Chapter 81: A Treasure Found

Although the old man ran a shop that dealt in brushes, ink, paper, and inkstones, he was not very literate. He had some knowledge about inkstones, but calligraphy models held little interest for him. When he saw Zhou Zhi examining the calligraphy models, he found it dull and, shaking his head in frustration, retreated into the back room.

Having just been scolded by the shopkeeper, the clerk, Little Qi, now followed Zhou Zhi around with an ingratiating smile, step for step. In his mind, although Zhou Zhi clearly knew his way around inkstones, judging by his shabby attire, there was no way he would actually buy anything. So Little Qi figured he would just humor Zhou Zhi for a bit, hoping he would leave soon and be done with it.

Unexpectedly, Zhou Zhi was examining the calligraphy models with great seriousness, as if he were a genuine scholar. This amused the clerk—these days, the world was indeed strange; even illiterate farmers were putting on airs like scholars.

Zhou Zhi, naturally, had no time to mind what Little Qi thought. In his previous life, he had been an amateur calligraphy enthusiast, most often practicing and copying the works of Guan Daosheng and Zhao Mengfu. Now, he meticulously flipped through every model of their calligraphy he could find.

Though these models were forgeries, they were remarkably convincing. If Zhou Zhi hadn't developed some expertise in their style, it would have been almost impossible to tell the difference.

He had also copied forgeries in the past, but his calligraphy teacher had carefully explained the essence of the couple's style. In his eyes, these counterfeits were even more convincing than those he'd seen in his previous life.

Looking at these calligraphy models, Zhou Zhi suddenly thought of Feng Fang, the great Ming dynasty expert known for his skill in forging calligraphy and paintings. Amusing! Feng Fang, after all, lived in this very era—perhaps he had already begun practicing and preparing to imitate ancient books. If fate allowed, Zhou Zhi thought, he must meet this remarkable master one day.

After quite some time, Little Qi grew clearly impatient. The weather was cold, and he longed for Zhou Zhi to leave soon so he could return to napping by the charcoal brazier. However, after being scolded by the shopkeeper, he dared not rush Zhou Zhi. Suddenly, as if struck by a thought, he flashed a fawning smile and said, "Have you picked out a calligraphy model you like, sir? If you’re not satisfied with these, our shop does have a few more."

"Where? Bring them for me to see!" Zhou Zhi, still in high spirits, replied.

"Well...well, perhaps you’d better take a look yourself," Little Qi hesitated, then pointed casually to a spot beneath the inkstone display shelf.

The inkstones were displayed on a long table covered with sturdy, blue-grey cloth that hung down to the floor, concealing everything underneath.

Little Qi was, of course, referring to the space hidden behind the cloth. Zhou Zhi glanced at him and understood—he was being told to lift the cloth and look for himself.

Curious about what calligraphy models might be hidden below, Zhou Zhi gently lifted the cloth.

My heavens! The space beneath was thick with cobwebs and layers of dust—who could say how many years had passed without a single cleaning? Luckily, Zhou Zhi lifted the curtain slowly; if he’d been hasty, the dust would have billowed up, filling the shop.

This so-called Treasures Pavilion was like a donkey dung ball: polished on the outside, but full of rot within.

Still, Zhou Zhi saw that under the grime, there was indeed a pile of battered, discarded calligraphy models.

He glared fiercely at Little Qi and snapped, "Are these the worthless scraps you mentioned?"

Little Qi looked sheepish, but managed to defend himself, "Well, these models have just been stored a bit too long—some for twenty or thirty years or more, from when my master was a young man. But they might still be useful, sir. You’d best take a look."

In truth, Little Qi had no intention of humiliating Zhou Zhi. He simply thought that, given Zhou Zhi’s shabby appearance and endless browsing, the man couldn’t afford to buy anything. He might as well let Zhou Zhi pick something from this heap, even give him a few volumes for free, and send him on his way.

Hearing this, Zhou Zhi grew interested and turned his attention back under the table.

With the cloth blocking the light, he couldn’t see clearly, so he pinched his nose and dragged the heap of tattered models out into the open.

At once, a cloud of dust rose, choking the air and making it hard to breathe.

Little Qi silently cursed himself—if only he’d kept his mouth shut! Now cleaning up this mess would take ages.

Zhou Zhi stepped aside to let the dust settle, then began to examine the calligraphy models.

As Little Qi had said, these models had been stored for ages. Many of the pages were yellowed or blackened; some had even had corners gnawed off by rats. The collection was a jumble, with works from all sorts of people, though Zhao Mengfu and Guan Daosheng predominated.

Zhou Zhi had patience and, despite their condition, inspected each one carefully. This made Little Qi want to slap himself; had he known Zhou Zhi would be so meticulous, he’d never have mentioned the pile beneath the table.

As Zhou Zhi turned page after page, his eyes suddenly lit up. "Ah!" His heart leapt wildly in his chest.

In this trove of old papers, Zhou Zhi had unexpectedly discovered a copy of "The Thirteen Postscripts on Orchid Pavilion."

His calligraphy teacher in the previous life had explained in detail the essence of Zhao Mengfu's regular and running scripts. This edition of "The Thirteen Postscripts on Orchid Pavilion" was in running script, and as Zhou Zhi examined it closely, he became ever more ecstatic.

In later times, collectors and treasure hunters would occasionally find a rare gem in a flea market, and Zhou Zhi had always envied such luck. He’d never once had the chance himself. How he’d longed in his past life to see one of their original works! Who would have thought that, after crossing into the Ming dynasty, he would be blessed by such fortune?

After each postscript, there was Zhao Mengfu's personal seal. Though some were faint, they were undeniably genuine; this "Thirteen Postscripts" was no doubt an authentic original.

What a rare treasure!

As far as Zhou Zhi knew, there was only one extant copy of Zhao Mengfu’s "Thirteen Postscripts on Orchid Pavilion."

Legend held that when Zhao Mengfu was fifty-seven, he was summoned by imperial edict to travel by boat from Wuxing to the capital. While stopping at Nanxun in Zhejiang, the venerable monk Dugu, who was seeing him off, presented him with a copy of the Song-dynasty "Dingwu Orchid Pavilion." Zhao Mengfu was so taken with it that he could hardly bear to put it down, and, thick-skinned, asked to keep it and brought it north. Another companion, Wu Sen, also carried a copy of the "Dingwu Orchid Pavilion."

The journey to the capital took over a month by water. With time on his hands, Zhao Mengfu studied the two books intently, gaining much from them. Upon arriving in the capital, he wrote "The Thirteen Postscripts on Orchid Pavilion."

In later generations, only fragments of the "Thirteen Postscripts" survived. Yet here, in the Ming dynasty, Zhou Zhi had found it intact.

Well, not entirely untouched—some pages had corners chewed off by rats, and there were a few rat droppings on top. Zhou Zhi hurried to brush them away, then turned to Little Qi and asked, "How much for this calligraphy model?"