“So that’s how it is…” Ethan let out a sigh of relief, then immediately realized she was being teased by Adam Sullivan. She glared at Adam Sullivan angrily. “You’re so bold! You dare not listen to me? I’m going to tell Madam.”

“Hey, hey…” Adam Sullivan grabbed her. “You’re not really that petty, are you? It was just a joke.”

“Who’s joking with you?” Ethan blurted out, then noticed her hand was being held by Adam Sullivan. She tried to shake it off as if shocked by electricity, but couldn’t break free. Suddenly, her eyes turned red and tears welled up. “You’re bullying me, you’re bullying me, I’m going to tell Madam…”

“You really are a child at heart—always crying, always tattling.”

Adam Sullivan let her go and said, “Alright, alright, I’ll go with you to move it.”

Ethan bit her lip and glared at him. “You’re not a good person.”

Adam Sullivan shrugged. “Look at you, barging in and yelling, pointing fingers. Who’s the bad one here? We servants have our dignity too, you know.”

“Dignity? I’ve never heard a servant say that before.” Ethan thought to herself. Actually, with her childish temperament, she wasn’t really bad at heart. It was just that Madam doted on her and the others respected her, so she’d grown a bit spoiled. Now her heart softened, and she spoke gently: “Then, could I ask you to help move the potted plant for Madam?”

Adam Sullivan propped his chin and thought seriously for a moment, then said, “Alright, then this… servant will do it, though it’s a bit beneath me.”

Ethan burst out laughing through her tears. “You’re really something.”

Adam Sullivan had just put down the rag when a scatterbrained person suddenly rushed in, shouting “Waaah!” like a madman.

“Ethan is here too? Haha, perfect timing! Quick, mount this painting for me…” Henry Clark said excitedly to Ethan, holding a scroll.

His eyes landed on Adam Sullivan: “You, take my calling card and go invite people. Tell them to come to the residence for drinks tomorrow morning. Invite all the young gentlemen in the capital—don’t leave a single one out.”

Henry Clark stood with hands on hips, full of energy: “I want the whole capital to know, I want everyone to come and admire the famous painting gifted to me by the Princess of Qinghe. Haha, I, Henry Clark, am elegant and talented. It’s only a matter of time before I win the princess’s favor.”

Adam Sullivan’s eyes nearly popped out. It was said that the Princess of Qinghe was not only beautiful as a flower, but also highly accomplished in poetry and painting. Would such a beauty really fancy Henry Clark? And even gift him a famous painting?

Adam Sullivan went to take the painting from Henry Clark, saying, “Young master, I’m best at mounting scrolls. Let me do it for you.”

As he spoke, he unrolled the painting on the Eight Immortals table. The scene unfolded before Henry Clark’s eyes: it was “The Seven Sages of the Bamboo Grove.” Only four sages remained in the painting, each with distinct features, postures, and expressions, complemented by attendants and vessels to enrich their personalities.

“The Seven Sages of the Bamboo Grove?” Adam Sullivan’s eyes lit up green as he stared at the painting, admiring the way the mountain rocks were outlined with fine, supple lines, perfectly rendering their texture. The sages, some sitting, some reclining, exuded a sense of freedom. This Tang dynasty work by Sun Wei almost brought the sages to life.

Only a fragment of the Seven Sages painting remained, with four sages left. In later generations, this work would be priceless.

“A treasure beyond price,” Adam Sullivan thought to himself.

Henry Clark boasted from the side, “Exactly, the Seven Sages of the Bamboo Grove! The princess gave it to me—she must have recognized my talent and seen me as a sage. Haha…”

“Damn it, what nonsense,” Adam Sullivan cursed inwardly. As his gaze swept over the painting, he suddenly paused, then smiled.

“Young master, this painting is a forgery.”

“A forgery?” Henry Clark’s eyes nearly popped out. He immediately snapped, “What do you know, servant? This is the princess’s gift—how could it be fake…” Though he said this, he was a bit uncertain and craned his neck to look.

Adam Sullivan pointed at the attendant in the painting. “Young master, look, this is a very skillful forgery. But the lines of this attendant are a bit stiff. And here…” Adam Sullivan pressed on the painting, and a trace of wet ink appeared under his finger. “The ink isn’t dry—clearly a recent work. And look at the inscription. The forger is good at copying paintings, but not so skilled at imitating handwriting. The original artist, Sun Wei, was known for his unrestrained style—the inscription should have been written in one go. But here, you can clearly see traces of copying.”

Adam Sullivan took a deep breath. “Besides, this painting is said to be a palace treasure, kept by His Majesty. Even if it was bestowed to the Princess of Qinghe, why would she give it away so easily?”

Henry Clark’s face turned green. He didn’t want to believe Adam Sullivan, but couldn’t help it. The guy sounded so convincing and confident that it was hard not to believe him.

“You know about paintings too?”

Adam Sullivan smiled slightly. “I know a thing or two.” He spoke modestly, but in his heart he was even more arrogant than Henry Clark, wishing he could say, “I’ve forged at least eight hundred famous paintings—only a microscope from the future could spot the flaws. Authenticating paintings is child’s play for me.”

Henry Clark frowned. “If it’s a forgery, why didn’t the Princess of Qinghe tell me? What does that mean? Is she testing me?”

Adam Sullivan said, “I’m afraid the princess just wanted to embarrass you.”