The Marquis Mansion's Elite Class-Chapter 360

Xu Wan’s skill in painting was actually cultivated during the two-plus years after she married into the Marquis Manor. In her modern life, she hadn’t had the time to learn, and in the Minister’s Mansion, she hadn’t had the means. The freedom granted to her in the Marquis Manor allowed her to spend her leisure time reading, practicing calligraphy, and honing her painting.

What began as a solitary pastime to pass the time was one day discovered by her mother-in-law, who went out of her way to hire a painting tutor to instruct her for a period. Xu Wan had been both flattered and flustered at the time, but she couldn’t refuse her mother-in-law’s kindness, so she dutifully studied for a while.

As her brush touched the paper, she added Zong Zhao’s eyes—she remembered that gaze, always so steady and unwavering as it rested upon her.

Xu Wan picked up a paperweight and pressed the painting onto the desk to let it dry. Now, as she looked at it again, though the mother and son occupied the central focus of the painting, the gaze from the corner of the window in the lower right added a warmth to it.

It felt as though—while they were laughing and playing, someone had always been quietly watching over them from afar.

Footsteps sounded outside the door.

Zong Zhao entered, carrying a new quilt. Seeing her seated at the desk, he froze, suddenly remembering the painting he had secretly made the night before—still left out. But Xu Wan’s bright, amused gaze pinned him in place, making him too nervous to approach. Instead, he set the quilt down and busied himself with arranging it.

Xu Wan couldn’t help but laugh. “It’s not even evening yet—why are you making the bed? You never take naps.”

Zong Zhao scrambled for an excuse. “I thought I’d try it today. With you.” She adored afternoon naps.

Xu Wan decided to tease him. “Oh? Alright. But I just found a painting—I wonder who made it. Was it Jin Cheng? That boy picks things up so quickly. His brushwork is already impressive.”

Zong Zhao stiffened. “Does he even have time to learn painting?” Wasn’t he supposedly idle until eight, then obsessively devoted to studies afterward?

Xu Wan feigned seriousness. “Sometimes you just have to admit natural talent. I used to think that little rascal was hopeless, a complete good-for-nothing. But then—turns out he’s a prodigy at soccer, arrow-throwing, and even polo! Did you know, once on the field, he kicked a spinning shot—so dazzling I dreamed about praising him afterward.”

Zong Zhao’s smile visibly vanished.

“So, I figure, maybe he’s got a gift for painting too? Picks it up in one go, right?” Xu Wan grinned at him.

Zong Zhao was silent for a long moment before murmuring, “No.”

Xu Wan bit back a laugh and pressed on. “If it wasn’t Jin Cheng, then who? Cui Zhi?”

Zong Zhao: “……”

Xu Wan’s mischievous streak flared.

Back when she’d been at odds with the little troublemaker, she’d loved teasing him. After they’d made peace, she’d restrained herself. But now, she’d discovered that Zong Zhao was just as fun to provoke—and far more predictable.

Like right now—she could practically feel him wrestling with himself, wanting to confess but too embarrassed to admit he’d secretly painted them.

Xu Wan kept prodding, praising, “Cui Zhi’s work is lovely—she captured Jin Cheng and me perfectly. I’ll hang it up, so I can see it every time I’m at the desk.”

Zong Zhao paused. “You… like it?”

Xu Wan nodded cheerfully. “Very much! Could you fetch me a nail and hammer? I’ll put it up. Oh—you do know how to hammer nails, don’t you?”

Zong Zhao replied, “Of course. Everyone entering the examination hall has to learn.”

“True. Even Jin Cheng had to practice before taking the child scholar’s exam,” Xu Wan remarked.

Zong Zhao returned with the nail. Naturally, he wouldn’t let Xu Wan do the work, so he measured the spot on the wall. “Here? Is this good?”

Xu Wan glanced at it. The height suited her, but the addition in the corner had shifted the painting’s balance, making the spot unsuitable. “Higher. This is too low.”

Zong Zhao stepped onto a stool and raised the nail another foot. “Now? Or is this too high? It might be hard to see.”

Xu Wan took a step back, eyeing the position as she held up the painting in comparison. “Perfect. Right there.”

Zong Zhao still thought it a tad high, but if she liked it, he wouldn’t hesitate. The small hammer made it easy, but he took care, driving the nail in with deliberate, gentle taps.

“Hammer for me, painting for you.” Xu Wan handed him the scroll.

Zong Zhao bent to pass her the hammer, then took the painting and hung it on the nail. As he stepped down from the stool and turned, he noticed something new in the artwork—a corner that hadn’t been there before.

It was him, watching through the window.

The original painting had been a scene of mother and son at play. Now, it was a portrait of their family—all three of them, together.

She had painted him into their world.

Zong Zhao felt his chest tighten, his heartbeat fierce. A warmth spread from his eyes to the depths of his heart, like a fine spring rain, quietly nourishing every inch of him.

His ​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌‌​​‌​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌​​​​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌‌​​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌​​​​​​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​​​​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​​​‌‌‍fingers clenched nervously before he finally managed to ask, “Did… you paint this?”

Xu Wan pretended to deliberate. “Hard to say. Maybe Cui Zhi did—she might’ve been secretly observing all three of us.”

This time, Zong Zhao didn’t take the bait. Instead, he countered, “Did you see me last night?” He was certain she hadn’t glanced toward the window.

Xu Wan shook her head. “No, I just guessed. Wait—are you saying I captured the moment so well that it must’ve been real? So, I got it right?”

Zong Zhao murmured, “You painted it beautifully.”

Xu Wan could see it clearly now—his ears had turned red. She felt something long buried in her studies—a girlish flutter—stirring back to life. Back then, she’d been too busy rushing forward, consumed by work and learning, never noticing the romantic lives of her peers.