When Mu Qing heard this, she froze for a moment but quickly recovered.
Though she hadn’t expected it to be quite so soon, it was only a matter of time. After all, she was pretending to be a man at Bailu Academy and had become close friends with Qin Qin—being summoned by the headmaster was inevitable.
Well, so be it. She was actually just thinking about meeting this old man anyway. Might as well get it over with.
Mu Qing took a deep breath, forced a smile, patted Qin Qin’s arm to reassure her, and then asked her to lead the way to the headmaster’s residence.
Reassured a little, Qin Qin calmed down slightly. But the closer they got to her father’s courtyard, the more anxious she became.
So she began chattering nervously along the way, rambling on about her father’s likes and dislikes. In the end, Mu Qing’s last bit of tension was dissolved by her fussing.
Looking at the increasingly frazzled Qin Qin, Mu Qing finally couldn’t help but tease, “Ah Qin, you’re this nervous—feels less like you’re taking me to meet the headmaster and more like you’re taking me to meet your father-in-law.”
Qin Qin, who had been extremely tense, was stunned by the joke. After a brief daze, she blushed and pouted, “Sister Qing, you’re teasing me again.”
Mu Qing laughed, “If I didn’t, you’d worry yourself into a fever.”
Qin Qin couldn’t help giggling, and with a few shared chuckles, the two of them soon reached Headmaster Qin’s courtyard.
Since Headmaster Qin was an exceptionally refined and elegant old scholar, his residence was naturally unlike that of ordinary people.
The not-too-small courtyard was filled with pine, bamboo, orchids, and plum trees, with little bridges and flowing streams, as well as vegetable plots and fruit vines—a tasteful blend of elegance and rustic charm.
Clearly, this was a man who lived both the poetic life of “picking chrysanthemums by the eastern fence” and the pastoral joy of “talking of harvests among rice blossoms.”
A man of both high culture and earthy pleasures—definitely someone who had seen the world and had his own views. Which meant he’d be very hard to deal with.
Mu Qing sighed inwardly but maintained a calm facade, mentally bracing herself for a direct confrontation.
Qin Qin glanced at her, seemingly soothed by Mu Qing’s composure, and naturally stood at the door to announce, “Father, Qing—Mu Gongzi is here.”
After a moment of silence, a deep male voice called from within, “Come in.”
So Mu Qing followed Qin Qin into the main room. It had been a month since she first caught a glimpse of this legendary Headmaster Qin at the academy gate. Now, she finally saw him up close again.
He still looked very much like an immortal recluse, dressed in simple everyday robes, standing by the window with a brush in hand, painting.
As Mu Qing followed Qin Qin closer, she saw what he was painting…
Two chickens.
And not just any chickens—two hens.
One had bright, glossy feathers and was leisurely preening on the ground.
The other, with patchy plumage, was perched on a tree branch, beak open as if crowing at the sky…
To be fair, the chickens were drawn with vivid realism, showcasing the headmaster’s excellent artistic skills.
Though casually painted, the technique and composition were so refined that the piece could easily be considered the work of a master—worth a tidy sum on the market.
But no matter how well-drawn, the symbolism was unmistakable.
A hen crowing at dawn—wasn’t this a jab at her and Qin Qin for pretending to be men?
She might be an outsider, but Qin Qin was his own daughter! Just because the feathers looked good didn’t mean it wasn’t a chicken…
To be so bound by rigid feudal teachings that he’d mock even his own daughter—what a rotten old man. Truly terrible.
If even Mu Qing could see the implication of the painting, how could the clever Qin Qin miss it?
And as the saying goes, “father and daughter are linked by nature”—Qin Qin had been raised by her father and knew his temperament inside out. He’d probably fed her this ideology her whole life. So at the sight of that painting, she immediately teared up, too upset to speak.
Seeing such a good girl on the verge of tears, Mu Qing grew angry.
But she also knew brute force wouldn’t work here—scholars, especially those with great learning, were prideful and stubborn.
Once they believed in something, they wouldn’t yield even if you chopped off their head.
So confrontation was off the table. She had to use cunning.
But how?
This was a job for her “excellent” artistic talent.
Glancing around, she spotted another small table nearby with paper and brushes laid out. A plan began to form.
She respectfully bowed to the old man, who was still carefully refining his hen’s feathers, and said, “Forgive my interruption.” Then, without waiting for his reaction—which was clearly aloof and purposefully lofty—she turned and walked straight to the table, laid out a piece of rice paper, and picked up a brush.
