While I was uncovering the secret behind Vivian’s crown of hair, it seemed that Eric had been looking for me the whole time.
He cleared his throat quietly outside the women’s cultivation chamber.
“Imerine.”
Both Vivian and I turned our heads at once. When Vivian realized it was Eric waiting outside, her face froze.
“What kind of man follows his wife into the latrine?”
I beamed at her as she glared at me.
“Oh, my apologies. My darling simply can’t go a moment without me.”
As I moved to exit, Vivian hastily called out.
“Hey, this! Your handkerchief!”
I looked down at the handkerchief she held out, wrinkling my nose.
She seriously expects me to take that back…?
“Just keep it.”
“What, do I look like some beggar to you…?”
Despite her words, she carefully folded the cloth and tucked it into her robes. Must’ve been because I mentioned Eric had used it once. Really now—why are there so many women on this continent desperate to devour Eric whole?
The moment I stepped out of the latrine, I clung sweetly to Eric’s arm.
“My dear~ did you wait long?”
“...What exactly are you doing?” Eric looked down at me clinging to his arm.
I whispered, “You called me
darling
earlier, didn’t you?”
Smile. Just smile already. There are at least
two
females in this entire salon who have their sights set on you!
“T-That was…”
Eric flushed crimson, opened his mouth to say something, then sighed deeply and gave up. With a helpless expression, he led me into the heart of the cultivation salon, where the most guests had gathered.
“We need to greet Lady Margaret Beaufort. I’d recommend you say as little as possible. The woman and man standing to her left are—”
“Baron Anthony and his fiancée, Alexia, right?” I cut him off, glancing toward the couple standing beside Margaret.
Eric frowned slightly. “How did you know?”
I cast a glance back toward the latrine—just in time to see Vivian slinking out cautiously.
Mother had been right.
“Be kind to the outsider. All the best information always flows from the one left behind. A woman with a grudge is a terrifying thing.”
Vivian met my gaze and quickly raised a finger to her lips.
So I’m supposed to keep it secret, huh?
I recalled what she had babbled in the latrine earlier.
A secret, huh…
“Olivia told me not to say anything but—actually, it was Olivia who first got a marriage proposal from Baron Anthony this year. Not Alexia. But now that Anthony’s paintings have shot up in value, he’s trying to accept it after all, but the thing is…”
✵
✵
✵
Lady Margaret Beaufort welcomed Eric and me warmly as we approached. She graciously introduced Baron Anthony and his betrothed.
Anthony, despite being the so-called vanguard of the "new corporeal" art movement, greeted us with a bashful smile, looking anything but bold or avant-garde. In contrast, Alexia barely spared us a glance, her manners drenched in arrogance.
Most of the conversation was steered by Lady Margaret herself. With genuine fondness in her eyes, she guided us through the various paintings adorning the salon walls. Many of them bore Anthony’s signature, and Margaret never missed a chance to heap praise on him.
“D-Don’t mention it. It’s only b-because you wrote such flattering reviews in the n-newspapers, Lady Margaret…”
Anthony stammered through the compliment, clearly unused to public flattery. Each time he fumbled, Alexia would glare at him and scold him quietly.
…Lovely couple. Truly.
“Baron-nim. It’s
critique
, not
critic
, please.”
“Th-thank you, Alexia.”
Thank you…?
The relationship between Anthony and Alexia felt strangely delicate, like two cultivators walking the edge of a sword.
That’s when I felt it—a gaze sharp as a beast locking onto its prey.
Turning my head, I spotted Lady Margaret. She was looking at Eric with the same expression she wore when examining those lascivious paintings of intertwined bodies.
Eric, aware of her gaze, steadfastly refused to meet her eyes.
She’s practically stripped him bare with her spiritual sense alone…
I instinctively grabbed Eric’s forearm.
I’ll protect this man, no matter what...
Margaret watched quietly for a moment, then turned toward the largest painting in the salon.
It was a massive oil piece, taking up nearly the entire wall.
And it was…
Exceedingly large…
And positively indecent…
A dual cultivation scene between a man and a woman, clearly caught mid-ritual…
Eric cleared his throat awkwardly beside me.
But I, long since desensitized to this kind of nudity, calmly recalled the teachings of the butler—our clan’s in-house art connoisseur.
“If the curves of the man and woman’s physical forms are elegantly emphasized, it’s an Anthony piece. But if the brushwork carries more weight, more gravity—it’s Alex’s.”
