Chapter 36: Good Poem, Good Calligraphy

Chapter 36: Chapter 36: Good Poem, Good Calligraphy

Ji Huan grabbed her clothes, and Hu Liang accompanied her on the overnight trip back to town. It was so late by the time they arrived that Hu Liang ended up staying at the clinic as well.

The next afternoon, at the agreed-upon time, Ji Huan waited for Dabao to fall asleep after taking his medicine before rushing to the intersection in front of the academy. Song Jing returned to his room to drop off his things and met her without a moment’s delay. Together, they headed to the bookshop he had told her about.

The bookshop wasn’t particularly large, but it was well-stocked. It occupied a two-room storefront; one room sold stationery and calligraphy supplies, while the other sold all sorts of books.

The shop’s owner was Boss Fang. He listened as Song Jing explained the situation. While he trusted Song Jing’s judgment, he couldn’t help but hesitate upon seeing that the person in question was such a young girl.

’In this day and age, literacy is a privilege reserved for men. There are barely any boys in the village who can read, so how could a girl possibly be literate?’

’Even if she’s been lucky enough to learn a few characters, copying books requires more than just basic literacy.’

Ji Huan naturally understood his misgivings and asked, "Boss, may I borrow a brush and some paper?"

This was, in effect, her asking for a test.

Boss Fang’s brow smoothed. ’Fine,’ he thought. ’Let her write a few words. That will give me a good excuse to turn her down without embarrassing anyone.’

A shop assistant quickly brought the supplies. As Song Jing ground the inkstick for her, Ji Huan considered for a moment, then lifted her brush and set it to paper, writing in one smooth, unbroken motion.

She was writing a poem with seven characters per line. As she completed each line, Boss Fang recited it aloud. When she finished the final word, he clapped his hands and slapped the table, exclaiming his approval again and again.

"Excellent! ’A cup of wine in the spring wind, among the peach and plum; ten years of lamplight through the night rains of the roaming world’! A fine poem, a fine poem indeed! May I ask who the author is...?"

Fearing he would misunderstand, Ji Huan explained, "The poem’s author is an esteemed gentleman named Huang Tingjian. I just happened upon it by chance... and am quite fond of it."

Boss Fang stroked his short beard, his gaze growing distant. He was clearly wondering what luminary this Huang Tingjian could be.

’I work in this trade. While I might not know every famous figure in literary circles, I’m at least familiar with the major ones. With talent like this, he should have made a name for himself long ago.’

But after long consideration, he came up with nothing. ’He must be a recluse,’ he concluded. Shaking his head in disappointment, he turned his attention back to Ji Huan’s calligraphy.

The poem itself was exceptional, but what was even more remarkable was Ji Huan’s fine handwriting. Song Jing picked the sheet of paper up from the desk and examined it closely.

The brushwork was vigorous and confident, the strokes bold and free. Her writing exuded an untamed, carefree spirit that reminded him of her—a quiet surface concealing a vibrant energy, held in reserve but poised to soar.

The boss couldn’t help but nod in approval, a look of surprise on his face. "Most young ladies practice a delicate, ornamental script. Your strength and composition are truly rare. You’re in no way inferior to your male counterparts."

This was high praise indeed.

Ji Huan breathed a sigh of relief. Now it was time to discuss the details.

In the Great Zhou Dynasty, woodblock printing was already common. The general process involved writing the text on a thin sheet of paper, pasting it face-down onto a wooden block, carving out the characters, and then inking the block to print pages.

In short, printing a book was a massive undertaking. It was a long and costly process, which meant that the price of a single volume could never be very low.

Take the recently popular *Essence Collection* as an example. It was a mere forty pages long and contained just over one hundred poems by famous authors, but the combined cost of carving the blocks, paper, ink, and labor still amounted to sixteen taels of silver.

How many people could possibly afford such a price?

In response to this situation, the book-copying trade was born.

For one, hand-copied volumes were much cheaper than printed ones, allowing those with modest means to afford books. For another, impoverished scholars could copy books to solve their financial woes and earn a livelihood.

Song Jing was a case in point. Ji Huan learned from Boss Fang that he had been copying books at this shop for four or five years.

Some people simply copied existing books to make money, while others used it as a means of acquiring knowledge.

Ji Huan figured Song Jing did it for both reasons, but leaned more toward the latter.