Qin Qin was still upset, embarrassed, and deeply regretful—it was she who had brought Mu Qing here, only for her father to immediately insult them both with a painting.
To be honest, her father’s beliefs—“a woman’s virtue is in her lack of talent,” “learning is only to better serve one’s husband,” “husband leads, wife follows”—were things she’d heard all her life. Being mocked or called a “crowing hen” was nothing new.
After all, he was her father. Out of filial piety and affection, she couldn’t rebuke him too harshly.
But now, even Mu Qing was being insulted.
Though she and Mu Qing hadn’t known each other long, she already considered this girl her close friend and sister.
She could tolerate insults to herself—but not a single slight against Mu Qing. Especially from her own father.
Crushed with remorse and fury, she nearly fainted on the spot.
Just then, she saw Mu Qing politely salute her father and head toward the desk.
Was she going to draw too?
She immediately perked up, secretly wiped her eyes, and crept over to see what Mu Qing would create.
Mu Qing knew Qin Qin had followed but had no time to care—at this moment, her entire focus was on her brush.
How could she use a single painting to neatly refute the headmaster’s “two hens” painting?
She concentrated for a moment, and then the answer came.
Only “that” would do.
With a flurry of brushstrokes, blotches of ink appeared on the pristine paper.
She sketched, dabbed, outlined, and shaded. A few moments later, the piece was done.
Qin Qin had been holding her breath, watching from the side. When Mu Qing put the brush down, she exhaled softly and murmured in astonishment, “This… this is?”
“Two… rabbits?”
Unable to identify the subject, someone else spoke up to provide the answer.
There were only three people in the room. Mu Qing was still in her post-creative “zen state” and wouldn’t speak rashly.
Qin Qin was too mystified by “whatever Sister Qing just drew” to speak.
Which meant the speaker could only be the headmaster himself.
Apparently, Mu Qing’s calm and confident demeanor had successfully convinced the old man she might be a hidden master.
So he had quickly put aside his brush and come over to peek, just like his daughter.
But what he hadn’t expected was that Mu Qing, despite her masterly air, had produced two strange blobs.
Baffled, he listened to his daughter’s hesitating guess and couldn’t help blurting out his own uncertain response.
Because those two whimsical, wobbly ink blots, with their childish lines and chaotic forms, were hard to decipher—even for a seasoned artist like him.
Frankly, even Mu Qing herself felt a bit embarrassed looking at them—truly, “you regret not studying harder when it matters.” She should never have skipped those painting classes meant for noble ladies.
And now? This was all she could manage.
Honestly, it was trash.
But Mu Qing didn’t flinch. Maintaining her serene expression, she nodded and said calmly, “Correct.”
Seeing her so composed, Headmaster Qin couldn’t quite gauge her. Stroking his beard, he inspected the painting again and finally asked, puzzled, “Is there some meaning to this?”
Mu Qing raised her head and slowly recited, “The male rabbit’s feet are swift and strong, the female rabbit’s eyes are soft and hazy. Side by side they run across the ground—how can one tell who’s male and who’s female?”
As soon as she finished, the old man’s expression changed.
He looked again at the ink splotches, then at Mu Qing, his face shifting through various emotions before settling into a somewhat forced smile.
“I was wondering what kind of person could stir the attention of that noble in the capital… Seems you really are an interesting girl. Very well—stay, and keep Qin’er company.”
His words stunned not only Mu Qing but Qin Qin as well.
She instinctively took a step forward, grasped Mu Qing’s hand, and looked at her father, murmuring, “Father, do you mean it? I can really study at the academy with Sister Qing from now on?”
Headmaster Qin snorted, “Study what? Attend which academy? Haven’t you played around enough these last few days? I merely meant for you to gain some experience—not to turn it into something serious…”
He spoke dismissively. Qin Qin looked aggrieved and was about to argue when he cut her off again.
“If you’ve got time to spare, go copy the Diamond Sutra and The Women’s Classic a few more times. Last time, the copies you sent as a votive offering to Fahua Temple were seen by a noble lady from the palace—she liked your handwriting. That’s a tremendous blessing. Copy a few more volumes, and I’ll deliver them personally in a few days.”
He rambled on at length. Qin Qin, though unhappy, didn’t dare speak back. She lowered her head, eyes red, and listened obediently.
But Mu Qing had no such reservations. Seizing the pause in his monologue, she casually interjected, “Then I wonder—what about the wager Headmaster made with Ah Qin earlier?”