Gazing up at the painting, I found my hand raising almost by instinct.
“Alex! Oh, this one’s definitely his! It’s got to be an Alex piece!”
“…?”
Ah—curse this reflex. I’ve gotten too used to answering the butler’s art quizzes at home.
Still, I’m sure I got this one right!
Feeling both embarrassed and slightly proud, I offered an awkward smile to the four pairs of eyes now staring at me.
Then—
“Th-this is… MY piece!”
Anthony suddenly burst out, voice brimming with spiritual frustration.
He had seemed so meek earlier, but now he reacted like someone’s core had been insulted. Eric also looked taken aback. I mumbled uncertainly.
“Huh? No way… But this one has weight to it…”
“Then are you saying
my
works lack substance?!”
Anthony glared at me as though aiming to shatter my meridians with his killing intent.
The air grew tense.
Suddenly, I was the one needing to explain myself. I could feel all eyes on me, and my face flushed.
…Damn it.
“Ah, I-I apologize. I guess my artistic insight is lacking… It’s just that this painting feels heavier. Compared to your usual style, which is more like, um…”
“Anthony’s style is all about capturing the feminine form beautifully,”
I’d once told the butler.
“Beautiful? Are you serious? They don’t even look human. More like dolls. And the angles? All like he’s peeping from some hidden dimension. Isn’t this basically perverted? A pervert! A total—”
…Pervert.
That word hovered on the tip of my tongue. But I couldn’t say that. Why was it the
only
word coming to mind?!
“I mean… uh… it’s a beautiful nude… painted from a voyeuristic angle… kind of perverted—I mean, observationally…!!”
Crap.
I meant to soften the blow, but I didn’t manage a single tactful phrase.
I turned toward Anthony and his fiancée. Their expressions were already hardening, spiritual energy practically freezing the air.
Alexia, likely sensing the imminent explosion, tugged on Anthony’s sleeve.
“Anthony, let’s go greet the others over there…”
“V-voyeuristic? M-madam, you lack not only discernment, but
decency!
”
Anthony’s face turned crimson, like someone had jabbed a needle straight into his heart meridian.
“…?”
I frowned as I watched him flail about in spiritual indignation.
Eric stepped forward calmly, clearly attempting to pacify him before a full-blown duel broke out.
“I apologize. It seems Lady Imerine may have spoken in a way that could be misunderstood.”
I ground my teeth silently. But then Eric continued.
“However… calling her
vulgar
? That’s an insult to my wife.”
How dare you, a mere mongrel, make such a fuss over my wife?
That was the tone. I blinked, startled, catching a glimpse of a storm flaring in Eric’s crimson eyes.
Oh? So this man
can
wield authority like a tyrant when needed?
But Anthony, his face now twisted in outrage, shouted in return.
“You said you hadn’t been in the imperial capital long, but this is far below the standard of its cultivator clans! I—I can’t believe the Duke even sanctioned such a marriage! I heard she was a lowborn noble, but even her bearing is beneath contempt!”
…What did he just say?
Oh no he didn’t…!
Just because your paintings recently sold for ten thousand spirit stones apiece, you think that makes you untouchable?
I remembered what Vivian had said earlier:
“This year, Anthony’s art started soaring out of nowhere. One piece now fetches ten thousand gold…”
Ten thousand?!
You’re just a glorified ink-slinger catering to nobles’ vanity, and you dare run your mouth at me?
And didn’t he sell a painting to the Duke as well…?
So now, having clawed his way up the social ladder, he thinks he can sneer at the rest?
I looked around the salon and met the amused gazes of the gathered cultivators. They were clearly enjoying the spectacle—eager to see the Duke’s future daughter-in-law snap and disgrace the clan. Eager for gossip to whisper in the shadows of their sect halls.
I couldn’t give them that satisfaction.
Stay calm. Resolve it quietly…
As I tried to swallow my fury and bowed my head to apologize in the humblest way I could manage, the baron struck again.
“Blood can’t be hidden, can it? Trash begets trash, after all.”
…I can’t let this one slide.
The moment that thought passed through me—
S̵h̵r̵i̵i̵i̵p̵!
A harsh tearing echoed across the salon as a massive canvas was sliced clean in half.
The breath in the room stilled. Silence fell like a sword. Every noble cultivator turned toward us—toward Eric, toward me, and most of all… toward Anthony.
