As Chen Caozhi left the little courtyard, Run'er asked timidly behind him, "Ugly Uncle, are you going to bring Mother back?"
Zongzhi and Run'er had both been unusually quiet since Ding Youwei went out with Madam Wu. Xiao Chan and Qingzhi, who knew nothing of the circumstances, could not make them smile however they tried. Having lost their father while young, the two children depended on their grandmother and young uncle for survival. Delicate and sensitive, the little children often felt an inexplicable fear, always worrying that something precious would be lost-
Chen Caozhi turned and asked, "Do you trust Ugly Uncle?"
Both children immediately brightened and answered loudly, "Yes!"
"Good," Chen Caozhi said. "Then go upstairs to read and practice your writing. You must not neglect your studies for a single day."
Chen Caozhi arrived at the main hall of the Ding villa, paid his respects to Ding Yi, and calmly took the lowest seat. His gaze did not wander, yet he took in all three men in the hall. He remembered Ding Yi: aloof, stubborn, and strict in maintaining the distinction between gentry and commoners-
What mildly surprised Chen Caozhi was that the man in the seat of honor, an elderly scholar in his fifties wearing a short robe, with horn-shaped hair knots, sparse brows, and phoenix eyes, was none other than the old scholar he had encountered at Maple Forest Ferry yesterday!
There was another man, apparently in his forties, his hair bound in a blue headcloth beneath a bamboo crown with rolled ridges. He wore an unlined short robe and toyed with a jade ruyi inlaid with gold and shell. At first glance his complexion looked white, but a moment later one could discern yellow beneath the white and darkness beneath the yellow. The man had powdered his face.
Although Ding Yi, out of contempt for the humble Chen family, disdained to introduce the two distinguished guests to Chen Caozhi, Chen Caozhi could tell at a glance that the suitor was not the old scholar, but this powdered fellow.
In contrast to Chen Caozhi, whose gaze did not stray, Ding Yi, Regular Mounted Attendant Quan Li, and the powdered widower Chu Wenqian all inspected him without the slightest restraint-
The slightly plump Attendant Quan smiled and nodded faintly;
Ding Yi was rather surprised. After two years apart, this Chen Caozhi had grown into a fine-looking young man with a distinguished bearing;
The powdered widower Chu Wenqian glanced at Chen Caozhi, gave a cold snort, and fixed his eyes on the hall beams.
Ding Yi spoke. "Chen Caozhi, I hear you have gained a little acquaintance with calligraphy?"
Chen Caozhi offered no more than a brief reply. "Yes."
"This is Master Chu of Qiantang, an accomplished calligrapher," Ding Yi said. "Since you wish to seek his instruction, I shall grant your wish this once-bring brushes, ink, paper, and inkstones."
An attendant placed a set of writing implements on each of the small tables before Chu Wenqian and Chen Caozhi, poured a little clear water into the inkstones, and began grinding ink.
Chen Caozhi motioned for the attendant to step aside and ground his own ink, gathering his broad sleeve in one hand while grinding with the other, neither hurried nor slow, applying even pressure.
Chu Wenqian watched the attendant grind his ink with his hands tucked into his sleeves and said self-deprecatingly, "An exception today, an exception today-merely to give Attendant Quan and Secretary Ding a laugh."
The attendant soon had an inkstone of ink ready. Without waiting for Chen Caozhi, Chu Wenqian picked up a finely made, long-tipped mixed-hair brush from the White Horse Workshop in Jiankang, worked the ink through its bristles, considered briefly, then set his brush to Zuo Bo's Ziyi paper and began writing-
Quan Li, courtesy name Zijing, leader of Qiantang's gentry, rose and strolled over to stand behind Chu Wenqian and watch him write. Chu Wenqian used his specialty, the Han clerical script of the Ritual Vessels Stele. The stele's full title was "Stele Commemorating Han Chi, Chancellor of Lu, Providing Ritual Vessels for the Temple of Confucius." Its characters were neat and evenly sized, every side governed by compass and square, its rules exacting. The brushwork was lean, strong, and vigorous, rich in variations of weight. Its most distinctive feature was the particularly thick foot of the right-falling stroke, with its sharply defined, pointed upward flick; its swallowtails were especially splendid.
Chu Wenqian wrote the first half of "The Ospreys Cry" from the Book of Songs-
"Guan, guan, the ospreys cry, upon an islet in the river. Graceful and virtuous is the maiden, a fine mate for a gentleman.
Uneven grows the water plant; to left and right we seek it. Graceful and virtuous is the maiden; waking and sleeping, he seeks her.
He seeks her but cannot win her; waking and sleeping, he thinks of her. Long, oh long the longing; he tosses and turns-"
Quan Li held a prestigious, unsullied office and possessed considerable learning. To his eyes, Chu Wenqian's Ritual Vessels Stele script had weight to spare but insufficient composure, an abundance of graceful charm but too little classical elegance. Calligraphy of this quality could only be ranked at the bottom of the lowest grade.