Even in the dim light of the carriage yesterday, he had been engrossed in a book. With such an insatiable appetite for learning, it was no wonder he had passed both the county and prefectural examinations.

As for Ji Huan, she was clearly in the first category. She got straight to the point and asked Boss Fang which books were the most profitable to copy.

The shop’s main clientele consisted of scholars, and nine out of ten scholars were aiming for the imperial examinations. Consequently, examination guides and the classics of history and philosophy were the most popular genres, commanding the highest copying fees.

But this line of work was both easy and difficult. The most important factor, of course, was the quality of one’s handwriting. Beyond that, a copyist had to be neat, keep the pages clean, and be both patient and meticulous.

Boss Fang pulled a book on law from the shelf and handed it to Ji Huan, asking her to start with it as a trial.

The shop provided the brush, ink, and paper. And since Song Jing had recommended her, Boss Fang didn’t require a deposit.

After agreeing on a deadline, Ji Huan gathered her supplies, bid farewell, and left the shop. Song Jing followed a step behind her.

Ji Huan glanced at the new book in Song Jing’s hands—the *Commentary of Zuo*. It was a massive tome.

"You just turned in several volumes. Aren’t you tired?"

Song Jing smiled. "Writing is hardly tiring, and it’s the only skill I have. Besides, what’s not to love about getting paid to read?"

He had a point. Ji Huan couldn’t argue with that.

Song Jing paused for a moment. "I never expected your calligraphy to be that good. You must have been practicing for a long time."

They were from the same village, so he was well aware of the Ji Family’s circumstances, particularly those of her branch of the family.

It was precisely for this reason that he couldn’t help but admire her for persevering despite her situation.

Furthermore, after hearing from his mother last night about the recent major events in the village—most of which seemed to involve Ji Huan—Song Jing felt even more strongly that life must be incredibly difficult for an orphaned girl like her.

Ji Huan cleared her throat. "Mm... I guess so. Like you just said, writing is hardly tiring..."

’In truth,’ she thought, ’my decent handwriting is all thanks to those extracurricular classes I was forced to take in my previous life.’

’I was too uncoordinated for dance and too tone-deaf for music. All I could do was learn calligraphy and painting to cultivate some inner refinement so my parents wouldn’t be completely embarrassed.’

They continued talking until they reached a fork in the road.

Song Jing had to return to the academy, and Ji Huan had to go to the clinic. They were headed in opposite directions.

"So..."

"Well..."

They both spoke at once, then fell silent.

Ji Huan couldn’t help but smile. She waved to him. "I’m off, then. I can’t thank you enough."

Song Jing smiled back and mimicked her wave. "Don’t mention it."

Ji Huan didn’t like to procrastinate once she had a job. She copied the book while watching over Dabao at the clinic and finished it in less than two days, at which point she returned to the bookshop to deliver her work.

Boss Fang hadn’t expected her to be so quick. He carefully inspected the finished manuscript from cover to cover, then handed her a copy of the *Zhu Zi Collection*. "Keep up this standard," he said, "and I’ll double your pay."

The *Luo Gao* wasn’t very long, nor was it a popular title, so she was only paid 150 cents for it.

The "doubled pay" the boss mentioned was per volume, meaning 300 cents per volume. The *Zhu Zi Collection* had eight volumes, which meant she could earn a little over two taels of silver in total.

Although it was a far cry from Song Jing’s rate, who easily earned one tael of silver per volume, Ji Huan was more than satisfied.

She calculated that they had been in town for nearly two weeks. She couldn’t keep troubling Widow Xie and the others to watch her house.

Dabao’s condition had stabilized, so with Doctor Xin’s permission, Ji Huan decided to return to the village.

The dirt roads were bumpy, so Ji Huan didn’t dare squeeze onto a mule cart with Dabao. Instead, she went straight to a carriage house in town and hired a covered horse-drawn carriage. She lined the floor with thick, soft cushions to ensure Dabao would be safe and comfortable before telling the driver to depart.

The horse-drawn carriage wasn’t cheap like the mule cart. Since Ji Huan chartered the whole thing, the four-kilometer trip cost her fifteen cents.

Ji Huan didn’t mind the expense. She knew what kind of reception a showy return like this would get in the village, but she wasn’t afraid.

Now that the sickness was over, it was time for a reckoning.