Chapter 130: Drawing (Part Two)
Ji Ma clapped her hands in delight: “Great, this is the one! He will be the male lead in my novel.”
“I protest, you are infringing on my portrait rights.”
“It’s just a resemblance.”
“Given that you previously included me in a song and tarnished my reputation by spreading rumors that I have eighty-eight lovers, I don’t believe you.”
“This time it won’t happen. As long as the main character doesn’t have your name, who would associate it with the Holy Hall’s holy warrior George?” Ji Ma pointed to her own face and added, “Besides, can’t this succubus alone compare to eighty-six lovers?”
George looked at Ji Ma, gradually emanating the scent of peach blossoms.
“Wow, so you’re into this.”
“A thousand ordinary women would still be no match for you.” George held Ji Ma’s hand tightly.
Ji Ma didn’t feel too resistant; rather, she had a hint of anticipation. Realizing this, her face flushed, and she pulled her hand back forcefully, saying:
“I was just spreading rumors.” She didn’t want to bear the burden of being among eighty-six lovers.
“You’ve finally admitted to spreading rumors.” George retracted his hand and said, “I’ll tear this painting up and draw you a new one.”
“Don’t!” Ji Ma stopped him. “This is the picture I envision as the most fitting.”
George said earnestly: “I am not a stud horse.”
Ji Ma lifted her tail and pointed the tip at herself, saying, “Me, Jenna, and Frostleaf.”
“Ahem, it’s just that our friendship is advancing.”
“Find someone who can simultaneously enjoy friendships with three platinum-level beautiful girls.”
“Beowulf.”
“He’s just someone with lots of lovers,” Ji Ma replied, “and he qualifies as a stud horse anyway.”
“He’s in double digits.”
“I can match a hundred.”
George: …
“Weren’t you just admitting to spreading rumors?”
Even more frightening was the fact that Ji Ma was still speaking the truth.
“My understanding evolves over time.”
“In less than twenty seconds?”
“Yes, I’m a fickle woman.”
George sighed, conceding, “Fine, you can use this painting. At the banquet the other day, the bard was actually singing that song you made up; the whole hall heard it.”
“Oh? You didn’t get beaten up, did you?”
“No, everyone just laughed, and I had to go on stage to clarify. Then they believed me.” George said, “Unfortunately, there were too many knights at the banquet; only about a third of them heard me speak.”
As a result, George’s social anxiety worsened.
“How pitiful, I’m sorry.”
“You were apologizing while laughing, making your apology seem very insincere.”
“Anyway, you can tell when I’m lying, so I can’t be bothered to pretend. I’ll come clean, hahahaha—don’t pull my tail, how old are we… I know I was wrong.”
George released Ji Ma’s tail and said:
“I didn’t expect this to be the image I hold in your mind.”
“Yes, now you know.”
“You promise not to tarnish my reputation in the novel.”
Ji Ma’s eyes glimmered slyly; as long as I don’t say he’s a certain well-known holy warrior, then it’s not tarnishing George’s reputation. I could name the main character Big Hammer George, right?
“I promise.” Ji Ma placed her hand over her heart and vowed, “Just add some details; there are some places that need to be changed.”
“Okay.”
George sat down again.
Ji Ma leaned on his shoulder, continuing to point with her tail on the drawing paper.
“This face isn’t handsome enough; the chin should be a bit sharper…”
“Remove some of the beard…”
After a dozen minutes, George looked at the almost identical image of himself on the paper and asked, “Ji Ma.”
“Uh-huh?”
“Just tell me to draw a self-portrait next time.”
“Okay, draw a self-portrait.”
George took a deep breath, telling himself that domestic violence is wrong, domestic violence is wrong…
George wanted to erase the crooked mouth, but Ji Ma quickly reached out to stop him, saying, “No! The crooked mouth is the essence of this painting; you can’t erase it.”
George said, “I reflected on it; I act honorably, don’t bully the weak, and I’m not arrogant. I would never show a boastful or smug smile.”
“Ah, my novel’s protagonist is merely based on you.” Ji Ma said, “Characters like you who are orderly and good are not appealing; the ones who are strong and do as they please while standing on a moral high ground are the ones readers like.”
