34 The First Calligraphy at Lin 47th Stree (2/2)

After the steward had suffered for a long time, they finally agreed. Sangsang took out a silver box from her bag and carefully counted the silver many times before she handed them out. The two sides signed a draft contract and from this moment on, the small paintings and calligraphy shop at Lin 47th Street in the Eastern Area officially belonged to Ning Que.

After they happily sent away the steward of a real-estate agency, Sangsang put down her bag and took out a handkerchief to cover her head and face. Then she pulled out a big towel out of nowhere and fetched a bucket of water from the backyard to begin doing chores.

Thinking that they might sign the contract today, the two checked out from the inn and took their luggage with them. If they could save a day's inn fee, they would do it. Apparently, that steward didn't notice this detail, otherwise, he might have set a higher price. However, it was more likely that he would be scared off or lose his mind by this mean couple of young master and handmaiden.

The little calligraphy and painting shop was filled with the smell of wet dirt. Skinny Sangsang laboriously moved around with a water bucket and cleaned up the place by standing on a stool and hunkering down. Occasionally she would lift her arm and wipe her forehead that was not covered by the handkerchief, though there was no sweat on it at all.

As usual, Ning Que wasn't concerned about these things. He took a chair and sat by the door, looking at the faint corner of the Imperial Palace, the lonely Lin 47th Street and the shadows of pagoda trees on the street's sides. He felt that this quiet and elegant place would definitely bring good businesses in the future. Besides, with so little money spent, he could not help but feel delighted and said with a smile, ”It's time for writing!”

Busy Sangsang also had a good mood today, so she firmly replied, ”Night is better.”

”Okay.”

After a rough dinner, Sangsang unfolded a scroll on a gleaming table and took out an ink stick as well as an inkstone. Then she poured water into the inkstone and rolled her sleeves, so she could lift her wrist as well as expose her fingers. By slowly grinding the ink stick in the inkstone by moving in a circle, the ink shortly came out and became much denser.

Everything was left from the previous owner. Even though they were not of great quality, they were counted as a complete set. Ning Que was already holding a writing brush and silently waiting aside. On the penholder in front of his right hand, there were five or six writing brushes, but the quality of the brush tips was hard to tell.

As the poor-quality ink liquefied, there was no fragrance but a bad ink smell. The brushes on the penholder weren't the best for writing, but he didn't mind those details. With a face filled with a hopeful smile, he kept his left hand's thumb and index finger behind his back, continually rubbing them as if he felt itchy in the heart.

The so-called ”itchy” was not because he wanted to steal silver or spank the little handmaiden Sangsang's skinny butt, but that he wanted to write calligraphy.

Ning Que loved calligraphy. Even if there were no calligraphy stationery but only a tree branch or a big black umbrella wet with rain, he would frequently write on the muddy ground or bluestones. For the sixteen years of his life, writing calligraphy and meditation were undoubtedly the most important things to him.

The thick brush was dipped into the inkstone and dragged around to absorb the ink entirely. Standing upright, Ning Que quietly looked at the paper in front of him and raised his brush from the inkstone like a sharp blade drawn from a sheath. As the brush landed on the paper, it felt like a blade was cutting into a bone. Every time he slightly moved his wrist, a vertical line appeared on the paper.

This vertical line was dense and heavy just like the thick eyebrows of a strong man.

As Ning Que started the first stroke, he stopped slightly and then continued smoothly. After all these years, the way of calligraphy was carved deeply into his mind and soul. So he didn't need to pay any attention to the design and was able to write the words on the paper skillfully. As the brush tip moved from right to left, a simple yet carefree style leaped out of the paper.

The first work of calligraphy Ning Que written in Chang'an only contained two sentences.

”When mountains stand tall and rivers run wild, there can be countless beautiful scenes in this world. But if there isn't the Old Brush to draw them, then they'll all be forgotten sooner or later.”