Chapter 817

Soft, even, carrying a warm golden hue.

Mottled halos of light, along with maple leaves swaying gently in the breeze, flowed and shifted slowly across the ground, under the veranda, and upon people's sleeves.

Amidst the interplay of light and shadow, everything in the courtyard seemed to be veiled in a dreamlike filter.

Quiet, graceful, and full of poetic imagery.

"Let's do it here."

Natsume Chikage made his decision on the spot.

He picked up his drawing paper and brushes, carried the easel, and walked to the maple tree in the courtyard.

He then asked the Furukawa family's maid for help, bringing over two round stools for seating.

He set up the simple easel and placed the drawing paper.

He gestured to Konoe Hitomi:

"Hitomi, you sit here."

He pointed to the round stool placed opposite him.

Konoe Hitomi said nothing; she walked silently to the stool and sat down with a composed posture.

She faced Natsume Chikage, her back against the mottled maple trunk, her gaze calm as she looked at him.

She was like an exquisite model waiting to be depicted.

Natsume Chikage, separated by a distance of a few steps, carefully studied Konoe Hitomi sitting in the light and shadow.

Today, she was still wearing that simple, well-fitted modified maid outfit, which outlined her slender yet upright figure.

Her long black hair was combed meticulously, tied back with a simple hair accessory.

On her fair face, her features were as delicate as a doll's, yet they lacked vivid expression.

Her eyes were calm and waveless, her lips pressed into a straight line.

Her entire being exuded a sense of aloof, quiet, and near-inhuman beauty.

At this moment, she sat quietly under the maple tree.

The soft afternoon light filtered through the red leaves, casting patches of light and dark upon her.

A breeze brushed past, and occasionally, a few early-red maple leaves drifted down leisurely.

This scene itself was an incredibly beautiful painting.

As Natsume Chikage watched, for some reason, the corners of his mouth couldn't help but curve upward into a subtle arc.

A faint, amusing emotion welled up from the bottom of his heart.

After all, the Konoe Hitomi of the past hadn't teased him any less.

Now that there was a rare opportunity to have her sit here quietly, allowing him to "wantonly" observe and depict her...

This feeling was quite marvelous.

It carried a small sense of pleasure from a successful "revenge."

And Konoe Hitomi, sitting opposite him, seemed to have keenly captured his fleeting smile.

Her calm eyes narrowed imperceptibly.

She looked at Natsume Chikage and asked directly, expressionless:

"Why haven't you started yet?"

Natsume Chikage reined in his smile, but the lingering warmth of it remained in his eyes.

He picked up a sharpened pencil and lightly traced a positioning mark on the drawing paper.

"Now..."

He looked up and gave her a slight smile.

"Starting."

He said nothing more, gathered his focus, and poured all his attention into the scene before him.

His gaze became focused and sharp.

The pencil in his hand began to trace the first soft yet certain line on the white paper.

The rustling sound of the pencil stroke echoed in the quiet courtyard, mixing with the rustling of the wind through the leaves.

Konoe Hitomi maintained her seated posture, her calm gaze falling on Natsume Chikage—or rather, on the brush in his hand.

She glanced at Natsume Chikage's focused side profile, which had quickly entered a state of intense, even somewhat charming, concentration.

She raised her eyebrows imperceptibly.

She had a feeling... this guy was up to no good.

But she couldn't say or do anything right now.

She could only let it be for the time being.

At this moment.

Inside the tea room, the attention of both Furukawa Masahiro and Furukawa Caixu was involuntarily drawn to this strange scene of "painter and model" in the courtyard.

Furukawa Caixu was simply curious and excited.

It was the first time she had seen Big Brother draw!

Furukawa Masahiro, however, was filled with doubt and confusion.

He couldn't understand at all why this young lady of the Midou family, whose thoughts were as deep as the sea, would suddenly want Natsume-kun to paint her personal maid.

What deep meaning lay behind this?

Could it really just be a simple test of Natsume-kun's painting skills?

The thoughts of the Midou young lady had always been like a deep, ancient pool, difficult to fathom.

He dared not speculate wildly, so he could only suppress his doubts and watch silently.

Time.

It flowed by quietly and slowly amidst the rustling of the pencil in the courtyard, the occasional sound of pieces being placed in the tea room, and the slight rustling of the maple leaves in the wind.

(Note: The source text repeats the flow of time.)

Who knows how much time had passed.

In the tea room.

Furukawa Caixu looked at the settled game on the chessboard, her little head drooping as she let out a sigh of frustration:

"Ugh... lost again."

She looked up at Midou Orihime, who remained calm opposite her, her tone full of admiration and unwillingness.

"Senior Sister is too strong... Caixu clearly felt she had improved a lot, but still couldn't win at all."

Midou Orihime offered no commentary on the game, nor any comfort.

She simply raised her hand slightly, the wide sleeve of her kimono sliding down to reveal her fair wrist.

Her fingers reached into her sleeve, and a moment later, she pinched a beautifully wrapped candy and handed it to Furukawa Caixu.

Furukawa Caixu's eyes lit up, and the frustration from just a moment ago was mostly dispelled.

She happily took the candy and thanked her sweetly:

"Thank you, Senior Sister!"

Just at this moment.

Midou Orihime, dressed in a red and black kimono and sitting upright before the chessboard, slowly turned her head.

Her gaze was cast toward the courtyard.

And in the courtyard.

Natsume Chikage also happened to stop the pen in his hand.

He exhaled softly, looked up, and said to Konoe Hitomi, who was still sitting upright:

"That's it, Hitomi."

"Thank you for your hard work."

Upon hearing this, Konoe Hitomi's body relaxed imperceptibly.

She slowly stood up from the round stool.

Her movements remained elegant, without the slightest hint of stiffness, as if the long period of sitting had no effect on her at all.

She stepped forward, walked behind Natsume Chikage, leaned over slightly, and looked at the sketch fixed to the simple easel.

The moment the scene in the painting entered her eyes—

Konoe Hitomi's eyes, which were accustomed to hiding all emotions and were as calm as a deep pool, could not suppress the clear ripples that rose within them.

What was presented on the paper was the scene of that quiet afternoon courtyard from just a moment ago. ===== CHAPTER 818 =====