*A frail painter who endures hardship and plots every step of the way × an elegant bad seed who plays the good guy as naturally as he breathes
*Happy ending / third person
1.
I am a painter, renowned far and wide for my art. Even the imperial consorts praise my paintings.
My husband is a celebrated general, a promising young man, peerlessly handsome, and calm and easygoing in his dealings with others.
We have known each other since childhood, and everyone says we are a perfect match.
My albums are so coveted in the imperial city that even money can't buy them. Many sons and daughters of the powerful come to ask me curiously, "Muqiu, where did you get the inspiration for the process of your character being confined and brainwashed?"
Sitting in my wheelchair and gazing at the stage below, I say casually, "I suppose it comes from the people around me and my everyday life."
They ask if I've been kidnapped.
I tap the table lightly, my gaze drifting toward my husband in the distance. I smile. "Of course not. I was only joking."
When we get home, my husband takes meticulous care of me, massaging my numb legs as he asks softly, "That group of people earlier were regulars at the brothel, weren't they?"
I answer carelessly, without much interest. "Probably."
He slowly raises his head and taps the armrest of my wheelchair with a bent finger.
"Then they surely wouldn't recognize this gesture either."
He tilts his head and smiles:
", It's actually a distress signal, isn't it?"
2.
Either I've gone mad, or this world has.
Because I don't know him at all, and there's no way we were childhood sweethearts.
And he isn't a general, either.
I think bitterly.
The real young general died long ago.
2023.6.5
Theme: The past influences the future, and the future reflects the past.
