Chapter Forty-Four: Consignment

That night, Chen Jianchen received another paper crane message from Daoist Qingyun. The note said that he and Master Guanghan had already left Jiangzhou, heading north to the capital to attend a so-called Dharma Propagation Assembly.

The mention of such an assembly left Chen Jianchen somewhat puzzled. The Tiantong Dynasty had long suppressed the Hundred Schools, favoring Confucianism alone, and governed Buddhism and Daoism with a heavy hand. Fifty years ago, the court even launched a sweeping purge against the Buddhists, smashing thriving temples to rubble, forcing monks to return to secular life and their native places.

After this purge, countless derelict temples stood all over the land, becoming lairs for snakes, insects, tigers, and leopards, and often the source of ghostly rumors.

That ghosts should emerge from Buddhist temples was indeed most peculiar.

Yet “propagating the Dharma” was a phrase unique to the Buddhist tradition, and Qingyun’s words implied that this assembly was no small affair—held in the capital, right under the Emperor’s eye. This made it all the more strange.

Could it be that the court’s attitude had shifted, now seeking to honor Buddhism and Daoism?

Chen Jianchen immediately considered the possibility. New emperors always brought new ministers and new policies. Every change of reign would see the issuance of fresh edicts.

—The current Emperor, Ming, had only ascended the throne three years ago.

But lacking sufficient information, Chen Jianchen pondered for the better part of an hour and still could not form a clear picture, nor ascertain the truth of the matter. In the end, he could only let it rest.

One should not meddle in affairs beyond one’s station; the world of the court was too distant and obscure for someone as insignificant as he. It was best to first resolve his own problems.

At present, the most pressing matter was to carve out a true livelihood for himself in Jiangzhou, so he could bring his mother and A’bao into the city as swiftly as possible.

Establishing oneself required both capital and skill.

After much deliberation, Chen Jianchen formed a preliminary plan: he would open a shop for books and paintings in Jiangzhou. The Tiantong Dynasty was awash in scholarly culture, and such shops were immensely popular—every major city boasted more than a dozen, and if business went well, the yearly profits could be considerable.

Such shops could sell all manner of books, calligraphy, and paintings. The supply of books was fairly standardized, but sources for calligraphy and paintings were far more diverse. One could sell one’s own works, act as an agent for others, or acquire pieces by renowned artists to resell at a higher price.

The possibilities were vast.

Moreover, the value of calligraphy and paintings was highly subjective; should fortune smile, even a modest piece could fetch several silver ingots. Truly, one good sale could sustain the shop for years. Some shops, of course, resorted to more dubious means—passing off counterfeits as the real thing, which was all too common, and even more profitable.

However, to open a respectable establishment would require at least ten silver ingots as starting capital. Rent was one aspect, hiring staff another, but the most critical was acquiring the initial inventory.

One must also be prepared to weather a period of little to no business at the outset. These shops traded on reputation, relying on regular clientele. When newly opened, they were often deserted, and only with patience and persistence could success be achieved.

Thus, capital was the first major obstacle before Chen Jianchen.

He would not ask his family for money, nor was he inclined to borrow from Wang Fu. In the end, he would have to rely on his own abilities.

In the Tiantong Dynasty, there were many ways for a licentiate to earn a living: serving as a retainer, teaching, selling calligraphy and paintings, or composing poetry and essays for others.

But such paths consumed much energy and left little time to prepare for the imperial examinations. Therefore, unless forced by necessity, most scholars would never stoop to such means. Some would rather endure poverty and hunger than step out of their studies to seek a livelihood—most scholars, after all, came from comfortable families with steady incomes and need not trouble themselves over daily bread.

Chen Jianchen was different. He had no intention of pursuing office, and thus no such concerns. In his view, failing to support oneself and letting one’s family go hungry was the greatest shame of all.

Naturally, serving as a teacher or retainer was not feasible for him at present; selling calligraphy and paintings was the steadier path.

This was one of the main reasons he had so diligently practiced his brushwork. Once he felt his skill sufficient, he could select his best pieces and consign them to city shops for sale—many scholars took this route. It spared them the need to show their faces, allowed them to test whether their art was recognized, and, after all, no one ever complains of earning too much.

Consignment had its rules. The author set the price; if sold, the shop would claim a commission. If unsold within the agreed period, the author must reclaim the piece, or else it would be considered forfeited and the shopkeeper could dispose of it freely.

With a plan in place, Chen Jianchen devoted even more energy to his calligraphy, sometimes writing for hours, consuming much ink and paper.

This was necessary practice. When he felt his hand was steady enough, he would purchase blank scrolls for his best work, which could then fetch a worthy price. Random scraps of paper, no matter how well-written, held no commercial value—shops would not accept them if they did not meet certain standards.

Wang Fu, upon learning of his plan, immediately patted his chest and promised to introduce him to the proprietor of Snowy Mud Studio. Chen Jianchen did not refuse this favor.

Worldly connections are a form of art in themselves and should not be shunned.

Snowy Mud Studio was one of the largest and most reputable shops in Jiangzhou, but they were selective—every consignment had to pass the owner’s discerning eye. Even with Wang Fu’s introduction, without real skill, one would not be accepted.

This was an opportunity not to be missed—a real test of his practice thus far.

Chen Jianchen promptly purchased two blank scrolls at a cost of thirty copper coins, which stung a little. What pained him more was that he ruined one scroll through a moment’s lapse, leaving him with only one completed piece. The inscription read: “Let one’s life be as a lone reed hat in mist and rain, unperturbed and free.”

Seven characters, the script poised between standard and semi-cursive: upright but not severe, flowing yet not scattered, the strokes round and distinctive, smooth as drifting clouds and flowing water, imparting a sense of ease without looseness.

Chen Jianchen pressed his seal, dried the ink, then carefully rolled it up and tied it with a length of string.

With the work ready, he lost no time. Taking leave from Wang Fu, he went straight to Snowy Mud Studio on North Street to consign his piece. He was not entirely confident whether his calligraphy would be accepted and displayed for sale—after all, taste in such matters was highly personal and standards were elusive.

Still, he hoped this would mark a promising beginning…