Xin An’s question only made things worse. The moment she spoke, Tang Mo’s tail nearly wagged itself into the sky with pride. He declared smugly, “Have I ever botched anything I set out to do?”
“Now you know how good I am, don’t you? Let me tell you, when it comes to reliability, I leave a certain someone eighteen streets behind.”
“So? Are you starting to regret opposing me in our past life?”
Xin An widened her eyes. “Have you forgotten I’m the one who always had you under control?”
Tang Mo gave a dismissive snort. “A real man doesn’t quarrel with women. I was going easy on you.”
The wine had clearly gone to his head. He wobbled over and slumped down beside her, throwing an arm around her shoulders and tugging her closer. “Let me tell you something—you wouldn’t believe how vile you were in our past life. That face of yours, you looked at me like I owed you money or something. But when it came to Tang Rong? You turned into a pathetic mess. Even I couldn’t stand the sight of you.”
“What’s so great about Tang Rong anyway? Can he talk like me? Handle matters like me? Look better than me?”
His words were slurred now, breath thick with alcohol spilling against her cheek. Xin An instinctively leaned away, but Tang Mo simply leaned in closer. “And height—I’m taller than him too, even if just a little. I’m telling you, he’s not a good man. He’s too calculating. Too scheming.”
Xin An had no desire to converse with a drunken fool and replied perfunctorily, “Yes, yes, you’re the best-looking, the smoothest talker, the noblest soul.”
“Noblest soul, you say? Then move over, you’re crushing me.”
Tang Mo chuckled, his full weight pressing into her as he clasped her hand. “You’re a capable one. In this life, you and I should fight side by side—sweep the enemy away until not a shred remains. Dashing, isn’t it? Utterly dashing.”
Xin An rolled her eyes. She thought of calling someone in to help, but feared what nonsense he might spout—what with his endless mutterings of “past life,” anyone listening might think he was possessed.
“Get up. Go back to your room and sleep.”
“I won’t. I want to stay right here.”
He kicked off his shoes and flopped down flat, mumbling, “You vicious woman, don’t even think about driving me away.”
Xin An inhaled sharply, then gave him two solid kicks. Tang Mo, who had just shut his eyes, opened them again, tears springing up in a flash. “You hit me?”
“I’ll beat you to death.”
She kicked him once more. “Drunken lunatic.”
“You really hit me…”
Completely inebriated now, Tang Mo rolled over, hugged the quilt, and burst into tears with muffled sobs. Between hiccups, he kept muttering, “You hit me…”—leaving Xin An thoroughly dumbfounded. In two lifetimes, this was the first time she’d witnessed someone lose their mind from drink. She’d heard that drunkards did all kinds of things—shouting in the streets, stripping and running wild, sobbing hysterically. But this pitiful act of Tang Mo’s… what kind of drunk was this supposed to be?
“What did he drink—how could it hit so hard?”
He’d walked in perfectly fine. Wasn’t that a rather sudden shift in tone?
Watching him cry like that, she suddenly found it a bit amusing. After a moment’s thought, she fetched a lantern and lit it, then headed to the study. When she returned, she brought with her brush, ink, and paper. After lighting another lamp, she began to grind the ink, and with a faint smirk, gently lifted the corner of the quilt to take a peek at Tang Mo’s tear-streaked face.
“Just look at those little tears. Tsk, tsk. I’ll paint this for you. Tomorrow morning, you can see it with your own eyes.”
Her interest piqued, Xin An’s mood lightened. With a cheerful smile, she took up her brush, and in no time, a ridiculous caricature of Tang Mo clutching a quilt and wailing pitifully came to life on the paper. Hideous as the little figure was, it was unmistakably him. Admiring her masterpiece with satisfaction, she added a few words beside it—“You hit me, you hit me!”—which instantly gave the painting a lifelike vibrancy that even made her want to laugh out loud.
At that moment, Tang Mo remained blissfully unaware that his drunken disgrace had been immortalized in ink. He had fallen into a deep sleep, still hugging the quilt, with two distinct tear tracks drying on the bridge of his nose.
Xin An looked around the room, painting in hand, and eventually placed it in the most prominent spot—guaranteeing that Tang Mo would see it the moment he woke up.
Morning arrived swiftly. The first thing Tang Mo saw upon opening his eyes was the sleeping form of Xin An curled up in the corner. A pounding ache pulsed through his head. Why am I in the main room again?
He realized he hadn’t even changed clothes. Just as he sat up, Xin An stirred awake—her subconscious still eager to witness the aftermath of his humiliation. Far from groggy, she greeted him with the first smile of the morning. “Awake?”
That single smile made Tang Mo’s heart skip a beat. Alarmed, he quickly checked his clothes, terrified that this devil of a woman had taken advantage of him in some way. Still smiling, Xin An said, “Now that you’re up, go wash up. You’re expected at the Northern Garrison today—can’t be late.”
“I’m a bit thirsty… Could you pour me a glass of water from the table?”
Tang Mo looked suspicious, frantically trying to recall what had happened the night before. He remembered drinking some hangover soup upon entering. Logically, he should’ve gone back to his room afterward. So how had he ended up here again? Could it be that this woman, enamored with his dashing looks and commanding presence, had plotted something indecent but failed in the end?
“Hurry up,” Xin An urged.
Still wary, Tang Mo climbed out of bed. But when he reached the table, his eyes landed on the painting. There he was—quilt in arms, sobbing like a child—and beside it, those damning words: “You hit me, you hit me!” Rage surged through him. He grabbed the paper, ready to rip it apart.
But Xin An, who had silently followed behind, snatched it back just in time. Laughing, she asked, “Well? Isn’t it a perfect likeness?”
“Do you remember what happened last night? Tell me—how did you end up crying so heartbreakingly? You looked so pitiful I nearly gave you a piece of jewelry to comfort you.”
Bits of hazy memory began to surface for Tang Mo, and he suddenly wished he could dig a hole with his toes and crawl into it. Xin An burst into peals of laughter as she admired her handiwork. “Hahaha!”
The more she looked, the more hilarious it became.
“Give it here.”
Tang Mo lunged to snatch it, but Xin An wasn’t about to hand it over so easily. The more he tried, the louder she laughed. Outside the room, Lailai and Chunyang exchanged glances, desperately curious about what was going on inside.
“My dear lady ancestor, I beg you—just tear it up,” Tang Mo pleaded. “If word of this gets out, how will I show my face again?”
Such a devious woman—she actually had the nerve to sketch out my disgrace!
Turning away, Xin An carefully folded the painting. “I won’t tear it up. I’m keeping it for those days when I’m feeling low—it’ll cheer me right up.”
“You think this kind of art is easy? I had a stroke of inspiration, and the brush moved like flowing water. I’ve never painted anything like it before.”
Tang Mo kept trying to grab it, but never succeeded. “At least promise me you won’t show it to anyone else—don’t let a third person see it.”
“I beg you—I’m your husband in name! If I lose face, won’t it reflect badly on you too?”
Xin An relented with a smile. “Don’t worry, I’ll enjoy it in private. Now go wash up and head out. You’ve got a tough battle ahead of you today.”
Originally, he had hoped to arrange a private meal with Commander Liao Zhi of the Northern Garrison in advance through connections. But after asking around, he realized he didn’t know anyone close to the man. Today, he’d have no choice but to face it head-on.