CHAPTER 1478: THE MOST BEAUTIFUL WOMAN

From her perch above, Lory adjusted the slim earpiece tucked beneath her hair, letting the hushed voices flow into her ear. The signal came from the brooches pinned neatly on Hugo’s and Edmund’s coats, subtle devices, crafted to blend with their attire. They looked like mere ornaments, no one would guessed it was a recording tools.

Lory listened intently, her focus sharpening as Hugo engaged the enemy with his genial charm, while Edmund stepped in with his cool, businesslike tone.

Together, they played their roles with seamless precision, drawing out responses, pressing at the edges of their opponents’ composure.

To an outsider, it was a polite exchange. To Lory, every nuance carried weight: the strain behind a laugh, the clipped hesitation before a word, the thin veil of courtesy barely covering wariness.

When Zhao Li Xin’s enter the conversation, she could feel the subtle change in their adversaries’ rhythm, their voices tightening, caution bleeding into each phrase. Lory’s lips curved with quiet satisfaction.

So they were wary of Zhao Li Xin. Lory’s gaze flicked toward the floor, narrowing slightly as she caught the subtle changes ripple across the enemy’s expressions.

Salvo De Rova, normally aloof and unreadable expression flash a flicker of calculation in his eyes, making a small crack in his composure. While, Alexander Behrenn expression was brimmed with a mix of curiosity and interest, and the Saintess... Lory stifled a sigh. The girl gazed at Zhao Li Xin with eyes that all but sparkled, utterly enthralled.

’Seriously?’ Lory thought, pinching the bridge of her nose.

She’d always assumed the Saintess and Salvo were meant to be an item, or at least, that’s how the publicists spun it: a princess and her knight. Neat, glossy, and perfectly marketable to charm the young and gullible audience.

But if the Saintess couldn’t rein in that lovestruck face now, their painstakingly carved image would crumble right here in front of everyone.

Before she could dwell further, Fargo’s voice crackled into her ear, steady and crisp:

"Lory, Lucia Viora just arrived. Two o’clock from your position. Champagne dress, white fur coat."

Her eyes narrowed, sweeping the hall until they found her. Lucia stood apart, sipping her wine with practiced nonchalance, her crimson hair a blaze of fire against the pale fur draped over her shoulders, a contrast that drew more than a few wandering glances from nearby men.

She carried herself with an air of ease, relaxed yet faintly bored, choosing not to join the Saintess’s circle. Instead, she held her position at a calculated distance, far enough to watch without becoming entangled.

"She didn’t enter with the others?" Lory frowned.

"She did," Fargo said. "But she split away the moment they crossed the threshold. Maybe she was given a different task."

"Probably — she’s one of the Constellation members, after all. She wouldn’t be here for free champagne," Lory said, studying Lucia closely.

"That’s what I thought, too. Don’t worry, we’ve got CCTV on her and our agents in the ground watching her. Nothing irregular so far. But my guess is, she knows we’re watching."

"Hm, I expected as much..." Lory exhaled slowly.

At a glance, the woman appeared relaxed, almost careless, but Lory could see beneath her nonchalant manner, Lucia’s eyes were quietly sweeping the room, cataloguing faces and movements like a patient snake calculating its strike.

Suddenly Fargo added, with the faintest edge of amusement: "I don’t mean to annoyed you, but I think Miss Viora is targeting your husband now. Whether she’s probing for information or planning a softer approach, expect her to make contact."

Lory’s gaze hardened. She had already caught the way Lucia’s eyes lingered on him, assessing, calculating. Whether it was seduction, manipulation, or political maneuvering, the aim was the same: Zhao Li Xin was a lever too valuable to ignore.

Zhao Li Xin’s expression remained placid, untouched by the noise and motion of the world around him, as though his very existence were sealed behind a pane of glass, near enough to see, yet untouchable.

A chill seemed to radiate from him, stark and undeniable, and that very coldness fed the whispers beginning to stir. Doubt slipped through the crowd like smoke: could a man so detached, so cold, truly be the hand behind paintings that stirred the heart? Or was he merely a beautiful figurehead, a crafted façade to draw attention while the true artist remained hidden in the shadows for some reason?

Hugo cut through the rising unease with a sharp clap. "Now then, let’s have Mr. Zhao grace us with his talent." His voice rang bright, almost theatrical, pulling every gaze back to him. He clapped twice more, brisk and decisive, and attendants hurried forward.

With practiced care, they unrolled a vast sheet of white paper across a heavy desk, setting out brushes and ink as though preparing an altar. The crowd stilled, caught between curiosity and disbelief—none had expected such a direct unveiling.

"Please, Mr. Zhao," Hugo said, gesturing with respect.

Zhao Li Xin stepped to the desk, regarding the blank page in silence. For a moment, it seemed the paper itself might swallow the room in stillness. Then his onyx eyes stared briefly toward the third floor where Lory was. Soon after, a faint smile touched his lips, though it was vanishing almost instantly.

