Ivy Secret Volume

[Ming Dynasty Painting Circle + Unsolved Case of Group Portraits + Middle Game of Famous Painting Bureau] My name is Xu Wei. After many years of decline, he begged for food in restaurants and painting shops in Shaoxing, relying on the sharp ink color of a pen and a mouth that was not afraid of anything. A wisteria sown casually at home, ignored all year round, has become a shaded corner of the courtyard. Neighbors secretly call me "Wild Ivy". Until that day, a bloated Huizhou businessman brought a volume of "Ivy Authentic Works" and only let me take a look. The ink air is very cold, and the front air is even colder. There is a wisp of untimely fragrance in the coldness, like sandalwood ash falling into the inkstone after the rain, so clean that it makes you weak. Borrowing a cup of hot tea, I forced it to speak. As the heat climbed upwards, the seam loosened a little, and then half of the paper slipped out. I hid my eyes in my sleeves: I saw a touch of red from the official seal pressing on the corner of the paper, which was restrained but biting. From then on, Fengya became a hunter. Celebrities want dignity, business gangs want connections, yamen want merit, and the shogunate wants people. What everyone is staring at is where the back of the half piece of paper leads. I just wanted not to be dragged into the water by it - but the more I tried to pull away, the more my fingers felt like they were stained with ink, turning black as soon as I touched it. A pen can be passed down from generation to generation, but it can also kill people. Every stroke I make is like patching up an old mark for someone else. The old marks have been healed, but the fire has moved towards me. If the paper that caused trouble is burned, it may survive; if you keep it, it will see blood sooner or later. What do I do?