Chapter 36: The Ungainly Stone from Distant Hills Can Polish Jade

Ye Chang and Shan Zhi arrived at Qin’s general store, which sold all manner of miscellaneous goods. Upon inquiring about Qin Qinshou, they learned he was next door at the restaurant and hurried over immediately. It was close to noon, and business in the restaurant was brisk. The two of them—one a monk, one a layman—entered without attracting much attention.

Yet, trailing behind them were a few watchers.

Ascending to the upper floor, they saw Qin Qinshou with his back to them, speaking at length, while He Zhizhang and Zhang Xu questioned him in unison.

Just then, Jiao Sui, whom they had encountered several times before, saw himself being ignored and, full of discontent, set down the bundle he’d just carried in, saying, “What is refinement compared to this?”

The two old men immediately turned to him. “Jiao Sui, what have you brought here?”

Jiao Sui whisked off the outer wrappings with a few quick movements and slapped the table. “Today, I’ll let you two old fellows see that although I, Jiao Sui, am of humble birth and not highly educated, I can still distinguish true refinement from mere affectation!”

His implication was clear: Qin Qinshou’s folding fan was mere pretension. Being poor and perpetually unsuccessful, Jiao Sui resented items adorned with gold and jade. Seeing Qin’s jade fan, he took instant dislike.

“Huh?”

Drawn by his bold words, He Zhizhang and Zhang Xu both inspected what he’d set on the table—several wooden planks, weathered and decayed, yet wrapped like treasures in clothing.

“What’s the story of these planks?” Zhang Xu asked.

Jiao Sui replied triumphantly, “Look closer, look again! These are worth far more than gold, silver, pearls, or jade!”

His interruption displeased Qin Qinshou, but seeing his familiarity with He Zhizhang and Zhang Xu, he said nothing further. Yet seeing these planks treated as treasures, Qin couldn't help but interject, “I must be blind, for I can’t see what makes these bits of wood so precious...”

“Words! Words! Words! Words! Words!”

Jiao Sui shouted “words” five times in succession, each louder than the last, rattling everyone’s ears. Zhang Xu flipped one plank over and, spotting faint traces of writing, exclaimed, his eyes glued to the script.

Ye Chang’s calligraphy was not that of a great master—Qian Qi had said as much, noting it still lacked refinement. Yet the key was this: it was written with a hard-tipped pen, and in the Skinny Gold Script—utterly unprecedented in this era!

For Zhang Xu, a grandmaster of calligraphy, this was truly the “other mountain’s stone” that could sharpen his own jade.

“These characters are fascinating... truly fascinating!” Zhang Xu couldn't help tracing them with his finger, trying to mimic the strokes.

He Zhizhang, also a master calligrapher, tilted his head for a long look. Though age had dimmed his eyes, after examining the boards, he said, “Is this a poem?”

“Indeed, a poem!” Jiao Sui laughed. “I heard the waterman at Fengling Ferry recite this and, struck by the odd script, found a way to acquire it, bringing it here to trade for wine. He Zhizhang, Zhang Xu—do you think this is worth a month’s wine?”

“Worth it! The poem alone is worth a month’s wine!” He Zhizhang, having arranged the four lines, recited them aloud, then clapped his hands. “Excellent! The poet cares for the people—truly rare!”

In terms of literary quality, He Zhizhang felt the poem itself was not extraordinary, but its deeper meaning far surpassed the mere elegance of its words. Zhang Xu clutched one of the planks tightly. “More than a month—three months, half a year of wine, I’d give for this! Brother Jizhen, look at these characters—so original, so…”

He was so moved he was speechless. Though he would later be hailed as the Sage of Cursive Script and had reached unprecedented heights in his art, now he felt himself trapped in a rut; if he could not break through, his skill would never progress. This new script gave him inspiration—he felt he could open a new path.

The two old men completely ignored the folding fan, absorbed instead by the charcoal script on the planks. Qin Qinshou could only sigh; had the fan passed through He and Zhang’s hands, it would have gained immense influence, but now things were off to a poor start.