Yet even that passing shadow of warmth left the onlookers stunned, as though they had witnessed something rare, too precious to hold.

Zhao Li Xin took up the brush. The first stroke fell with decisive grace, followed by another, and another, movements fluid, unhesitating, as though the image had lived within him all along and was merely waiting to be set free.

Artists in the crowd leaned forward unconsciously, recognizing mastery in every line. Skepticism withered, replaced by hushed awe and admiration.

Within minutes, a wisteria tree emerged beneath his hand, its blossoms cascading in pale moonlight. The ink seemed to glow, alive with quiet majesty. Then, with the simplest flick, Zhao Li Xin added a swing dangling from the branch, a humble detail, yet it transformed the scene into something deeply human.

A painter blurted out what others dared not. "Why add a swing? It’s unnecessary. Don’t you think it spoils the perfection?"

Zhao Li Xin set down the brush without looking at him. "My wife likes to ride a swing." He states matter-of-factly.

The hall rippled with shock. His wife? Eyes darted toward his left hand, catching the glint of silver there. And in that heartbeat, Hugo and Edmund swore they could hear dozens of hearts breaking at once.

Still, Zhao Li Xin was unfazed, his gaze resting on the painted swing, as if lost to a memory beyond their reach.

When he spoke again, his voice was soft, but it carried through the hall with startling weight. "A kind and gentle woman... a very beautiful woman, more beautiful than anything I ever saw, yet she possessed a heart that was even more beautiful."

The silence that followed was absolute, thick enough to still every breath. No one had ever imagined that a man who carried himself like a walking iceberg could harbor such devotion, spoken with a tenderness that cut deeper than fire.

Now curiosity stirred in every heart, just how beautiful must his wife be, for a man like Zhao Li Xin, so beautiful and talented, to love her with such helpless reverence?

A painter, his voice subdued, dared to ask, "Then all your paintings... are they inspired by your wife?"

Zhao Li Xin raised his eyes at last, and for the first time, the hall felt the full force of his presence. "Inspired?" His gaze swept over the canvases displayed around them.

"More like my presentation of how the world must be in her eyes. In her eyes, the world can be dark, cold, lonely, merciless even... but there is beauty in every part, in every detail, in the fluttering petals in the wind, in ripples on water, in the flicker of a bonfire. She says that even in the darkest time of our lives, there is always hope... if only you choose to look."

The hall grew still, every soul bound in the gravity of his words. It was as if the air itself had shifted with heavy memory, from the past they thought they had forgotten.

One of the painters finally broke the silence, his voice touched with reverence. "Did your wife ever hear the last speech of Princess Lorient at L’Markieth? It hasn’t even been a decade, yet it feels like a lifetime ago..." His gaze lingered on the purple wisteria. "That color... for a long time it has become our symbol of hope, it carries us... Actually, it still is."

"No matter what nation you were born in, you all must agree that this color gave us the strength to carry on. It gave us hope for the future, and for that alone, we owed them so much." Hugo’s voice rang with conviction as he lifted his glass high.

"For the Lucient, for King Lucas, and never forget... our princess, Princess Lorient."

Glasses rose in unison, the hall erupting in solemn cheers:

"For the Lucient!"

"For King Marcus!"

"For King Lucas!"

"For Princess Lorient!"

Alexander’s expression tightened, the toast striking him like a blade he hadn’t expected. Yet with the eyes of the crowd and the press upon him, he had no choice but to follow, raising his glass in salute to the family he despised most.

At that moment, Allina mirrored the gesture, a polite smile plastered across her lips. But behind the mask, her chest ached with a familiar frustration.

No matter how many years had passed, Princess Lorient’s name still lingered in every heart, untouchable, irreplaceable. How can anyone live up to that? she thought bitterly. How could I ever hope to shine when her existence lingers in everyone’s heart and memory.

Could she ever surpass her?

Lory watched the commotion downstairs, then Fargo’s voice crackled through her earpiece.

"Your husband is good, with this, he just handed us an even bigger momentum," Fargo laughed.

His tone shifted into a playful tease. "But hey, did you hear what he said? I never thought he could sound that romantic in front of so many people with a straight face. So tell me, princess, how do you feel?"

Lory’s face flared red, like a crab fresh out of boiling water. She cupped her red cheeks. "I think... I can never show myself in public again!"

Honestly, it felt like when the most gorgeous girl in school suddenly declared you were the prettiest of them all, so flattering it made you want to crawl under the nearest table and never come out.

If people saw her face now, would they be disappointed? Probably. She’d already braced herself for rumors that she only managed to snag Zhao Li Xin thanks to her title and her wealth... and yet here she was, dying of secondhand embarrassment from his straight-faced husband.

"Don’t worry, Lory. According to our polling, your looks aren’t that bad. And if you’re still insecure, well—makeup these days can work miracles, you know," Fargo said with the kind of confidence that suggested he actually believed he was being supportive.

"You’re not helping!" Lory snapped; she really wanted to cry now.