...So I wonder — are these complete poems already, or stray lines you chanced upon?
By the Qinhuai River, Old Qin put the question to Ning Yi. Beside him, Kang Xian gave a sigh. "'Three mountains half sunk beyond the blue sky, two waters dividing the Egret Isle'... even as stray lines, that is already the bearing of a master who has gone through the hall and into the inner chamber..."
Ning Yi looked at the verses, then laughed. "Heh. Stray lines." He spread his hands. "I don't understand poetry..."
"This young fellow isn't being straight with us, or we'd have a few fine poems out of him today..."
That was what he said, but in these days of writing poetry and ci, it was common enough for an author to chance upon a stray line or two, and the two men did not press him further. They moved on to the calligraphy, which was a rather specialized field.
A poem could always be said to belong to someone else, but the writing could hardly be claimed to have been set down by another long ago — and several of these scripts had a coherent spirit of their own, already formed into a system.
Both men were masters of the art, and they could see the technique at a glance.
To calligraphers of their caliber, every stroke of a character has its own soul and bone. These characters written with a charcoal stick might not yet reach the level of a master, but they already revealed considerable skill.
Just as Nie Yunzhu had felt, in this day and age no one could believe that a man would practice this kind of stroke technique at home; anyone who could write like this with a stick of charcoal must have calligraphy skills well above what was shown — especially in those several scripts never seen before, which held a value beyond words for the two of them.
That last one, the slant bold that looked like blocks of squares, might have nothing but novelty to it and little worth as reference, like a somewhat more sophisticated child's game. But the Song typeface and the Slender Gold in which "three mountains half sunk beyond the blue sky, two waters dividing the Egret Isle" was written genuinely delighted them both — there was real mastery in it.
Those two scripts had in fact only appeared in the Song dynasty. The Wu dynasty's course had been much like the Song's: men of letters everywhere, Confucian learning highly developed, and in the search for the new and the changing, innovations of every kind had appeared. These two scripts were undoubtedly results both innovative and best suited to the taste of the age.
One step ahead of the age makes a genius; two steps ahead, and a man usually turns into a madman. These two scripts stood exactly upon the foundation of the age, and yet looked like the fruit of quantity turning into quality — a perfect breakthrough.
Ning Yi had probably not thought much about it while writing; at most he had wanted to give people a bit of dazzle in order to make his point. But by his way of thinking, even without conscious calculation, all sorts of complicated weighing had long since been done in his subconscious, filtering out the simplest result.
In matters of culture there was no need to keep hiding his light; and that final "unreliable" slant bold of his also served, just right, to prove that he was in the habit of messing about with interesting-looking things — it could keep the impact of the Song typeface and the Slender Gold while making that dazzle and impact seem natural, so that it was not merely sharp.
When the two men afterward discussed calligraphy, Ning Yi mostly kept silent, only now and then putting in a few key points he happened to know. These two were true masters, their fundamentals far solider than his own; best to say little, listen, and hide what he lacked. Bored as he had been these days, he too had been improving his calligraphy, and the occasional remark was greatly to his benefit.
Had he been an ordinary talent or scholar, he could hardly have gotten such instruction from the two of them. Of course, if they took up a teaching attitude, they would mostly give explanations aimed at their own disciples; for ordinary students, hearing too much was instead of no benefit. But Ning Yi's own powers of summary, discrimination and organization were superb, and toward the two men's erudition in this field he felt only admiration, without worship or blind following — so listening did him no harm at all.
The discussion of calligraphy went on for about an hour. They now and then wrote and drew on the whiteboard with their charcoal, their hands blackening as they went, and afterward they went down to the river to wash.
Old Qin and Old Kang no longer brought up the matter of charcoal versus brushwork; with the level Ning Yi had shown, a small innovation in a small academy needed no pointers from them. If he meant to spread it widely, of course, there would still be problems.
Ning Yi clapped his hands, then shook the water from them and remarked casually, "Actually, charcoal really is poor to write with. In a few days I plan to get some gypsum and see if I can turn out a few sticks of chalk.
Then I'll paint the board black, and the writing on it will be white — clearer than charcoal, and easy to wipe clean."
"Gypsum?" Old Kang said, puzzled. "And what is this chalk?"
"You calcine the gypsum over a fire, stir in water, then let it set in molds into sticks. It should serve for writing. It doesn't smudge as easily as charcoal, and your hands won't end up filthy like this."
In the Wu dynasty, gypsum and lime had long since existed. Old Kang thought a moment, then nodded. "That's right enough — calcined gypsum can indeed be used for writing... Heh, no need to look for anyone else for this. If you want it, this old man can have a batch made up for you. I don't know what size and shape you'd want, or whether there's anything else to note."
Kang Xian had a great house and great estates, as Ning Yi well knew; since the offer was made, there was no declining it. He gestured out the shape of a chalk stick. The process was simple to begin with; even without deliberate effort, the hard lumps that formed in lime kilns could be used to write. There was not much to explain: "Have the craftsmen try it a few times, maybe mix in some clay or other impurities — best if they can work out the mix that writes best."
"This old man knows that much. Agui." Old Kang, going out every day, always had four attendants in his train, two men and two women, kept close by; he called one of them over. "You heard Master Ning's words. When we're back, pass the order down." The man bowed and answered, "Yes."
