The little girl was none other than Meng Zhaojun, whom they were all focusing on. Madam Tang did not make a sound and gestured for the children to be quiet as well.
Her gaze lingered on the figure drawn on the little girl’s paper—wasn’t it her own grandson?
The expression, the pose, so vivid and lifelike, her technique was no different from that of a master’s.
Perhaps even masters couldn’t achieve such likeness; the little girl’s foundation in painting was so impressive that Madam Tang couldn’t help but praise her inwardly. However, when her eyes shifted to another table and the painting there...
What Madam Tang saw, other madams noticed too, and their eyes involuntarily all turned towards Mrs. Meng.
Meng Zhaojun’s mother, Mrs. Meng, also saw that her daughter wasn’t drawing but copying someone else’s painting.
Though her daughter’s copy was strikingly lifelike, it was, after all, a reproduction of someone else’s work—no matter how good her painting skills were, she had already lost to someone else.
Mrs. Meng’s mind went "thud," the tension making her almost faint.
The maids by her side promptly caught her; her previously rosy cheeks were now pale.
Mrs. Meng had always maintained the most noble demeanor in front of these many ladies; she came from a scholarly aristocratic family, and despite marrying a civilian official, her strong backing had ensured her comfort and satisfaction.
Especially after the birth of her clever and quick-witted son and daughter, in others’ eyes, she was a good mother, and her children were always praised by others.
Yet she had never expected her upbringing would be seen as no better than that of a farmer woman’s, and her daughter’s intelligence and wisdom were not surpassing that of a younger farmer girl.
She had argued with Madam Tang earlier, but now her daughter’s performance was disappointing to her, a slap in her own face.
She had no words to admonish her daughter; some things were best scolded in private, and in public, she always maintained the etiquette of a noble lady.
She also absolutely could not let this incident expose her daughter’s secret to others.
Meng Zhaojun seemed to have noticed more people coming in, familiar scents surrounding her; she looked up briefly and saw Madam Tang, some noble ladies, and also her mother.
She was usually quite adept at reading expressions, but now, in her eagerness to win, she failed to notice the upset look on her mother’s face.
Far from feeling any remorse, a smug smile curled the edges of her mouth, and nobody stopped her from continuing to paint.
Meng Zhaojun hastened her movements, meticulously copying the painting Ye Shiqi had made before.
If it weren’t for the fact that one sheet of paper’s ink had dried while the other’s had not, people would have been completely unable to tell whose painting was whose.
Meng Zhaojun glanced at her masterpiece, identical to Ye Shiqi’s, and feeling highly satisfied, she revealed a triumphant smile and put down the brush!
Only then did she look up, performed a curtsy to the gathered noble ladies, and lightly walked to her mother’s side.
"Mother, I am betting on a painting competition! Look, I haven’t disgraced you, have I?"
Meng Zhaojun didn’t receive praise from Mrs. Meng, nor was there any word of reprimand; it was not the time to scold her daughter, and she couldn’t let others laugh at their family.
Mrs. Meng, with a stern expression, only said to her daughter, "Jun’er, come back to the hall with mother, you’ve already disrupted the banquet’s mealtime."
By saying this, she was hinting to her daughter to let the matter rest and to move on from there.
Meng Zhaojun usually understood the subtleties in her mother’s words, accustomed to her indirect way of speaking.
Unfortunately, today’s bet with Ye Shiqi was solely for Tang Shunyan’s attention, and more so, to assert her pride—she had not grasped the meaning behind her mother’s words at all.
"Mother, I bet with that farmer girl. Don’t you think I won?"
Her daughter’s words nearly drove Mrs. Meng to illness from anger, her body swaying slightly, and though pricked, her reply remained as gentle as ever, betraying no signs of her growing anger.
Of course, she was not angry at others but at her own daughter, who had openly challenged others and refused to accept defeat gracefully, creating a scene in front of so many people—this made her, as the mother, feel embarrassed.
It was best to treat the incident as mere child’s play and not let it cause further unpleasant repercussions.
"Jun’er, you’ve competed with such a clever little girl in painting. Have you seen now? Without comparison, one wouldn’t know that even such a young girl can be so proficient at painting. You mustn’t be arrogant and must strive to work harder, alright!"