“I can certainly write the letter, but there is no paper or brush here,” Song Bo said.
Even the cleverest housewife cannot cook without rice. Xichun Pavilion was a restaurant, a place for eating; it was unlikely to have writing materials.
The boat owner called for the waiter. Moments later, the waiter brought a tray holding a brush, ink, paper, and an inkstone.
I oversimplified things, Song Bo thought as he watched the waiter set the tray before him. How could a place of entertainment lack writing materials? Men surely used writing and painting to attract the attention of the women and gers in the establishment.
The boat owner rose from his seat, stood behind Song Bo, and said, “The items are here. Write.”
Xichun Pavilion was not a proper study, so the quality of the brush only met the bare requirement of being functional. As Song Bo picked up the brush, his heart fluttered like a trapped rabbit. Although he had practiced calligraphy often in the modern era, he felt a surge of nerves now that he was in ancient times, writing under the watchful eyes of others.
Song Bo dipped the tip of the brush into the ink. His long, slender fingers held the brush with perfect form. He lowered his eyes to the paper and said, “Sir, please speak.”
Before the boat owner could say a word, a jarring voice cut in from the side. “Oh? So even cargo porters can write these days?”
Song Bo turned his head. The speaker was dressed in luxurious clothing and wore an elegant hair crown. A beautiful woman was tucked into the crook of his left arm, while his right hand held a wine cup. He looked like a pampered young lord out for a night of revelry.
“Don’t porters just use their muscles? Can they really take on the work of a scholar?” Several followers stood behind the young lord. Their clothing was of slightly lower quality, and they laughed together, their words dripping with sarcasm about Song Bo’s supposed overconfidence in picking up a brush.
Song Bo did not argue or even acknowledge them. He simply looked back at the boat owner and asked, “What should I include in the letter?”
Seeing Song Bo’s dismissive attitude, the lackeys immediately began to jeer. “Young Master Qin, he actually ignored you!”
The man called Young Master Qin had originally only intended to poke fun at him. Now, spurred on by his followers, he found himself pushed to a height from which he could not easily descend. He said, “You, porter! Do you dare to compete with me?”
Porter? Is he talking to me? Having only been a cargo worker for a few days, Song Bo had not yet fully adjusted to his new identity.
Qin Ling glared at him. “I’m talking to you! Who else would I be looking at?”
With such a direct confrontation, Song Bo was certain the young man was targeting him.
Song Bo had a gentle temperament and disliked unnecessary conflict. Since this dispute served no purpose, he saw no point in fighting for dominance. He chose to back down. “Young Master Qin, I am but a mere porter. Naturally, I am no match for you. I dare not accept this challenge.”
These words did not sit well with the listener. Even though Song Bo had bowed his head as requested, Qin Ling felt as if a lump were stuck in his throat. With a loud thud, he slammed his wine cup onto Song Bo’s table. “Someone, bring a table! I must compete with this man in the art of the hand.”
Song Bo sighed inwardly. This man’s temper was truly excessive; he had offered him a graceful way out, but the young lord refused to take it.
The commotion drew a crowd. When the shopkeeper heard that a competition was brewing, he immediately ordered two large tables to be placed on the main stage. This was a free entertainment opportunity; he could even start a betting pool and make a significant profit.
“Young Master Qin is going to compete!” “I heard it’s a calligraphy contest!” “Qin Ling has studied at the academy for over ten years. While he may lack other skills, his calligraphy is superb.” “His opponent is a porter.” “A porter? How overconfident.”
Hearing the blatant gossip around him, Song Bo merely placed his brush gently on the rack and folded the paper onto the tray. His movements were calm and elegant, showing no sign of fear or haste.
Li Wu leaned in toward him and asked, “Are you really going to compete with him?”
“If he wants to compete, we compete.” Song Bo had been practicing calligraphy since he was six years old. He had been doing it for over twenty years and had won numerous awards. While he was modest about other things, he had absolute confidence in his brushwork. “If a betting pool starts, help me place a bet. Put eighty coins on me.”
Based on his knowledge of such rowdy places, someone would surely start a book. Since he was short on cash, he might as well use this competition to make some quick money.
“Alright, I’ll trust you.” Li Wu felt a strange sense of confidence in Song Bo, perhaps because the man’s gaze was so steady.
Song Bo carried his tray onto the stage. Qin Ling’s servants stood beside their master, holding his high-end writing tools. Just by the quality of their materials, Qin Ling already appeared to have the upper hand.
“The brushes at Xichun Pavilion are terrible. The ink will be uneven, sometimes dark and sometimes light.” “Qin Ling is using a Pu brush, the king of brushes. There’s no comparison.” “Exactly. This is going to be a boring match.”
The crowd grew, quickly forming several thick rings around the stage. After placing his bet, Li Wu tried to squeeze to the front row but got stuck in the middle due to his large size. He had to stand on his tiptoes and crane his neck to see the stage.
“A competition needs stakes to be interesting,” Qin Ling said, crossing his arms and staring down at Song Bo.
“Please, go ahead,” Song Bo replied.