"Heh heh. We've been talking about writing all this while, and the tea's gone cold..."
The three of them had had charcoal in their hands, so the tea already brewed was hardly fit to drink; by now it was growing late, and they had lost much of their mood for chess. They sat a while longer at the tea stall, and Kang Xian's maid brewed fresh tea.
The white board still lay beside them, and the talk naturally still went round and round the writing. Before long Old Qin began appraising the styles of some of the noted calligraphers of the day; he was skilled at calligraphy himself, and the appraisals came off his tongue at ease, and along the way he teased Kang Xian's writing too.
Kang Xian laughed and cursed him back: "Clerical script and wild cursive, maybe I'm no match for you. But when it comes to regular script, you're nowhere near me."
Old Qin laughed. "See, this is each trade having its own specialty. Minggong spends every day lecturing men on the way of the gentleman; if his regular script were poor, he would lose his authority to convince anyone. Only, to have trained his regular script to such a level purely for the convenience of lecturing people — Minggong may well be the first in history..."
After a while of such joking, Old Qin thought for a moment and shifted the subject.
"...Still, seeing Liheng's writing puts this old man in mind of someone. He is of my own Qin clan, and quite talented. Years ago, when he was in the Eastern Capital, he submitted his poems to this old man as a calling card; his talent and his conversation were both outstanding, and he wrote a fine hand besides.
His style and composition are rather like the flavor of Liheng's 'three mountains half sunk beyond the blue sky' — he had the marrow of Yan's sinew and Liu's bone... Only, back then his writing had not yet escaped the old molds. I wonder how it stands now."
Ning Yi's eye twitched slightly. On the other side, Kang Xian had begun to laugh. "By Lord Qin's account, can you mean the present Censor-in-Chief, Qin Hui, Qin Huizhi?"
Old Qin nodded. "That is the man. A few years ago, when the Liao came south, they seized his whole family. But the man has both courage and resource; deep in the tiger's and wolf's lair, he still managed to play along with the Liao, and the year before last, when the Liao attacked Shanyang, he took the chance to bring his family south. Oh... he is Censor-in-Chief now?"
"It came in the court gazette a month ago. Because of that return to the south he is much favored now — especially for not forgetting his wedded wife in a time of peril.
They say that in Liao territory the Liao meant to hold his wife back, and the two of them went to great pains to stage a fine show before they were allowed to travel south together.
On the road they were discovered by the Liao, and only a few loyal servants fighting to the death in the rear won them their escape — showing he knows how to command his people... Alas, the fighting at the front has gone badly too, which makes deeds like his seem all the more precious.
Still, at court it is not all praise; there is a good deal of suspicion about his return as well. They think the affair is questionable, that there must be something else behind it..."
Old Qin thought about it, then shook his head.
"Hard to say. But baseless speculation is not what a gentleman does. From what this old man saw of him then, the man's character was upright, his conduct fair and magnanimous, his concern for the country and the people genuine — it could not have been put on. As for what comes later, we need only watch what he does. Heh... speaking of which, Huizhi's old home is in Jiangning too. Should he come here in future, Liheng might meet him — who knows, they might find they have something to talk about..."
Ning Yi blinked, then rubbed his nose with a complicated expression. After a moment he finally laughed and gave a nod that was purely perfunctory.
Old Qin and Old Kang noticed nothing amiss. Kang Xian picked up his cup, took a sip, and looked at Ning Yi. "But Liheng — with talent like yours, can it really be that you have not the slightest thought of official rank and merit?"
Judged purely by time, Ning Yi had not known the two long; as Kang Xian said, it was a watery acquaintance of chess games and conversation.
But men of letters like these all harbor, by and large, thoughts of the country and its people: to set a heart for Heaven and Earth, to set a life for the people, to carry on the lost learning of the sages, to open peace for ten thousand generations — or else to learn the arts of letters and arms and sell them to the imperial house.
These were things beyond doubt, needing no discussion. As things looked now, Old Qin did nothing all day but play chess at his leisure, and Kang Xian put on the airs of a wealthy idler; but there must be complicated reasons behind it.
From these days of acquaintance, from the Mid-Autumn Shui Diao Ge Tou to this talk of writing and chalk, all of it together — for the two of them, the matter of Ning Yi's talent needed no further discussion. The next question was therefore plain. Old Qin, in the past, had sometimes sighed that it was a pity he was a live-in son-in-law; that had mostly been sighing rather than questioning. But this question now carried a different meaning.
Through that whole afternoon's talk, between the lines, Ning Yi's wish to disown the name of talent had been obvious; it did not look like a joke or a casual brushing-off. Who in the world truly had no thought at all of rank and merit? There must be something hidden. And these two were no ordinary men; since Kang Xian had asked in such a manner, he had truly taken a fondness for talent. This was already... the attitude of a man preparing to lend a hand.
The autumn wind blew past the riverbank with a soughing chill and stirred the willow branches. Old Qin raised his teacup and slowly blew at the leaves floating in it, lifting his gaze; clearly he too was curious to hear Ning Yi's answer. Sensing the meaning in the words, Ning Yi shook his head slightly.
"I know that if I say it, no one will believe me, but... there are things I truly do not wish to do. Talent, reputation, rank and merit — I don't want to touch any of it. That... is the truth."
"Hm?"