Even Lady Margaret, who had worn a smile of gracious detachment until now, had gone stone-faced.
“W-What… what are you doing…?”
She had every reason to be stunned.
No one had even seen when Eric drew his blade. With a swift, practiced motion, he’d unsheathed a dagger from within his robes and, in a single stroke, slashed through the prized painting—cleaving it from center to base.
He’s… insane…
Before I could even move, Eric casually embedded the dagger into the torn canvas and released it.
“What do you think you’re doing?!” Anthony shouted, fury twisting his face as he lunged forward.
Eric’s killing intent flared. He fixed Anthony with a cold, piercing gaze and spoke in a tone like ice.
“Lay a single finger on me. Just one. Then I’ll have a perfect excuse… to pound you into spiritual paste right here and now.”
Anthony froze.
In an instant, the air in the room turned glacial. It wasn’t just cold—it was oppressive. Suffocating. It felt like something
lethal
was emanating from Eric’s core, a soul-chilling aura that weighed down on the entire hall.
…What is that…?
I instinctively stepped closer to Eric, scanning the room.
Was it just me?
But no—every cultivator around us was trembling. The most esteemed nobles, the most refined scholars—all were clutching their wine goblets with pale, quivering hands.
What… kind of cultivation base
is
this man hiding?
I turned to Eric, stunned.
And when our eyes met, the storm in his expression softened just slightly.
As if on cue, that overwhelming spiritual pressure dissipated into nothingness.
“Huu…”
A chorus of sighs spread through the onlookers.
Anthony, caught in the turbulent spiritual pressure emanating from Eric, collapsed to the ground as if his legs had given out.
Eric didn’t even spare him a glance. He walked straight toward me, each step deliberate, his qi steady and unshaken.
Margaret’s gaze followed him closely—unblinking, impassive. She alone, amidst the strange tension, had remained calm, her expression untouched by the shifting air.
Eric reached out and took my hand in his. Then, without hesitation, he turned to Margaret and spoke:
“That painting. I’ll buy it. I understand it’s currently owned by Lady Margaret. Forgive the discourtesy.”
It was a bold move—one that blatantly ignored the painter himself.
He intended to settle everything by dealing solely with the artifact’s owner, completely disregarding the creator’s ego.
According to the steward, once a painter’s work was displayed in a salon like this, it would often gain a reputation that inflated its value at auction. That meant profit for both the owner and increased prestige for the artist.
But now that the painting had been destroyed…
I grit my teeth and whispered in a voice only Eric could hear.
“What are you doing… seriously?”
“I told you,” he replied, looking straight into my eyes. “I said I’d teach him a lesson.”
Only then did I remember what he’d said back at the duke’s manor.
“…He needs to be punished.”
So this… this was what he meant by
punishment
?
My mind went momentarily blank.
“I’m just keeping my promise,” he added quietly.
The words hit with the weight of an oath.
Margaret, who had been watching us with a look of growing amusement, finally opened her mouth.
“Forgive me, young master, but compensation for this incident can’t just go to me—it must also be paid to the original artist. Granted, Baron Anthony’s words were rather harsh for someone in a delicate condition…”
She winked at me.
“…?”
Ah.
Could it be—
I quickly clutched my stomach, contorting my face in a pained grimace, and leaned subtly against Eric’s shoulder.
“Oww… my stomach… Rose, my little one… were you frightened, my dear?”
The surrounding nobles began murmuring among themselves.
“C-come to think of it, wasn’t Lady Emeline expecting?”
“Shouting at a pregnant woman—how barbaric…”
“Indeed, how shameful…”
I narrowed my eyes slightly at Margaret.
She looked… smug.
So that’s what she wanted me to do.
Cunning woman.
Clearly, she hadn’t been pleased with Anthony’s rudeness either.
But why help me?
Didn’t I blackmail her just the other day? There’s no way she likes me…
Could this be… for Eric’s sake?
Still, this wasn’t something that could be brushed off.
What Anthony did to me had no tangible form—just insult.
But what Eric had done to Anthony’s painting was a physical, measurable blow.
There was no escaping compensation.
I watched as Anthony glared at us, his gaze burning with poisonous qi.
Damn… he’s definitely going to demand a ridiculous amount…
Even if it’s not my money, just thinking about compensating a scumbag like that—it makes my spirit core ache.
Chapter 72