Cyrus had a very peculiar feeling, as if he were looking into a mirror, but it was not quite the same as looking into an ordinary mirror.

The person in the painting before him was not a simple copy, but rather a “concentrated spirit,” radiating a powerful spiritual charisma, as if it possessed a soul of its own.

He subconsciously stroked the sparse beard on his chin and couldn’t help but praise, “Hmm~~~ Not bad! Really not bad! Little one, your talent in painting is truly outstanding!”

This time, it was pure praise, filled with genuine joy, without a trace of jealousy, not even envy.

Lawson had guessed right—what Silas valued was only magic.

After admiring it for a long while, the weathered, middle-aged mage turned to look at Lawson, his eyes burning, as if he were gazing at an inexhaustible treasure trove.

“Lawson, this painting is excellent, but it won’t make money, because no one is interested in a stranger mage.”

Lawson knowingly asked, “Then what should I do, mentor?”

A sly smile, understood by all men, appeared on the middle-aged mage’s face: “Only beautiful women are true hard currency! There will be countless lustful men willing to spend a fortune for them!”

Before Lawson could speak, he clapped his hands forcefully, speaking faster and faster.

“Men’s interests are very single-minded. From childhood to old age, what they’re most interested in is beautiful young girls.”

“That pure, innocent, clear gaze, that smooth, tender skin, and that naturally alluring figure with a hint of youthful shyness—these are irresistible temptations for any man.”

To these words, Lawson gave a hundred percent agreement.

Back on Earth in his previous life, whenever a pretty young girl passed by a barbecue stall, all the men sitting there, regardless of age, marital status, or moral standing, would inevitably turn to look.

Even if their bodies didn’t turn, their necks would; if they forced themselves not to turn their necks, their eyes would still follow.

Even if some tough guy managed not to move his eyes, the corners of his vision would still sneak a glance.

That deep-seated masculine instinct, rooted in the blood, could never be blocked by acquired reason!

“So, you know what you should paint now, right?”

Lawson immediately nodded, “Mentor, can I paint that beautiful girl named Lillian whom I met downstairs yesterday?”

‘Pfft~~’

Silas choked on his own saliva and quickly shook his head, “That girl is beautiful, but she’s a rose with thorns—she can’t be painted!”

Lawson put on a look of ‘disappointment’: “But she’s the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen. If I haven’t seen something, I can’t paint it.”

Silas couldn’t refute this, and he knew very well that if Lillian were truly painted, it would definitely fetch a high price—but the consequences would be endless.

But he was indeed too short on money. To buy a low-level standard spell at the mage’s guild cost 30 crowns, while even after racking his brains and risking his life to hunt bandits deep in the mountains, the bounty was only 10 crowns.

After thinking it over, he asked, “You can paint her, but you need to change her appearance a bit—make her eyes bigger, her mouth larger, in short, make it so no one can recognize her as Lillian.”

Lawson immediately shook his head like a rattle drum: “No, I can’t do it!”

“When I paint, there’s a strange inspiration in my mind. If I change anything, the inspiration disappears, and the painting turns out really ugly! Hmm~ really, really ugly!”

Silas believed this, because he knew many famous painters had their quirks, especially those who pursued perfection—if it was even a little off, it wouldn’t do.

So, he racked his brains for a solution. As he thought, he suddenly gritted his teeth, looking as if he was ready to risk it all.

“Wait here. I’ll go find that girl for you, and we’ll make money together!”

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Chapter 8: Both Danger and Opportunity

Seeing Silas about to head out, Lawson quickly said, “Mentor, didn’t you say all the pretty girls in town are dangerous?”

He was putting on airs, emphasizing the difficulty of painting, to increase his bargaining power so that Silas would teach him more magical knowledge.

And judging from Silas’s previous wariness toward Lillian, that woman was anything but simple—one wrong move and he could end up dead in a ditch.

Dealing with Silas alone was exhausting enough; he didn’t want to add another tigress to the mix.

Silas had already reached the door, his hand on the doorknob, but in the end, he stopped and didn’t open it.

He didn’t want trouble either.

After a moment of silence, he said, “How about this—why don’t you repaint the girl you drew yesterday with a feather pen, but this time use oil paint?”

As soon as he finished, before Lawson could reply, he shook his head at himself.

“No, that won’t do. That girl dressed too conservatively. Those hypocritical moralists might like it, but most of them are penniless.”

After thinking it over, Silas finally decided to take the risk: “I know what I’m doing—there won’t be any danger.”

With that, he opened the door and walked out.

Listening to the footsteps fading away outside, Lawson carefully weighed the pros and cons.

After some consideration, he realized that this might not be all bad for him—there could even be benefits.

From Silas’s earlier words, he deduced that Lillian probably belonged to some organization in Whitehorse Town, and the leader of that organization was likely called Mrs. Percy.