Qin Ling raised his chin high. “If I win, you must stand on this stage and shout three times: ‘Young Master Qin, I was wrong! I failed to recognize greatness!'”
The stake carried little physical harm but was deeply insulting. Scholars valued their dignity above all else, and Qin Ling intended to humiliate him.
“Very well,” Song Bo said, arranging his tools on the table. “If I win, I want that set of writing materials you are using.”
“Fine. The time limit is one stick of incense. The content is up to you, and the audience will judge the quality,” Qin Ling set the rules.
A waiter placed a stick of incense in a holder in the center of the stage. The moment the tip was lit, the competition began.
Even a mild-tempered man has his limits. Since this person was actively bullying him, Song Bo decided to strike back. He picked up the brush and dipped it in ink. The moment the tip touched the paper, Song Bo was in his element.
His movements were fluid. The dark ink flowed onto the paper, and in a mere moment, Song Bo finished his work and returned the brush to its rack.
Qin Ling still needed time to build his momentum. He had not even finished a single character before Song Bo set down his brush. Catching the movement out of the corner of his eye, Qin Ling panicked. His brush slipped slightly, and a bead of sweat fell onto his paper.
Song Bo, having nothing else to do, glanced at Qin Ling’s work. With one look, he knew the outcome was decided.
The final segment of the incense stick snapped and fell. Time was up. The waiter struck a gong, the crisp sound echoing through Xichun Pavilion. One waiter held up Song Bo’s work, while Qin Ling’s servants displayed his master’s piece.
The crowd looked at Qin Ling’s work first and broke into praise.
“As expected of Young Master Qin. This calligraphy is exquisite.” “In Chuanfu Town, Master Qin’s brushwork is a treasure.” “…Wait, the porter’s writing actually looks quite good?” “Where?”
Those with quicker eyes turned to Song Bo’s work.
Green bamboo falls within the pavilion, Curiosity draws one near to see. The wind whistles through the stalks, Revealing only hollow bamboo.
In the short time it took for the incense to burn, Song Bo had written a poem subtly mocking Qin Ling for being hollow and lacking true substance despite his polished exterior.
“This…”
The crowd was stunned. People looked at one another and began to whisper about Song Bo’s work.
“This script… the ink moves like a dragon coiling across the page!” “Yes, the strokes are decisive and the edges are sharp. It’s a perfect match for the poem he wrote.” “I never expected a cargo porter to have such skill.” “Should we still support Qin Ling?”
Given the Qin family’s influence in town, the competition should have been an easy win for the young master, but after seeing Song Bo’s work, no one wanted to lie and praise Qin Ling.
“Excellent calligraphy, excellent poetry.” Someone took the lead in clapping. From his high vantage point, Song Bo saw a middle-aged man applauding. This man stood out from the crowd, possessing a refined and scholarly air.
“It’s the owner of Baishu Pavilion!”
Baishu Pavilion was a place Song Bo had never heard of.
“Father, why are you here?” Qin Ling blurted out.
“If I hadn’t come, I wouldn’t have known you were causing trouble in public.” Qin Wen pushed through the crowd and stepped onto the stage. Looking at Song Bo, he asked, “Young man, is this masterpiece for sale?”
The audience gasped. Qin Wen had been a top scorer in the imperial exams in his youth but had resigned from his post for personal reasons to return home. He opened a bookstore in Chuanfu Town that displayed his own study materials, providing immense help to many aspiring scholars. Consequently, he was highly respected throughout the province.
However, while Qin Wen was brilliant, his son was a disappointment. After failing the civil service exams multiple times, the boy had lost his confidence and become the person he was today.
Qin Wen wanted to buy Song Bo’s work! This was as good as declaring Song Bo the winner.
Li Wu watched from the crowd, suppressed with excitement.
“We will now vote. Raise your hand if you prefer Qin Ling’s work. If you prefer…” The shopkeeper of Xichun Pavilion stepped up and looked at Song Bo.
Song Bo bowed slightly. “Song Bo.”
“If you prefer Song Bo’s work, keep your hands down.”
After three strikes of the gong, it was obvious that more people had their hands down than up.
Song Bo had won.
Only then did Li Wu dare to cheer loudly. If he weren’t so large, he would have run onto the stage to pick Song Bo up and spin him around. To support his friend, he had placed ten coins on Song Bo. With odds of 1 to 11, he had just made 110 coins—it was a true windfall.
Song Bo turned and bowed to Qin Ling. “Thank you for the match.”
Qin Ling looked like a defeated rooster, his arrogance entirely gone. He left the stage in shame. To his credit, he kept his word and had his servants hand the full set of high-quality writing materials to Song Bo.
“Is this work for sale?” Qin Wen asked again.
“It is not for sale,” Song Bo replied.
“I can…” Qin Wen started to bargain, but he saw Song Bo roll up the paper and hand it directly to him. “This is?”
“It was destiny to compete with Young Master Qin. I am gifting this to him. Please take it back for him,” Song Bo said.
“My son was disrespectful,” Qin Wen said, holding the paper, feeling a wave of shame.
Song Bo said nothing more. He simply gave Qin Wen a polite smile and stepped off the stage with his prize.