“Most of your readers should be ordinary people, right?”
“Exactly.”
“They should prefer paladins or similarly just and kind protagonists, shouldn’t they?”
Ji Ma countered, “In White City, if someone pointed at your nose, insulted you by saying your wife is cheating, and beat you with a stick, but he’s just an ordinary person, and you happen to be on the verge of losing control, how would you respond if you retaliated and caused injury or serious harm, and couldn’t stop him?”
“According to the justifiable defense law, I should call security and turn to leave to stabilize myself.”
“And what if you have an ordinary girlfriend with you and can’t escape?”
“I’d cover my head with my hands and dodge his attacks.”
“And not fight back?”
“No fighting back. That would violate the law, turning defense into brawling.”
In White City, the law tends to favor ordinary people because when a superhuman strikes, ordinary people usually end up dead or seriously harmed, while a superhuman won’t feel much from an ordinary person’s attack.
“Well, that’s standard behavior for an orderly good person,” Ji Ma said. “But readers will only feel frustrated.”
“Why? The law punishes the perpetrator; he has to compensate and even needs my forgiveness.”
“So what? Readers see you getting beaten in front of a woman like a dog, and you sell your dignity.”
“I disagree. Were it not for the legal constraints on force, ordinary people would have been harmed by force long ago. They should support the law.”
“Because this law goes against the basic justice of ‘if you’re hit, you hit back.’ Moreover, in daily life, lawful citizens are more easily harassed by some ruffians. These petty matters can’t be enforced by law enforcers, often resulting in muddy resolutions or both parties getting punished lightly. If a lawful citizen fights back, they end up having to pay for the other person’s medical expenses; they don’t have the same luxury of time as ruffians to waste.”
Ji Ma said, “So the novel should be written like this: after the main character’s woman is harassed, the main character smiles faintly and uses some extraordinary ability to hypnotize the other person, disguising as someone drunk who gets trampled by a carriage or something like that. The satisfying bit is breaking the other guy’s head in one punch, but since someone’s watching, he’s innocent.”
George shook his head and said, “That plot is too wicked.”
“Better than the harsh justifiable defense in White City,” Ji Ma argued. “Besides, isn’t this a way for readers to vent their frustrations? If they feel at ease, they won’t be quick to anger the next time they face a ruffian. That objectively lowers the crime rate.”
George frowned and wanted to say Ji Ma’s book would harm people, but then he recalled a dock worker he had seen earlier, someone who could read. Every morning they would leave for work, carrying goods taller than themselves, stopping only when the evening glow fell on their backs. To save money, they didn’t drink and read some distasteful lewd novels.
Life was already so hard; shouldn’t others be allowed to indulge in a fictional world to find joy?
His heart softened as he said, “That makes sense.”
So he didn’t erase the crooked mouth, starting to change pencils and draw shadows on the paper.
Ji Ma leaned back on his shoulder again, softly chatting in his ear, and the two indulged in lighthearted banter.
Ji Ma asked, “Is your armor repaired yet?”
“No.”
It seemed George was still neglected by the Holy Hall.
She rubbed her head against George’s face, listening to the sound of the pencil scratching on paper, tilting her head to watch George’s focused profile.
After finishing the drawing, with the sun shining overhead, Ji Ma checked the time; it was eleven in the morning, and said, “George the Great Painter, come have lunch with me.”
With that, she turned her head and called out, “Xiao Li?”
“Here, master.”
George, who had been focused on drawing, suddenly noticed that Ji Ma’s cat maid had appeared beside the pavilion at some point. Next to her was a charcoal grill with flames, a mobile dining table with juice and alcohol, and several mismatched basins filled with meat.
“Bring my gear over.”
“At your command, master.” Lianxi walked toward Ji Ma, holding an apron, tying it around Ji Ma’s waist. She got closer to George, her ears perked up, and she didn’t give George a good look.
Ji Ma tied on the apron and said, “You continue to draw women; I’ll go do some barbecuing.”
George picked up the pen again, looking at the pure white drawing paper, but all he could think of was Ji Ma tying the apron behind her.
