Sima Ting entered the little courtyard house and set the gift his master had sent on the table.
It was a writing brush presented as tribute by Jiannan Circuit, also called the "Blue Edge Crown-Piercer." Its bristles had to be chosen from the fleece of more than a thousand sheep before a single brush could be made.
Once, only the imperial family could use one. These days, nearly every one of the Nine Great Surnames owned several.
Sima Ting said, "My master is sorry to trouble Young Master Guan, but he asks that you write the fragment of verse that has recently made you famous throughout Bianjing."
He carefully drew a piece of silk from his sleeve.
You nodded and wrote upon it: "A roc flies toward the North Sea, the wind turns to the rising sun; with books and sword in hand, the road ahead stretches on and on."
You were about to lift your brush when Sima Ting added, "Please include Second Sir's added line as well."
You wrote, "And now my books and sword drift without a home."
Sima Ting's gaze settled on the writing. Though he had practiced martial arts for years, at that moment he could feel the force with which the young man held the brush, as though drawing a sword from its sheath, its cold gleam showing through. He praised you inwardly. Young Master Guan's calligraphy seemed to have improved again; an ineffable quality flowed between the lines.
Sima Ting put away the silk. He had meant to ask about a martial arts question that troubled him, but then he remembered the strength of bone and sinew you had just displayed and swallowed the words on his lips.
He cupped his hands in farewell. "Young Master Guan, the Gathering of Beauties Banquet is