Ever since the implementation of the Nine-Rank System, grading had become fashionable. Whether calligraphy, poetry and rhapsodies, music, painting, Go, or even looks and bearing, pure conversation and lofty discourse, enthusiasts would appraise them all, likewise dividing them into nine grades. The difference was that assessments under the Nine-Rank System were conducted by court-appointed officials headed by the Minister over the Masses, whereas grades in calligraphy, poetry, and the like arose from public discussion. In calligraphy, for instance, only two men were currently placed in the first grade: Wang Xizhi and Xie An.
Chen Caozhi was still grinding ink when Chu Wenqian finished half of "The Ospreys Cry." He laid down his brush, clasped his hands by his left shoulder, and turned his head. "I have made myself a laughingstock before you, Attendant Quan."
"Not bad," Quan Li said. "Fine writing worthy of a grade."
At this point, Chen Caozhi bowed slightly to Chu Wenqian and said, "May I borrow your brush?"
Chu Wenqian looked taken aback, then laughed. "Do you think this brush of mine is particularly good, and that good writing comes from having a good brush?"
Chen Caozhi remained composed and silent, his eyes clear and tranquil.
Shaking his head, the powdered widower Chu Wenqian had the attendant pass the long-tipped mixed-hair brush to Chen Caozhi. The more he thought about it, the funnier it seemed, until he could not help laughing aloud.
Chen Caozhi did not give Chu Wenqian another glance. He spread out the Ziyi paper, filmy as a membrane and white as frost, uniformly thin throughout, and secured both ends with paperweights. Holding a brush in each hand, he worked the ink evenly into them and, beneath the astonished gazes of Quan Li, Ding Yi, and Chu Wenqian, swept his brushes into motion. His left and right hands actually moved together, both brushes touching the paper at once-
Quan Li flicked his deer-tail whisk and strode over to stand on Chen Caozhi's left. Ding Yi also came over and stood on his right. Both leaned forward and craned their necks to watch Chen Caozhi write, staring dumbfounded.
At first Chu Wenqian remained comfortably seated, inwardly scornful. This is not a variety show or an acrobatic act. Writing with both hands to court the crowd's favor-nothing but scribbling. How can that count as calligraphy? But as he watched Attendant Quan and Secretary Ding, their eyes widened further and further, their expressions shifting from surprise to admiration. Chu Wenqian could no longer contain himself. He too rose and strolled over for a glance or two, and those glances gave him a shock-
Chen Caozhi's left hand was writing in the most popular regular script of the day, that of Zhong Yao's Declaration Memorial. The brushwork was poised and natural, its dots and strokes vigorous, combining firmness with suppleness. Owing to the fervent praise of General of the Right Wang Xizhi, whose calligraphy ranked in the first grade, the Declaration Memorial enjoyed immense fame. It was a model of regular script that calligraphers throughout the realm pursued with both mind and hand. Chu Wenqian had naturally copied it himself, so he could tell that Chen Caozhi's proficiency in this script was no less than his own. Yet this was only a boy of fifteen!
Even that, however, could have been put aside, for there were many calligraphers who captured the spirit of the Declaration Memorial in their copies. The marvel lay in the script Chen Caozhi wrote with his right hand. Chu Wenqian had never seen it before. It was running regular script, its characters like handsome, slender men, sleeves flowing gracefully yet with an imposing strength of character. Their structure was rigorous and their style upright and balanced, yet flashes of precipitous grandeur and enchanting beauty appeared from time to time-
Although Chu Wenqian looked down on those of humble, common birth, as a gentry scion who had received a systematic education from childhood, he did possess learning and cultivation. He understood that the script of Chen Caozhi's right hand had a distinctive character, another style of running regular script apart from those of the age's two great calligraphers, Wang Xizhi and Xie An. He had to admit that it was beautiful.
Regular Mounted Attendant Quan Li naturally had a keener eye than Chu Wenqian. Carefully observing the two scripts and the similarities and differences in how Chen Caozhi handled the brushes with either hand, he discovered that the two brushes did not actually move at precisely the same time: one preceded the other. After all, dividing one mind between two tasks was impossible. Leaving aside the Declaration Memorial regular script of Chen Caozhi's left hand, the running regular script of his right had strong, upright strokes, with faint traces of clerical brushwork. Unlike Wang Xizhi's subtle, restrained, vigorous yet graceful style, it possessed a distinct masculine beauty, clear-cut, lofty, and untrammeled-
Of course, both of Chen Caozhi's scripts remained far from the realm of innate naturalness and rounded ease. One could say that their overall presence was already there, but their refinement was still immature. In Quan Li's judgment, the Declaration Memorial regular script of Chen Caozhi's left hand could probably be ranked in the eighth grade, while this clear-cut, steeply soaring running regular script of his right deserved at least the seventh. Chen Caozhi was only fifteen; in calligraphy alone, his future attainments were boundless.
By contrast, Chu Wenqian's Han clerical script of the Ritual Vessels Stele, practiced for so many years, could barely count as ninth grade. It had already hardened into a lifeless mold, utterly devoid of spirit, with no further improvement possible.
The first update is here; the second will be a little later. When it comes, please help this humble Daoist climb the rankings. Today is Sunday, and the rankings will reset at midnight. I hope you readers will use your recommendation votes to push Cold Scholar even higher.
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