The first man had a vivid emerald-green leaf painted on his left cheek, its veins clear and lifelike.
The second had a hat painted on his forehead, with a wide brim and a small flower crookedly perched on it.
The third had a sword painted on his right cheek, its blade long and slender, its tip pointing straight at the corner of his mouth.
The fourth had a flower painted on his chin, its layers of petals lush and delicate, as if dripping with beauty.
When the four men saw the purple-faced brute charge out of the door, expressions suddenly appeared on their ashen faces. Cries of alarm rose one after another, their voices full of grievance and resentment.
Seeing the comical faces of his four subordinates, the purple-faced brute suddenly could not help bursting into loud laughter.
His laughter shook dust from the courtyard walls. He laughed until he bent over, until tears nearly came to his eyes.
But as he laughed, he suddenly felt as though a mouthful of old blood he had held in for half his life was lodged in his chest, about to burst out.
The four men gritted their teeth, their faces filled with bitter resentment and venom, their eyes practically spitting fire.
They hated her so fiercely that their teeth clenched, and they wished they could leap up and bite to death the woman behind them who was giggling away.
Yet all four remained kneeling there stiffly. Not only could they not jump up, they could not even move, as though some invisible force had pinned them in place.
The purple-faced brute stopped laughing, straightened up, and let out a long sigh.
He waved toward the woman leaning against an osmanthus tree not far behind the four men.
Her tone was dripping with