Chapter Forty-Five: An Encounter

Snowy Mud Studio stood in the middle section of North Street in Jiangzhou, its location strikingly prominent. Spanning nearly three hundred square meters, the shop appeared spacious and grand, exuding remarkable presence and style.

Flanking the entrance hung a couplet: “In spring, summer, autumn, and winter, treasures in ink abound; from east, south, west, and north, not a single unlettered soul.”

The horizontal signboard read: “A Swan’s Trace Upon Snow.”

This couplet was penned by the contemporary calligraphy master, Fushan Cao, and valued at a thousand strings of coins. It was the pride and signature of Snowy Mud Studio. Often, scholars would make a special trip just to stand at the threshold, gazing up in admiration, hoping to study the master’s brushwork, losing themselves in contemplation and inspiration.

Inside the first floor, paintings and calligraphy of all kinds adorned the walls, each piece hanging neatly and precisely. Customers would stand below, admiring the works; if they fancied a piece or wished to purchase it, they would ask an attendant to take it down.

Snowy Mud Studio consisted of three floors. The first floor displayed consignment works, generally modestly priced. The second floor offered pieces by established artists, whose prices were naturally much higher. As for the third floor, only the masterpieces of renowned artists could be exhibited there, and ordinary folk had no access.

Each floor was managed by its own steward. The one Wang Fu knew was the steward of the first floor, named Li Xueye—a most elegant name. Li himself was a scholar, though after failing the civil service exams for over a dozen subjects, he eventually abandoned that pursuit in his later years and became the first-floor steward at Snowy Mud Studio. Though his monthly wage wasn’t substantial, he enjoyed considerable unofficial income, living a comfortable life.

Upon hearing Wang Fu’s recommendation, Li Xueye glanced up at Chen Jianchen, saying coolly, “Young Master Chen, let’s see your calligraphy.”

His manner was neither warm nor cold, strictly businesslike, as if fulfilling a routine responsibility. In truth, he had little personal connection with Wang Fu; Wang was simply a regular customer, nothing more.

Such superficial acquaintance carried little weight, especially since Chen Jianchen was merely a poor student. If not for the distinction of having placed first thrice in the children’s preliminary exam, Li likely wouldn’t have bothered to use the word “please” at all. After all, scholars often came here, eager to have their work displayed on the shop’s walls, always with flattering words and humble smiles.

Chen Jianchen, a man of two lifetimes and deep composure, took it all in stride, handing over his calligraphy without a ripple of emotion.

Steward Li took it, spread it open, and was just about to offer his evaluation when he looked up and saw a group of people entering the shop. At once, he tossed the calligraphy aside and hurried forward, bowing and scraping, saying, “Young Master Wu, you’ve arrived!”

He had tossed the calligraphy aside so carelessly that, if not for Chen Jianchen’s quick reflexes, it would have fallen to the floor. Though Chen Jianchen would not have minded being told his work was unsellable, seeing it treated with such disrespect, the fruit of his painstaking effort so carelessly handled, made his expression turn cold.

Li, however, paid him no heed, devoting his entire attention to the arrival of a wealthy young gentleman, surrounded by four attendants.

This young man was dressed in luxurious brocade, his waist adorned with a silk sash and a large piece of Hetian jade. He wore a scholar's cap inlaid with a glowing orange-yellow gem.

The young gentleman was strikingly handsome and tall, standing there like a pine in the wind. Yet the air of arrogance naturally radiating from his face kept others at a respectful distance.

Snap!

He flicked open his folding fan, waving it lightly, and declared with haughty pride, “Steward Li, business is good today, I see.”

Li greeted him with fawning smiles. “Thank you for your praise, Young Master! May I ask if you’ve brought any new works today? You wouldn’t believe how eager Master Zhang from the southern city and Master Yang from the west are for your calligraphy—the deposits are already paid!”

The young gentleman replied with a slight smirk, “If I’m in good spirits, I’ll write a few characters… Today, I came to write. I intend to indulge in a bit of impromptu calligraphy.”

Li was overjoyed. “Please, Young Master, to the third floor!”

He dashed ahead to lead the way, and if not for decorum, would surely have ushered the young master upstairs himself.

It was a while before Li returned to Chen Jianchen, his face instantly resuming its businesslike mask. He said in a measured tone, “Young Master Chen, your calligraphy is of some merit—the shop will accept it for consignment. How would you like to price it?”

Suppressing his anger, Chen Jianchen replied in a steady voice, “One string of coins.”

A string, that is, a thousand copper coins—equal to a large silver ingot. For a consignment piece, this was a high price indeed.

Li gave him a surprised look, then sneered inwardly: another green youth with lofty ambitions, fresh from the academy, thinking his work already a priceless treasure. Hmph—no fame, no background; no matter how fine your calligraphy, who would appreciate it enough to spend so much? When your work sits unsold, gathering dust, you’ll learn how harsh the world can be…

Still, pricing was the author’s prerogative, and Li had seen many such cases before, almost all ending in embarrassment. He made no further comment.

He promptly drafted an agreement, and both parties signed without dispute.

According to the agreement, Chen Jianchen’s work would be priced at one string of coins and consigned at Snowy Mud Studio for ten days. If sold, the studio would collect a hundred coins as commission. During this period, the studio was responsible for safeguarding the work; if it suffered damage, half the price would be compensated.

The agreement also required Chen Jianchen to pay fifty coins for mounting and framing. Once payment was made, the agreement was officially in effect.

Chen Jianchen and Wang Fu took their leave.

Outside, Wang Fu whispered, “Liuxian, that young gentleman just now was Master Wu.”

“Master Wu?”

Stamping his foot, Wang Fu explained, “Our classmate—the son of Lord Wu, former magistrate and now Minister of Rites. Wu Wencai! For some reason, he hasn’t reported to the academy yet.”

Chen Jianchen asked, “Is his calligraphy very good?”

Looking around to ensure no one was listening, Wang Fu replied in a low voice, “He only writes cursive script. Rumor has it, nobody can recognize the characters once he’s finished.”

At this, Chen Jianchen couldn’t help but laugh. Though Wang Fu had spoken discreetly, his meaning was perfectly clear. After a moment’s thought, the truth became apparent: those eager buyers paying high prices for Wu Wencai’s calligraphy were really after something else—the connections behind the art.

A piece of calligraphy, a sum of money, a favor exchanged.

The subtleties of this arrangement were obvious.

Wang Fu added, “It’s said that Young Master Wu could have gone to the capital as an annual tribute scholar and studied at the Imperial Academy, but he stayed in Jiangzhou. I suppose it’s for Miss Nie of the Nie family.”

Chen Jianchen smiled, “Brother Futai, you certainly know a great deal.”

Wang Fu replied, a little embarrassed, “I only hear things here and there.”