Chapter 60: Practicing Calligraphy

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After taking his leave from the Bird-Walking Pavilion, Wang Fu remained unsettled on the way back, feeling that not only had he failed to see the manuscript of “The Chronicle of the Stone Dream,” but had also ended up soaked in wine by Zhuge Wolong—a truly worthless exchange.

Just then, Chen Jianchen revealed “The Chronicle of the Stone Dream” from his sleeve.

Wang Fu took the book, first surprised and delighted, then astonished, and finally overjoyed—his expression shifting like an actor’s changing masks.

At first, he believed Zhuge Wolong had gifted “The Chronicle of the Stone Dream” to Chen Jianchen, and was both surprised and happy. But upon opening it, he discovered it was not the manuscript at all, but rather a notebook. This left him bewildered. Looking closer, he realized it was a collection of insights on unraveling the rigid structure of the civil service examination essays—meticulously recorded, well-argued, and thoroughly reasoned. How could he not be wild with joy?

Wang Fu was a man of many appetites—he enjoyed pleasure, gossip, and fame in equal measure. Yet, knowing his own limitations, he did not dare set his hopes too high and preferred to seize happiness in the moment. Now, faced with such a valuable notebook, his heart burned with excitement.

“This… Liuxian, what is this about…”

He was nearly at a loss for words.

The printing technology of the Tian Tong dynasty was not advanced, and was strictly controlled. As a result, many works were difficult to circulate; apart from the main classics and their commentaries, most writings were still in the handwritten stage. Unlike modern society, where guides and reference books for exams are stacked high in every shop and available for purchase at will.

Thus, this “Chronicle of the Stone Dream” was of great value. In the hands of an ordinary person, it would be treasured and hidden away, for fear of others learning its secrets.

But Chen Jianchen thought differently. On one hand, he and Wang Fu were close; on the other, he believed that no matter how incisive “The Chronicle of the Stone Dream” was, it was not a miraculous elixir that would guarantee the top honors after a single reading.

At best, it was a stepping stone.

And a stepping stone need not be used by only one person.

“You may hand-copy it for your own use.”

Wang Fu immediately bowed in gratitude. “Liuxian, I truly did not misjudge you.”

Chen Jianchen replied, “Brother Futai, don’t forget—we’ve been through hardship together. A notebook like this is nothing between us.”

Wang Fu laughed—though he knew well that, during the disaster among the peach blossoms, he was the one who suffered most, but without Chen Jianchen’s repeated assistance, he might have long since perished.

That was a debt of life itself.

Wang Fu would never dare forget. What’s more, Chen Jianchen was brimming with talent and had boundless prospects. Staying close to him could only bring endless benefit.

Upon returning to the academy, Wang Fu immediately set to work, more diligent than ever, copying “The Chronicle of the Stone Dream.” As for Chen Jianchen, he returned to his own quarters, lost in thought.

The impression Zhuge Wolong left on Chen Jianchen was always tinged with mystery; his actions, though seemingly outlandish, were measured and precise. Perhaps beneath his madcap exterior, there beat a sharp and ambitious heart; or perhaps, wishing to pass on the torch, he gave “The Chronicle of the Stone Dream” to Chen Jianchen for that reason.

No matter the cause, Chen Jianchen had gained much from these events—not only did he significantly refine five new strands of righteous energy, but he also clarified the path he ought to walk in the future.

To know oneself and one’s enemy is to be victorious in every battle. Since the essay form is a set of shackles, then let him wear them and test their weight and strength—see their limitations and boundaries, then shatter them in a single blow.

Only after breaking can one rebuild.

Let my heart be bold; with sword in hand, I shall break through the dusty world. Righteousness surges within me, and when I take up the brush, inspiration flows like a god.

Such is the path to walk—unfettered and joyful.

With this newfound confidence, the world before Chen Jianchen instantly became vast and open; the sky free for flight, the sea wide for leaping fish—his whole body felt light and at ease.

Life at the academy resumed its usual course—save for one lingering variable: the piece of calligraphy Nie Xiaoqian had requested.

As for what to write, Chen Jianchen had not yet found inspiration or an idea. Nie Xiaoqian had set no deadline; she merely mentioned it, leaving ample room for reverie and imagination.

A woman of great wisdom, lively in nature, she was not one of those shackled by feudal etiquette.

Without inspiration, Chen Jianchen did not force himself to write, but instead used his spare time to continue teaching Xiao Yi.

The mouse demon was making fine progress, having learned to recognize over five hundred characters, though it could not yet write. Its body was too small—although its tail allowed it to sit upright, its tiny paws simply could not grasp a brush to write. Perhaps, a miniature brush tailored for it might help.

Suddenly, an idea struck Chen Jianchen: feathers! How had he forgotten quill pens? He could easily make a pen for the mouse demon from suitable chicken or duck feathers. The size would be perfect.

No sooner thought than done, he instructed Xiao Yi to fetch some long, stiff duck feathers from outside.

The mouse demon was puzzled by this request—stealing eggs was one thing, but plucking feathers from ducks was another matter. Still, it didn’t question, but hopped nimbly away.

Before long, the mouse demon returned, a bundle of duck feathers gripped comically in its tiny mouth.

Chen Jianchen selected a few suitable feathers, quickly fashioned them into quill pens, and taught Xiao Yi how to use them.

Only then did the mouse demon understand and quickly expressed its thanks. Gripping the duck quill in its little paws, it dipped it in ink and began to write. As a beginner, it could not write well—the characters crooked and wobbly, like a mouse drawing talismans.

After only a short while, the mouse demon grew bored and wanted to slack off.

Snap!

A willow branch in Chen Jianchen’s hand whisked through the air above its head, and it hurriedly bowed its head, pretending to concentrate—though inwardly, it grumbled: Why must a humble mouse demon practice writing? Recognizing words is enough; writing them is unnecessary. Am I to sit the imperial examinations and become a top scholar?

Tsk, tsk—a mouse as the top scholar, what a scandalous feat that would be!

Thinking of this, it grinned.

Chen Jianchen, unaware of the mouse demon’s fanciful daydreams, saw it distracted and swung the willow branch down again.

Half an hour later, the grueling writing practice finally ended. The mouse demon’s paws were so stiff they could hardly straighten. In a plaintive voice, it said, “Master, this writing is truly too difficult. Why not let Xiao Yi fetch you gold and silver treasures instead? As much as you desire, I can provide.”

It called itself the “Old Ancestor of Burrowing”—breaking into houses and stealing was its specialty.

But Chen Jianchen replied sternly, “A gentleman loves wealth, but takes it in accordance with the Way. How could one stoop to such unrighteous deeds? Xiao Yi, never mention this again.”

To practice the “True Chapter of the Three Virtues,” self-cultivation must come first. To say one thing and do another, to act against one’s conscience, is a grave mistake.

Scolded by his master, Xiao Yi dared not utter another word. Ah well, back to the wretched business of writing practice. After all, being a learned and well-mannered mouse isn’t such a bad thing…