Song Lingling did not linger after speaking; she ran off in a flash. Before she left, Jiang Jinxi called out a farewell, telling her to be careful on her way.
“You know her?” Song Bo asked. He was carrying the small wooden basket in one hand and a lantern in the other. Since both hands were full, he struggled to control the lantern’s movements and failed several times to blow out the candle. Jiang Jinxi, unable to bear watching the clumsy display, took the lantern and extinguished the flame with a gentle puff.
“She placed that wooden basket at the courtyard gate yesterday. You must have seen it?”
As soon as Jiang Jinxi spoke, Song Bo realized the basket looked familiar. It turned out the basket really was intended for his household and had not been left there by mistake.
“She came back once more this morning, and I told her you would not be back until evening,” Jiang Jinxi said.
No wonder Jiang Jinxi wanted to head home so early today; someone had been waiting.
Braving the autumn wind, they entered the bedroom. Song Bo lifted the white cloth covering the small basket. The contents were not many, but the variety was rich: a small bag of rice, a piece of pork belly about the length of a palm, and some fruit. It was just enough for a day’s worth of food.
Another day passed. On September 14th, the day before Song Bo’s day off, he collected his wages. His money pouch now held four hundred and twenty coins.
Laborers did not get many days off; they worked nine days and rested one, totaling only three days of rest per month. However, Song Bo did not mind. Having accepted this job, he was mentally prepared.
With his rare day off approaching, Song Bo decided to go on a shopping spree at the market. He planned to buy materials to repair the window first, then some groceries. He intended to cook a meal tomorrow and invite Song Chazai and Liu Nanmin over for a drink to return some of the kindness they had shown him.
“Master Song!”
Song Bo thought he heard someone calling his name. He looked toward the source of the voice and saw a man who looked like a shop waiter. The clothes he wore were somewhat familiar. After thinking for a moment, Song Bo remembered they were the standard uniform of Xichun Pavilion.
The goods available at the commoners’ market were limited. To repair the window, he still needed to visit a large woodworking shop. Song Bo had changed his route for this reason, only to be intercepted by the waiter while passing Xichun Pavilion.
“You are?”
“When do you plan to take back the items you left at our establishment?” The waiter rubbed his hands together, asking with a hint of flattery.
Song Bo had completely pushed the set of brush, ink, paper, and inkstone he won from Qin Ling to the back of his mind. Although he had no use for those things, he could resell them for some silver. With this thought, Song Bo turned around and followed the waiter back to Xichun Pavilion.
The shop proprietor carefully brought out the Four Treasures of the Study. This set was very expensive; he could not afford to compensate Song Bo if even a small piece were damaged.
Gathering the items pushed toward him by the proprietor, Song Bo asked, “Do you know of any fair pawnshops nearby?”
The proprietor’s mind worked quickly, immediately deducing what Song Bo intended to do. “Master Song, surely you do not intend to pawn these treasures?”
“Why? Is that not allowed?” Song Bo asked.
“Setting aside the fact that your excellent calligraphy is a perfect match for this fine stationery, even if you have no use for them, you absolutely must not pawn them.” The proprietor looked around cautiously before raising his hand and whispering, “Be careful not to play with fire.”
“What do you mean by that?” Song Bo truly did not know that simply pawning an item could cause trouble.
“That Young Master Qin prizes his reputation above all else. You winning against him in public already created a grudge. If he finds out you pawned his belongings, he will surely come looking for trouble,” the proprietor said.
Qin Ling was an incredibly arrogant and overbearing person. He had inherited none of his father’s refined manners. Although he had not caused any major disasters, he frequently used petty, annoying methods to bully those he disliked. It was very tiresome.
Hearing the proprietor speak so solemnly, Song Bo decided to reconsider. His current life was peaceful and happy. There was no need to invite trouble and unnecessary worry. Since he was not in desperate need of money, he decided to keep the treasures at home as assets that could be liquidated at any time, which gave him a sense of security.
Amid his thoughts, Song Bo prepared to leave with the wrapped items, but the proprietor moved faster and called out, “Master Song, please wait!”
Song Bo halted his steps. “Is there something else?”
The proprietor’s hands moved restlessly on the counter, looking much like a fly rubbing its legs together. He deliberated for a few seconds before saying, “I wonder if you would be willing to leave a piece of your calligraphy at our establishment?”
Ever since Song Bo’s stunning performance, the proprietor had been thinking about obtaining a piece of his work. Although Xichun Pavilion engaged in some marginal business, their food was excellent, so a fair number of scholars came simply to enjoy the cuisine. Over time, to retain these scholarly guests, the shop had hung various calligraphic works, which added a touch of cultural refinement to the atmosphere.
The proprietor did not understand calligraphy himself, but he understood Qin Wen’s ability to appraise treasures. If Qin Wen said the calligraphy was good, it was undoubtedly of high quality. Obtaining a piece to hang in the shop would likely attract more refined scholars and guests.
Fearing Song Bo might refuse if he thought the request was for a free favor, the proprietor quickly added, “Naturally, we will provide you with a commission.”
Thinking that fetching a forgotten item might lead to an unexpected harvest, Song Bo asked, “How much is the commission?”
Seeing that Song Bo was open to the idea, the proprietor hurried to lead him to an elegant private room upstairs. After giving the waiter a few instructions, he entered the room and closed the door.
