Chapter Eighty: A Fine Inkstone Is Hard to Find

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Zhou Zhi hesitated for a moment, then set his small cart in front of the shop and stepped inside. The shop was well stocked with brushes, ink, paper, and inkstones, all arranged neatly. However, a fine layer of dust covered some of the items, evidence that they had not been touched in quite some time, revealing that business was far from brisk.

It was hardly surprising. The north of the Ming Empire could not compare with the south in terms of scholarly population. Qingdu County was a small, remote place, and though Gaochang Town was somewhat prosperous, there were not many scholars here either. Despite this being the only shop in town selling scholarly supplies, it was already quite an achievement that it managed to stay afloat.

Inside, there was only a young attendant, about twenty, wearing a cotton hat and a coarse, black padded jacket. The stitching on his coat was rough, threads sticking out everywhere, giving him a rather slovenly appearance.

At that moment, he was dozing by the charcoal brazier, but at the sound of footsteps, he snapped to attention and began to rise. When he saw Zhou Zhi’s threadbare clothes and face obscured by grime, he froze at once.

In truth, Zhou Zhi was quite handsome by nature, but after spending nights in the vegetable greenhouse and tending crops every day, his face had inevitably become dirty.

Upon entering, Zhou Zhi ignored the attendant and began to browse the shop at his leisure.

“Hey, what are you poking around for, you poor wretch? Can you even write?” the attendant snapped impatiently, seeing Zhou Zhi examine several inkstones before setting them down.

Zhou Zhi laughed. “Now, what kind of talk is that? Must one be able to write before one can look? Since you’ve opened this shop, naturally people should be allowed to browse. How else would you sell anything if you won’t let them look?”

“Hmph! You make a fair point, but it still depends on who’s doing the looking. What would a farmer like you know about inkstones? You think you can tell good from bad? Let me tell you, not a single inkstone here costs less than half a tael of silver. Best not to look—if you break one, you couldn’t afford to pay for it!”

Sharp-tongued, the attendant stood up as he spoke, strode over, and snatched an inkstone from Zhou Zhi’s hands.

Zhou Zhi had only been idly browsing, but he could already see all the inkstones were made of ordinary stone. Though the carvings were finely done and there was a wide variety, there was not a single truly excellent piece among them.

Clearly, the young attendant judged people by appearances, which irked Zhou Zhi. He snapped, “Is this how you do business? No wonder no one comes to your shop!”

The attendant’s face darkened at once. “Well, now! You think you can lecture me? Take a look at yourself. This is Four Treasures Studio—we sell scholarly supplies. Best you leave; you’ve come to the wrong place.”

As he spoke, he made as if to shove Zhou Zhi out.

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To be looked down upon by a mere shop attendant while shopping—Zhou Zhi was fuming, ready to quarrel with the young man. But on second thought, arguing with an attendant seemed pointless, so he forced himself to swallow his anger.

Still, Gaochang Town had only this one scholarly supply shop. He hadn’t finished looking, and to be driven out so soon left him unwilling to move.

Just then, a cough sounded from the inner room, and an elderly man in his sixties emerged.

The old man’s face was ruddy, his beard snowy white. Taking in the scene, he barked, “Xiao Qi, how many times have I told you, all who enter are guests and must be treated well. What are you doing now?”

His words had immediate effect. The attendant, called Xiao Qi, retreated a few steps to make way for Zhou Zhi, though he still pouted and muttered, “Boss, does that man look like a customer to you?”

The old man now looked Zhou Zhi over carefully. Seeing his farmer’s garb, he could only shake his head inwardly. But with years of experience and the wisdom of a seasoned merchant, he knew the importance of reputation and the principle that the customer is always right. He frowned and said, “Whether this brother buys or not, there’s no need to argue. Let him look as he wishes.”

Though Xiao Qi was disgruntled, he could only sulk off to the side.

Zhou Zhi smiled faintly at the old man and returned to where the inkstones were displayed.

He picked up an inkstone, studied it, stroked it, then tapped it lightly with his finger, and finally weighed it in his palm.

The old man, observing Zhou Zhi’s methodical scrutiny—looking, touching, tapping, weighing—was quietly astonished. He thought, This young man truly knows his inkstones, unlike those nameless scholars who rush to buy anything with fine workmanship, mistaking it for quality.

Zhou Zhi examined nearly every inkstone in the shop before shaking his head with a wry smile. The old man, curious, asked with a smile, “Did you find one to your liking, young man?”

“Not a single good inkstone,” Zhou Zhi replied.

“How can you say that? What could you possibly know?” Xiao Qi blurted before the old man could speak.

Zhou Zhi ignored him and continued to browse.

Though the old man was not highly literate, he knew a thing or two about inkstones and, hearing Zhou Zhi’s comment, grew interested. “I’ve been in business for many years. May I ask, what makes a good inkstone?”

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Zhou Zhi was taken aback, but seeing the old man’s kindly smile, he replied offhandedly, “First, a good inkstone must be judged by its material—hard, yet smooth to the touch, is best. More importantly, an inkstone must be practical. Many inkstones absorb ink quickly, but the ink they yield is coarse; others provide fine ink, but absorb it too slowly. Only those that excel at both are truly fine. The renowned inkstones—Taohe, Duan, She, and Chengni—are all famous for a reason. There’s also the Yishui inkstone, produced not far from here in the Western Yu Mountains by the Yishui River, which is also excellent. Yet none of these are found here.”

As soon as Zhou Zhi finished, the old man laughed. “Well said, but fine inkstones are hard to come by!”

In fact, the old man did own a superb Yishui inkstone, but it was a treasured collectible, polished and admired daily, never for sale.

Zhou Zhi’s casual remarks, listing the four great inkstones, made the old man immediately look at him with newfound respect. Xiao Qi, the attendant, was left staring in disbelief—despite selling inkstones, he had no real understanding of them and had never even heard of these ancient masterpieces.

The old man shot Xiao Qi a fierce glare, and the young man, thoroughly embarrassed, hesitated before forcing a smile and eagerly attending to Zhou Zhi.

Of course, none of the inkstones Zhou Zhi mentioned could be found in this shop, and if they were, the price would be beyond his means.

Zhou Zhi stopped looking at the inkstones and turned to browse the calligraphy copybooks. The shelves were filled with reproductions—from Wang Xizhi’s “Lanting Preface,” “Linhe Preface,” and “Xi Preface,” to Wang Xianzhi’s “Duck Head Pill Note” and “Mid-Autumn Note,” as well as works by famous calligraphers like Yan Zhenqing and Cai Xiang.

There were also many copies of Yu Shinan’s “Biography of Le Yi” from the early Tang and Mi Fu’s “Essay on Literature,” but the most abundant were the works of Zhao Mengfu and Guan Daosheng, a husband and wife celebrated for their elegant script.

Of course, all these were mere replicas; finding an authentic piece was nearly impossible.

In fact, many Ming emperors, such as Renzong and Xuanzong, were ardent lovers of calligraphy, and it was highly esteemed by both officials and the public—especially the graceful regular and semi-cursive scripts, for which Zhao Mengfu and Guan Daosheng were particularly renowned. Thus, their copybooks were the most popular at the time.

In later generations, Zhou Zhi would become deeply enamored with the calligraphy of Zhao Mengfu and Guan Daosheng. Even knowing these were fakes, he could not resist picking them up and savoring them with patient appreciation.