In the dining hall on the first floor of Fan Tower, Wang Yan stood alone upon the raised platform. After returning the formal greetings, he clasped his hands behind his back and stood there perfectly straight.
The people below were captivated by Wang Yan's bearing, and Fan Tower sank into an even deeper silence.
Whether scholars, merchants, or the Fan Tower staff serving at the sides, none of them made a sound. All of them watched Wang Yan on the platform, their minds running through all manner of things connected to him—from his love story to the calligraphy that the great figures of the day had tacitly acknowledged as peerless, then to his various works and the words on establishing the Way that Wang Yan had recently spoken and which were now spreading.
After running through Wang Yan's impressive exploits in their minds, the silent scene abruptly erupted into an uproar. Their return greeting was unanimous, as though they were paying homage, and they all bowed to Wang Yan together. Yet what they said was a chaotic jumble.
Some loudly introduced themselves, while others fought to rush forward and ask Wang Yan how one established one's heart and one's destiny. Wang Yan had arrived in Bianjing relatively early, and the scholars from Yang Province had not yet come to sing his praises. Even if they had, only a few days had passed, not enough for the news to spread. Now that the living, breathing Wang Yan was standing before them, those who had long been thinking about it naturally had to ask.
Others likewise pushed forward eagerly, wanting to get closer to Wang Yan as they loudly begged him to write several pieces of calligraphy for them. They were willing to pay.
This was because Wang Yan had not written