The thought of a profitable venture being ruined left him sour, but with a deep mind and restraint, he held his peace; having seen Jiao Sui produce something genuine, he said nothing further.

Now was hardly the time to take his leave. His only hope was for He and Zhang to soon tire of those old planks.

His dislike of Jiao Sui grew, and by extension, his resentment toward the one who had written the poem on the boards.

“Jiao Sui, did you get these planks from Fengling Ferry?” He Zhizhang was the first to recover, pondering the meaning behind the poem. “Do you know who wrote it? Such compassion—he must be a man of benevolence!”

Jiao Sui rolled up his sleeves. “Wine, bring wine!”

He Zhizhang poured for him in person, and Jiao Sui downed cup after cup. After five, his wan, haggard face flushed and lively.

“This is an interesting tale, and Gongsun the Sword Dancer is involved as well.”

At this, He Zhizhang perked up, “What, has Gongsun reached a new level with her sword dance?”

“Not so. Let me explain from the beginning.” With drink fueling his words, Jiao Sui spun the simple story of Fengling Ferry into a grand, dramatic affair, so vivid and engaging that even Ye Chang, who had lived it, found it more exciting in the telling.

Ye Chang raised an eyebrow—this Jiao fellow had some talent.

“You’ve gone on at length, but you haven’t said who wrote the poem. Did the poet not leave a name?” He Zhizhang, thoroughly entertained, drank with abandon, wine trickling down his beard and soaking his chest, unnoticed in his delight.

Even the dissatisfied Qin Qinshou was drawn in by the lively tale, listening so intently he failed to notice Ye Chang and Shan Zhi had been standing behind him all along.

“Of course he left his name. Master He, you are experienced and learned—have you heard of the Eleventh Son of the Ye family from Xiuwu, Ye Chang?”

At the name, Qin Qinshou let out a surprised noise, his expression most interesting. He Zhizhang frowned, searching his memory, and at length shook his head. “Never heard of him… A pity, I’d like to meet him…”

Jiao Sui sighed. “Precisely. What a shame! If I hadn’t been delayed, I might’ve met him a day earlier.”

As he finished, a hand seized his arm. “Jiao Sui, where is he—the man who wrote this? Where is he?”

It was Zhang Xu. He had been so absorbed in copying the script that he’d missed the whole conversation. Now, having traced the characters three times, he still yearned for more. He felt that if he could study more of this script, he might break through to a new realm in calligraphy.

Jiao Sui, shaken hard by the old man (who, despite his sixty-some years, had surprising strength), protested, “Enough shaking! I already said, I never saw the man. I only know he’s from Xiuwu in Huai Prefecture, surname Ye, personal name Chang, eleventh in his family.”

“Ye Chang, Eleventh Ye… Master He, have you heard of him?” Zhang Xu pressed He Zhizhang again.

“No.”

“What a shame!” Zhang Xu tugged at his beard, staring at the planks before finally declaring, “I will resign my office and go to Xiuwu!”

A middle-aged man beside him laughed, “Why go yourself, Master Zhang? If you permit, I’ll go on your behalf, learn the script, and return to show you.”

“But Qingchen, you’ve just passed the civil service exams and are about to be appointed. How can you leave?” Zhang Xu shook his head. “I am old and useless—better to retire early and seek enlightenment…”

“Master Zhang, don’t say that! I love calligraphy, and office can wait. The pursuit of calligraphy cannot.”

They argued back and forth. He Zhizhang simply stroked his beard and chuckled, while Jiao Sui sat back to enjoy the spectacle.

Seeing their endless quarrel, Qin Qinshou could hold back no longer. He coughed, “Gentlemen, please…”

“Silence!”

“Don’t interrupt!”

Both men scolded him, then returned to their dispute. Zhang Xu, the elder, began rolling up his sleeves and even tossed his hat on the table, revealing his half-bald head. The man called Qingchen, though respectful, was unyielding—clearly a stubborn sort.

