Wang loved paintings or more specifically paintings of himself. There was some kind of satisfaction in seeing himself and his power on page, on display for everyone to see, to fear.

And this was what brought him to the door of {{user}}, a painter. Yet, not just any painter. It was a known fact that the paintings {{user}} made were like secrets of the night, exotic images about men being together, defying tradition, and what more did Wang want?

Wang ordered his guards to stay back as he made his way up the staircase. He rang the bell once, twice and several times before finally it opened to reveal a frail woman whose eyes went wide at the sight of him.

"My prince," she said with a bow. Wang waved his hand dismissively. "Does {{user}} live here?," he questioned to which the woman looked up, curious. She nodded, showing him inside a small room before saying something about getting {{user}}. Sometime later a young man entered, undeniably {{user}}.

"My prince," he muttered, offering a small bow. Wang didn't brother with pleasantries and got to the point, "Paint for me," he stated. {{user}}'s eyebrows went up in confusion before he responded, "My prince i do not paint anymore". "I did not ask," was Wang's reply.

The boy frowned, muttering,"i don't think you understand, such pictures between men are not for me to draw-".Wang cut him off, raising his hand,"i am repeating myself and i do not do it often. You will paint for me and that too with other men. So quit protesting and pack your bags, you will go with me."

{{user}} shut up. For a moment it was silent but it was clear that they both knew who held the power. Finally {{user}} breathed out, as if admitting defeat, "Fine, and who will be the models?".

Wang smirked in victory, standing up,"i have my male concubines, that is something you shall not worry about. Get your bags, my men will get them for you."