bayedsolid Chapter 1110 Posture
Chapter 1110 Posture
But there is a tacit understanding that others can hardly reach. Seeing that Shen Yanqiu was still lost in thought at the unfinished landscape painting, he couldn't help but remind him softly, with a hint of concern in his voice. Shen Yanqiu slowly raised his eyes, the shadow of the window frame reflected in his eyes, like two bottomless ancient wells, making it impossible to see what he was thinking. His eyelashes were very long, and when they drooped slightly, they cast a light shadow under his eyelids. "I know." His voice was very soft, with a hoarseness that came from years of suppression, as if he hadn't spoken for a long time. Qingzhu placed the tranquilizing soup on the corner of the desk. The bowl was an exquisite white porcelain bowl with gold-painted patterns. The rim of the bowl was painted with a circle of fine lotus patterns. The soup was a light amber color and exuded a faint medicinal fragrance. This tranquilizing soup was specially prepared for Shen Yanqiu by the old doctor in the mansion, and it contained some tranquilizing and sleep-inducing herbs. Qingzhu knew that his son had been having trouble sleeping recently and often tossed and turned at night. "Young Master, the soup is still hot. You should drink it while it's hot. You will have a good sleep after drinking it." Qingzhu advised again, his tone full of worry. Shen Yanqiu nodded, and his eyes fell back on the painting. He reached out and picked up the wolf-hair brush on the table. He dipped the tip of the brush into some ink and held it in the air, but did not put it down. He remembered when he was a child, his father invited the most famous painter in the capital to teach him to paint. The painter had a strange temper and was extremely strict with his students. He would scold them harshly if they were not satisfied. Once, he painted a picture of a galloping horse, and he felt quite satisfied with it, but was severely criticized by the painter, who said that his horse had no spirit and seemed to be restrained. At that time, he did not understand, but felt wronged. Now think about it, the painter may have seen the repression in his bones. As the eldest son of the Shen family, the Minister of Personnel, Shen Yanqiu has been closely watched by countless pairs of eyes since he was born. In those eyes, he held his father's expectations, his mother's worries, the scrutiny of his clan elders, and the jealousy and envy of the other aristocratic children in the capital. He was like a bird trapped in an exquisite cage, seemingly possessing everything, yet deprived of his most precious freedom. His father, Minister Shen, was an extremely strict man, and his expectations of Shen Yanqiu were almost harsh. He was expected to master both civil and military tactics, compose poetry and songs effortlessly, and shoot and shoot arrows with precision from a hundred paces. Every day before dawn, Shen Yanqiu would rise to study, memorizing the difficult Confucian classics. In the afternoons, he would either practice calligraphy or learn martial arts from a martial arts master. In the evenings, he would listen to his father explain court affairs and learn the ways of being an official. His days were packed, leaving him no time for leisure. His mother often urged him to behave properly. Stand and sit properly, speak softly, and avoid loud noises. He was to be courteous in his interactions, never losing the dignity of a son of an aristocratic family. Even his gait was rigorously trained, requiring a steady and dignified demeanor. Shen Yanqiu remembered once being caught running in the garden by his mother, whose scowl instantly darkened. She punished him by making him kneel in the ancestral hall for an hour, forcing him to reflect on his behavior. Growing up in such an environment, Shen Yanqiu gradually developed a reticent disposition. He rarely argued, rarely revealed his true emotions. No matter what he encountered, he maintained a calm demeanor, as if the sky were falling and nothing mattered to him. People in the capital praised him as a rare "Jade Beauty," describing him as gentle as jade and of upright character. But only Shen Yanqiu himself knew the hidden bitterness and suffering behind this title. He was like a delicate puppet, controlled by invisible strings, following a predetermined trajectory. He had no thoughts of his own, no preferences of his own, and could not even freely express his emotions. He felt exhausted, yet he couldn't show it, burying all his grievances and repression deep within his heart. But only he knew, deep within, a dark secret lay hidden within him: while other young men his age discussed the girls of prostitutes, he was drawn to the tall, handsome, and bright-eyed young men. It was when he was thirteen, and he accompanied his father to a banquet hosted by colleagues. There were many young men of similar age from prominent families. The young men gathered, excitedly discussing which brothel girl in the capital was the most beautiful and which singer had the most beautiful voice. Their words were vulgar and explicit, their faces brimming with frivolous smiles. Shen Yanqiu stood by, feeling uneasy. He couldn't understand what it was about these girls they were so excited about. Just then, he saw a young man. He was dressed in a royal blue brocade robe, his figure as tall as a pine tree, his eyes as bright as a painting. He stood in the courtyard, looking up at the moon, his expression focused and serene. The moonlight cast a faint silver glow on his face, making him look like a fallen immortal. Shen Yanqiu's heart skipped a beat, his eyes drawn involuntarily to the young man, unable to move away. From then on, Shen Yanqiu found himself completely uninterested in so-called beauties. Instead, he was drawn to young men with slender figures and distinguished temperaments. He would secretly observe how they spoke, how they walked, and even mentally sketch their faces. Whenever he saw them playing and laughing together, he would feel a surge of inexplicable envy and longing. He knew that his thoughts were abnormal and unethical. In this era, men were expected to marry, have children, and continue the family line. To love another man was considered extremely shameful and even punishable by death. This secret, like a poisonous thorn, pierced his heart day and night, causing him unbearable pain. He dared not tell anyone, and could only bury this feeling deep in his heart. In order to hide his abnormality, he used etiquette to restrain himself more strictly than before. He cut off all unnecessary contacts with all the young men of his age, locked himself in the study, and spent the whole day with books and ink. His words and deeds became more meticulous, even to the point of being rigid. People in the capital praised him for becoming more and more stable and more and more like a master, but only he knew that he was using this method to escape and cover up his "crimes". He became a "jade beauty" praised by everyone in the capital, but also became the loneliest person. He had no friends to confide in, no partners to share his joy. The only things that accompanied him every day were cold books and endless loneliness. In the dead of night, he would often sit alone in front of the window, looking at the moon in the sky, crying silently. He didn't know where his future lay, nor did he know how long such days would last.