“Gentlemen, please, enough!” Qin Qinshou tried again.

“None of your business!”

“You know nothing!”

He was rebuffed again. Sweat beaded on Qin Qinshou’s brow, but his next move was bold—he slammed the table, causing a resounding thud that finally silenced the two for a moment.

“Before coming to Chang’an, I ran a shop in Xiuwu, in Ru Prefecture.” All eyes turned to him, their looks unfriendly, with Jiao Sui smirking. Qin Qinshou, unruffled, knew his next words would wipe those scornful looks away. “I know the Eleventh Son of the Ye family quite well. In fact, this folding fan was his idea!”

Sure enough, the initial hostility and mockery turned to surprise and curiosity.

“Impossible! How could you know him? And would a poet like him even think of something so extravagant?” Jiao Sui was the first to shout.

Qin Qinshou, now rather pleased with himself, cupped his hands. “The story of how we met is another tale. If you gentlemen are interested, I can tell it in detail.”

“Do tell!” urged Jiao Sui.

“Does this Eleventh Ye have other poems or writings?” asked He Zhizhang, delighted.

“Any of his calligraphy? Just one more piece, just one!” Zhang Xu pressed.

“No calligraphy, but I do have another poem.” Qin Qinshou recited the “Ode to Bamboo.” He Zhizhang and Zhang Xu, both connoisseurs, listened with some confusion: the style of “Ode to Bamboo” was quite different from the “Inscription at Fengling Ferry.”

No matter how talented a poet, his writing should have a consistent trace, a recognizable style. The two exchanged glances but didn’t call it out—two poems alone were not enough to accuse the Eleventh Ye of plagiarism.

“There’s a story behind this poem, too.” Qin Qinshou recounted the events in the Ye household. Being a meticulous man, he had gathered all the details—from Ye Chang being struck by the “star of misfortune,” to the Bodhisattva’s trial—telling the entire story in full. Though he lacked Jiao Sui’s flair for storytelling, his account was thorough, and even so, He Zhizhang and Zhang Xu were captivated.

On hearing the lines, “Though a thin man can fatten, a vulgar scholar is beyond cure,” and learning their origin, both men clapped and laughed. At the tale of the Bodhisattva’s trial, they held their breath, then sighed and laughed again when the real thief was exposed. Unconstrained by convention, they were delighted, with He Zhizhang exclaiming, “How interesting! I too want to resign and go to Xiuwu to meet this Eleventh Ye!”

“Tch!” Jiao Sui was now bored.

He disliked Qin Qinshou and, by association, Ye Chang. It irked him that his own story, which had captivated the room, was so quickly eclipsed by Qin’s tale, even though both featured the same protagonist. Irritated, he glanced about, wondering why their drinks had yet to arrive.

“Master He, you needn’t resign to meet the Eleventh Ye. He’ll be in the capital before long. He’s coming to find me on some matter—he should arrive within a couple of days,” Qin Qinshou added.

“Ah! So that’s how Jiao Sui saw his writing at Fengling Ferry!” He Zhizhang clapped. “Excellent! Qin Qinshou, when he arrives, you must introduce him to us!”

“He’ll be here in two days?” Zhang Xu was still impatient. “Perhaps I should go meet him on the road!”

At this, Ye Chang felt the urge to cover his face and flee.

He still didn’t know the true identities of the two elders, but it was clear that Qin Qinshou had altered his plan—not just seeking out the new graduates to gift them folding fans, but introducing him to major literary figures of the capital, with these two being among the most important. To be so extravagantly praised and even awaited outside the city by such venerable men was almost more than he could bear.

Just then, however, Jiao Sui, bored and glancing around, caught sight of Ye Chang and Shan Zhi. He started in alarm and shouted, “Hey! What are you two, with your taste for the Dragon Yang, doing here?”

This yellow-faced fellow had a booming voice, and once again startled the entire room!