"Is it ready?" In the pavilion, Yang Chuxia, dressed in a light green scholar's robe with a moon-white cloak patterned with purple violets, leaned against the railing, holding a string of winter jasmine flowers. She smiled tenderly as she looked towards the person inside the pavilion.
"It's done, come take a look."
Ye Zi'an spread out the drawing, finishing the last stroke and then writing a line of characters with another brush before stopping.
"How is it?"
Resting one hand on Ye Zi'an's shoulder, Yang Chuxia gazed intently at the painting on the stone table. The sketched woman stood with serene grace, her eyes dazzling like stars, lips hinting at a smile yet to blossom. The vitality typically captured in motion was now exquisitely depicted on paper, as if the woman were about to step out of the drawing upon seeing someone familiar.
"Brother An, your painting skills have become even more extraordinary. I can hardly believe this person is me. Could I really be this beautiful?"