Chapter 2

Chapter 2

I am an Imperial Painter, Shen Yan, specializing in funerary portraits.

This profession is considered unlucky by many, yet it is highly sought after by the nobility. High-ranking officials and dignitaries want portraits while they are alive, and they want them even more after they die. This is especially true for noble ladies who die suddenly; their deaths are often so abrupt that their features are left in a state of ruin. The family needs to maintain their dignity, the husband’s family demands an account, and the palace requires a record. Thus, my brush becomes the final layer of embellishment.

Ten years ago, my master, Qin Lao, brought me into the palace and told the head eunuch, “This boy has a sharp eye. He can capture the spirit of the living from the bone structure of the dead.”

The head eunuch didn’t believe him and casually ordered me to paint a palace maid who had drowned. By the time she was pulled out, her face was bloated and distorted, yet I captured the faint trace of timidity that had lived between her brows.

Later, when a maid who shared her quarters saw the portrait, she fell to her knees and wept bitterly. “It’s her,” she cried. “It’s really her.”

From then on, people in the palace said my paintings could lock in a soul.

I don’t believe in ghosts or gods.

Painting is nothing more than a keen eye, a steady hand, and a cold heart. A keen eye to see the bone, a steady hand to lay the brush, and a cold heart to stare at a corpse without flinching. People fear the dead because the dead cannot defend themselves; I do not fear them precisely because they are quiet.

That was until Xie Wanning appeared before me alive.

Returning to my studio that night, I pulled out the case files from three months ago. Xie Wanning, nineteen years old, the only daughter of the Prime Minister, betrothed to the heir of Marquis Ningyuan. The cause of death was listed as a sudden illness-she had stopped breathing the moment it struck.

Tucked into the back of the file was the copy of the portrait I had painted at the time.

I trimmed the lamp wick to brighten the light and examined the portrait closely.

Xie Wanning lay upon the silk, her features appearing as if she were still alive. But as I stared for a long time, I suddenly felt something was wrong.

Those eyes were too vivid.

Funerary portraits are the hardest to paint when it comes to the eyes. Since the deceased’s eyelids are closed, a painter can only reconstruct their spirit based on portraits from their life and descriptions from relatives. That night, when I set my brush to paper, I had clearly never seen Xie Wanning with her eyes open, yet it was as if someone were whispering in my ear, telling me that the corners of her eyes should be lowered just a fraction when she looked at someone.

At the time, I thought it was talent.

Thinking back now, it didn’t seem like talent. It felt more as if someone had used my hand to hook something out of the corpse.

I flipped the painting over. On the corner of the silk paper, there was an extremely faint red mark. It looked like blood, yet also like cinnabar.

Suddenly, there was a knock at the door.

Three times, slow and deliberate.

I gripped my paperweight and asked, “Who is it?”

The person outside said, “Mr. Shen, a decree has come from the palace.”

I opened the door to find the eunuch Liu Quan standing in the snow. Behind him stood four members of the Imperial Guard, each with a hand on his blade.

Liu Quan’s face was whiter than the snow. “Her Highness the Grand Princess has passed away. His Majesty commands you to enter the palace immediately to paint the funerary portrait for Her Highness.”

The paperweight in my hand nearly slipped from my grasp.

Grand Princess Xiao Lingyi was the only person in my life I never dared to paint.

She was also the only person I had ever loved in my youth.