Song Bo walked into the room and sat on a mahogany chair in the center. A pleasant scent of incense filled the air. This private room was somewhat different from what Song Bo had imagined. The decor was indeed elegant. Beside the mahogany tables and chairs stood a lotus-themed screen, and a painting of green mountains and flowing water hung on the wall. The teapot and cups on the tray were adorned with relief carvings; it was the exact style of decor favored by scholars.
Following closely behind, the proprietor sat opposite Song Bo. He first broke off a piece of a tea brick and brewed a pot of fragrant Xishan Spring tea for Song Bo.
Song Bo sampled it carefully, first inhaling the aroma and then tasting it. The flavor was elegant, entering the palate with a clear and subtle fragrance. It was top-quality tea.
Observing Song Bo’s movements, the proprietor became increasingly certain that he was no ordinary commoner but a refined gentleman who had been educated. Ordinary folk did not understand the steps of tea tasting; they would simply tilt their heads back and gulp it down, letting the tea reach their stomachs before the flavor could even unfold, wasting good tea.
The proprietor poured another cup for Song Bo and said, “Master Song, my shop is willing to pay twenty taels of silver to purchase one of your works.”
This price was actually the market rate. While Song Bo’s calligraphy was certainly good, he had no personal fame yet, so twenty taels for a few characters was appropriate. One must realize that for established calligraphers in the town, their work only sold for fifty taels. Only the works of famous masters known far and wide would exceed a hundred taels.
Song Bo was startled inwardly, but he showed no trace of it on his face. Businessmen would never let themselves lose out; their initial offers were always on the lower side. Since the proprietor offered twenty taels, there was surely room to negotiate upward.
Song Bo remained silent, merely lifting his tea cup to sip slowly.
The proprietor could not gauge Song Bo’s thoughts, so he raised his hand and clapped twice. Someone pushed the door open and entered, carrying a tray. The person’s gaze was fluid, lingering on Song Bo like a hook. His clothes were as light as thin wings, revealing his legs clearly as he walked, and the silver bells on his ankles jingled softly.
This person was clearly a male courtesan of the pavilion. Song Bo understood exactly why he was there.
The easiest way for men to discuss business was often amidst wine and entertainment.
As the person drew closer, Song Bo was overwhelmed by the scent and sneezed. As expected, the fragrance used by these courtesans was still too pungent.
The courtesan prepared to leave after setting down the tray, but as he turned, his foot slipped and he began to fall toward Song Bo. His calculation was perfect; if Song Bo remained still, the man would land right in his arms. Unfortunately, Song Bo stood up from his chair with great agility, leaving the man to land on the mahogany chair, leaning awkwardly against the armrest.
The courtesan’s mouth twitched, thinking that Song Bo truly lacked any romantic sensibility. He was the third-ranked courtesan in the pavilion; others would not even get the chance to invite him.
Song Bo covered his nose with his sleeve and said, “Proprietor Song, I do not like outsiders present when discussing business. I think we should forget about this matter.” After speaking, Song Bo turned decisively, preparing to leave.
The proprietor hurriedly stood up to stop him while signaling the courtesan to leave. “Master Song, please stay! I will have him leave immediately. Our business must not be canceled.”
In the past, the beauty trap had helped him win over many people. He had assumed Song Bo would fall for it as well, but this time he had truly shot himself in the foot.
The courtesan had never suffered such a slight. As he brushed past Song Bo, he flicked his sleeve in annoyance. The fragrance wafted out again, causing Song Bo to sneeze several more times.
Once the courtesan was gone, Song Bo immediately opened the window to air out the room. The pleasant incense had been completely overwhelmed by the sharp perfume.
The proprietor led Song Bo back to his seat. Song Bo said, “I will not beat around the bush. Twenty-five taels for one piece.”
“This is,” the proprietor hesitated.
“I know the value of my calligraphy. Although I am not famous now, you will not be able to buy a single piece for twenty-five taels in the future,” Song Bo said, looking at the proprietor. Although his calligraphy truly had the value to be world-renowned, he only wanted to live as a simple villager in this life and would not reveal too much. However, anyone can bluff; the greatest taboo in business is a lack of confidence.
The proprietor looked at Song Bo’s scholarly aura and recalled Qin Wen’s appraisal. He estimated that this man’s potential was limitless. Perhaps once he passed the imperial exams and his name became known, it would indeed be impossible to buy his work for twenty-five taels.
Thinking of this, the proprietor decided to act fast and agreed to the price of twenty-five taels.
The proprietor had someone bring in paper and brushes. Since this was meant to be hung on a wall, the quality was naturally high; a single empty scroll was worth three taels. Every stroke was a gamble; if he made a mistake or wrote poorly, the scroll would be ruined.
As Song Bo dipped the brush in ink, the proprietor’s heart quickened.
Song Bo raised his hand, his focus deepening. The brush tip met the scroll and swept across it smoothly, the aura apparent in every stroke. In an instant, eight characters meaning “Guests filling the gates, every seat occupied” appeared on the scroll in a diagonal composition from top-left to bottom-right. When Song Bo retracted his brush, the proprietor could not help but burst into spontaneous applause.
Previously, the crowd had been too thick for him to see how Song Bo had won. Now that he had witnessed the entire process clearly, he felt that his twenty-five taels were very well spent.
Song Bo set the brush down gently and said, “There. Let it air dry before you put it away.”
The proprietor noticed that the signature area on the left was empty and asked, “Will you not sign your name?”
Scholars usually had the habit of signing their work, especially those who were not yet famous. If a high official happened to see it, their reputation could spread by chance.
“It is not necessary. It is fine like this,” Song Bo said. He had no intention of becoming famous, so a signature was meaningless.