Although Zhan Peng admitted that Wen Boyuan's painting was good, it was nowhere near as extraordinary as Wu Jingshan made it sound. In truth, the portrait captured only about seventy percent of the likeness. That was not a flaw in Wen Boyuan's skill, but a limitation of his painting style. The style he had mastered excelled at evoking mood, but in realism, it certainly could not match Western methods such as sketching.
Hearing such lavish praise from the minister of rites, a great Confucian scholar of the age, Wen Boyuan felt honored.
Stroking his beard out of habit, Wu Jingshan said, "When I passed the entrance to the princess's courtyard just now, I glanced inside. Hu Xiaotian was painting her portrait in the courtyard."
Wen Boyuan frowned. "He certainly knows how to make a spectacle of himself."
"He was holding a wooden board," Wu Jingshan said, "and the princess was sitting in front of him, letting him paint directly from life."
At this news, waves surged through Wen Boyuan's sea of jealousy. Princess, oh princess, aren't you being far too partial? I'm competing against Hu Xiaotian in painting, yet you're actively helping him. You clearly want me to lose!
Wu Jingshan continued, "I hear he isn't even using a brush, or any pigments. It really makes one curious. What exactly is he painting?"
"What he does best is play mysterious tricks," Wen Boyuan said disdainfully. "Whatever tricks he pulls, his finished work will have to speak for itself!" A sharp gleam flashed in his eyes, and his powerful inner confidence showed on his face.
"There's naturally no reason to fear him in a fair contest of skill," Wu Jingshan said. "But the judging is also very important."
Wen Boyuan had always believed victory was firmly in his grasp. Only after