersed in freehand brushwork by my parents, and I was immersed in freehand landscape painting. Later, I followed Zhang Youcheng and learned fine brushwork flowers, birds and figures. Zhang Youcheng prefers fine brushwork, so I painted for his house. Most of the paintings are fine brushwork flowers, birds and figures, and there are few freehand landscapes."

"Then which one do you like?" Meng Huan asked.

Song Zhi seemed to think for a while before saying, "I prefer freehand landscapes."

Meng Huan: "Then I will learn freehand landscape painting."

"Freehand landscape painting is difficult and requires a lot of time to practice. Can the young master do it?" Song Zhi said.

"Yes." Meng Huan nodded.

"Traditional Chinese painting is mainly based on ink, supplemented by color. It pays attention to the use of brush and ink, strokes, and quick and slow pauses. To learn landscape painting, you must learn brushwork, ink, composition and color. The structure of landscape painting is open and free." Speaking of here , Song Zhi glanced at it, and felt that openness and freedom should not be a problem for Meng Huan.

"Now, start practicing from the lines."

Meng Huan: "How to practice?"

Song Zhi spread out the rice paper, held a pen, and drew a thin, straight line on the snow-white paper. The pen and ink were even and the lines were clean and neat.

"like this."

Meng Huan didn't know whether to look at the line or Song Zhi's hand.

When Song Zhi wrote in front of Meng Huan for the first time last year, Meng Huan discovered that Song Zhi's hands were as white as jade, with thin calluses on the index finger and middle finger, which came out of holding a pen, and the knuckles were slender and slender, especially nice.

A person with such hands should definitely not be an ordinary servant, but should be the well-clothed son of a wealthy family.

"Try it." Song Zhi handed the pen to Meng Huan.

Meng Huan took the pen, and Song Zhi's palm inadvertently brushed against the back of his hand. The palm was cool and delicate, and Meng Huan couldn't help but feel his heart skip a beat.

Meng Huan picked up the pen calmly, and wrote down a... straight line on the paper according to the script.

Not straight though.

The pen and ink are uneven.

Meng Huan picked up the pen and drew another line, um, it was straight, but some places were thick and others were thin, and his hand was shaking.

Meng Huan: "..."

Song Zhi said calmly, "Beginners are like this. Don't be impatient, young master. Just practice more."

Meng Huan nodded and asked abruptly, "What kind of people are your parents?"

Song Zhi was slightly stunned, and then heard Meng Huan say: "In the spring of the 14th year of the Yuan Dynasty, you were brought back to Dadu by Zhang Youcheng. Before that, what kind of life did you live?"

"Young Master, why do you ask these questions?" Song Zhi said, "Isn't it enough to find out the 14th year of the Yuan Dynasty? It doesn't make sense to go any further."

Meng Huan raised his eyes and glanced at him: "I don't want to check you, but I want to know you, so I came to ask you."

As soon as Meng Huan said this sentence, the stroke he was writing was messed up again.

After Song Zhi entered Zhang's mansion, her past was covered up. Except for Xiu Niang and Song Zhi, no one else knew. Came back, no more.

Meng Huan didn't care about that, just looked at Song Zhi, as if waiting for his answer, Song Zhi avoided Meng Huan's gaze: "It's all happened many years ago, the villain can't remember clearly."

Meng Huan lowered his head and continued to practice lines, and smiled: "When you were sleeping on Yuanzheng Festival—"

Song Zhi's heart tightened.

"—I heard you talking in your sleep."

"What did you say?"

"You called mother." Meng Huan said.

Song Zhi shut her mouth immediately, a little flustered in her heart, she lowered her head, and after a while, asked again:

"Little man... did you say anything else?"

Seeing Song Zhi's reaction, Meng Huan felt a little funny. In fact, Song Zhi didn't talk in his sleep the night before yesterday. Meng Huan only heard him call his mother once last year when he had a fever. Now it's quite funny to tease him. With this thought in mind, the corners of Meng Huan's lips curled up, and he said narrowly:

"I also called your father and said that I miss them very much."

"I scolded a lot of Mongolian barbarians."

Every time Meng Huan said something, Song Zhi's face turned pale.

"You even scolded me." Meng Huan added with a smile.

"Young master!" Song Zhi felt very wronged. It is normal to scold the Mongols, but Meng Huan... he shouldn't scold in his dream.

"Huh? Why?" Meng Huan said, "I heard it with my own ears, do you want to deny it?"

Song Zhi lowered her head, although he already sensed that Meng Huanyue was playing tricks on him, she still said obediently, "I don't dare."

He still owes Meng Huan a great favor.

Meng Huan laughed loudly: "Forget it, my young master is magnanimous, so how about it," Meng Huan said, "The day after tomorrow is the Baiyun Temple Fair. If you go with me, what happened the night before yesterday will be written off, how about it?"

The day after tomorrow is the nineteenth day of the first lunar month, the Yanjiu Festival, also called Yanjiu, Yanjiu, Yanjiu, is to commemorate Qiu Chuji, the head teacher of Quanzhen Taoism.The nineteenth day of the first lunar month is Qiu Chuji's birthday. After his death, he was buried in Baiyun Temple. Since then, every year on this day, commemorative activities are held in the temple, which gradually evolved into the Yanjiu Festival.

It is not necessarily true that it is the nineteenth day of the first lunar month, because the commemorative activities begin on the first day of the first month, and the number of tourists begins to flourish from the eighth day of the first lunar month.And the nineteenth day of the first lunar month is the most grand day. Most of the ladies and gentlemen in Qingcheng drag bamboo sticks and go to the Changchun Palace and Baiyun Temple in the south of the city to burn incense and worship.

Meng Huan simply put down his pen, leaned against the back of the chair, sat crookedly, looked at Song Zhi with a smile and said:

"OK?"

The author has something to say:

Note: ⑴ I do not understand traditional Chinese painting, all from Baidu.

⑵The Yanjiu Festival refers to the "General History of Chinese Customs and Customs Yuan Dynasty Volume". Generally, it will not be explained in the future, but it will all come from this book. This book is too powerful.