Chapter Thirty-Nine: Words Astonish the Great Scholars, Han Makes His Entrance!

“Little girl, let me take a look,” said Sun Anmin, who was closest to Baili Mingsu and could barely make out the characters on the paper. He suddenly rose, his eyes earnest as he stared at the draft.

Baili Mingsu’s actions had puzzled many, but seeing the esteemed scholar’s reaction, they were now utterly astonished.

Baili Mingsu said, “If the great scholar wishes to see it, I do not dare refuse.”

She stepped forward respectfully, handing the draft to Sun Anmin.

Sun Anmin received it carefully, as if it were a precious treasure, bowing his head to examine it intently. The gathered scholars exchanged glances, unable to fathom the reason for such behavior, quietly discussing among themselves, their curiosity about the draft growing ever stronger.

Zhao Ziqian sensed trouble, his mind racing for a solution. The handwriting itself he had not seen clearly, but that no longer mattered. Anything that drew the attention of such a scholar could not be ordinary.

Sun Anmin’s gaze was unwavering, fixed on the paper, his white beard trembling with excitement.

“Why are you standing? Sit and share it with me,” Xu Shi urged, tilting his head.

He shared a seat with Sun Anmin, but had been slightly farther away, intending to lean forward for a closer look, only to have Sun Anmin beat him to it.

“Remarkable calligraphy, truly remarkable…” Sun Anmin murmured, his excitement palpable even in his subdued tone.

Upon hearing Xu Shi’s words, Sun Anmin seemed to awaken from a dream and quickly responded, “Yes, yes.”

Even as he sat, his eyes never left the paper, forgetting entirely to share it with Xu Shi.

Xu Shi, helpless, leaned in to see for himself. The moment his gaze fell upon the characters, his pupils contracted, and he was utterly absorbed.

“Truly fine calligraphy.”

Praise flowed freely from the two, without reservation.

“Elegant and slender, the strokes are vigorous and refined, the angles sharp and imposing—one could call it heroic…”

“Steady but not dull, daring but not bizarre, mature without dryness, moist without excess, dignified and harmonious, powerful and graceful—what excellent calligraphy!”

“If there is any flaw, it is that the style is still budding, not fully matured. Even so, it stands out, forming its own school…”

“The day the technique is perfected will be the day a new tradition is founded.”

“Don’t keep it all to yourself—place it in the middle so we may both see,” Xu Shi complained, craning his neck further.

His view suddenly half-obstructed, Sun Anmin grew annoyed. “Move your head away.”

The two began to jostle for the best vantage point. Their antics only made the crowd of scholars more curious, itching to rush forward and snatch the draft for themselves to admire.

But they dared not act on such impulses.

The praise from the two great scholars was heard faintly, and the crowd was deeply shocked. What sort of calligraphy could inspire such acclaim?

Even Wen Qingjuan and Qian Yu found themselves impatient.

After a moment, Qian Yu saw that Xu Shi and Sun Anmin were still transfixed, unwilling to let go, and grumbled, “If the calligraphy is so fine, you two shouldn’t keep it to yourselves.”

Wen Qingjuan smiled, “I must see for myself what style of calligraphy could leave you both so undone.”

Xu Shi and Sun Anmin exchanged a helpless glance, awakened from their reverie.

Sun Anmin sighed, “Forgive our lapse in composure.”

He handed the draft to Xu Shi, who reluctantly passed it to Qian Yu, his expression showing he hadn’t seen enough.

Qian Yu received it and placed it between himself and Wen Qingjuan to share.

Instantly, their expressions tightened, reacting much like Xu Shi and Sun Anmin had before.

The scholars craned their necks, making for a comical scene.

“It is indeed fine calligraphy…”

“The form is vigorous and graceful, its structure robust and powerful—truly excellent…”

“Alas, not yet fully matured…”

The earlier scene repeated, only with different actors.

The crowd of scholars watched, bewildered and itching with curiosity, exchanging glances.

Zhao Ziqian’s face stiffened, his sense of foreboding growing stronger.

“Little girl,” Wen Qingjuan suddenly looked up at Baili Mingsu and smiled, “You must be the niece of the Duke of Pei? I have some acquaintance with him, and also knew your late father, Duke of Qing, Baili Wuji. Would you be willing to sell me this draft? I’m prepared to offer a thousand strings of copper coins.”

Xu Shi and Sun Anmin, still savoring the meaning embedded in the calligraphy, were lost in thought. Qian Yu remained focused, wholly absorbed.

Wen Qingjuan’s words startled the three, who looked up in disbelief, inwardly cursing his shamelessness.

All for a single draft, he had no qualms about using connections, opening with old ties.

The scholars were even more shocked—a thousand strings of copper coins for a piece of calligraphy? Such a staggering price!

And the would-be buyer was a clan elder, former Minister of War.

Even so, it seemed Wen Qingjuan feared Baili Mingsu might refuse, and immediately invoked their shared history.

He knew the value of the draft lay not only in the calligraphy, but also in the poem itself.

Together, the poem and the calligraphy could be worth a thousand strings.

But someone was not about to let him have his way.

Xu Shi spoke, “Little girl, I too am fond of this piece. Why not sell it to me? I’ll offer fifteen hundred strings.”

Sun Anmin added, “Two thousand strings.”

Qian Yu sighed helplessly, “I am of modest means and can only offer a thousand strings. If you sell me this draft, you’ll have my favor; should you ever need anything, so long as it does not violate principle, I will surely help.”

Wen Qingjuan said, “You three are esteemed scholars, I cannot match you. But this draft I am determined not to yield—five thousand strings.”

Xu Shi, Sun Anmin, and Qian Yu glared at him.

So, having a wealthy family is all that matters?

Does that mean you can do as you please?

If it truly did, there was nothing more they could do.

By now, the crowd of scholars was stunned, as if struck by lightning.

“There’s bound to be a twist,” Lin Bingqing turned to Wang Luohe with a smile.

Wang Luohe was no fool, already sensing something amiss, and though her pride had waned, she snorted, “What does it have to do with me?”

Lu Zhiyu glanced at Han Fu, who was still drinking, his expression mocking.

Baili Mingsu feigned helplessness, bowing with a smile, “Forgive me, but I cannot comply. I am fond of this draft myself and do not wish to sell it.”

Wen Qingjuan sighed in disappointment, while the other three scholars breathed a sigh of relief.

Baili Mingsu continued, “Just now, Zhao Wenhao claimed this draft was written by his family’s attendant. If you are fond of it, simply ask Zhao Wenhao to summon his attendant to write a few more pieces. That way, I need not sell the draft, you may still obtain calligraphy, and Zhao Wenhao can prove his claim—wouldn’t that please everyone?”

At her words, Zhao Ziqian’s face turned ashen.

He saw the crowd’s gaze shift to him, especially those of Wen Qingjuan and the three great scholars, and inwardly cursed his luck.

He forced himself to remain calm, shaking his head and sighing, “I was mistaken earlier. The attendant did not write this draft.”

“Why not?” Baili Mingsu asked, feigning confusion.

Zhao Ziqian forced a smile, “That attendant’s calligraphy is crude and unworthy.”

Baili Mingsu replied, “Yet when I produced the draft earlier, you didn’t even look, but insisted it was the one from your household.”

“This…” Zhao Ziqian was at a loss for words, his mind racing, cold sweat breaking out on his back.

Especially under so many eyes, he felt as if seated on needles.

The scene fell into a brief silence.

Han Fu finished his wine, then rose unsteadily, carrying his empty jug forward.

“The wine has done its work…”

Han Fu was already somewhat drunk, his steps light as he approached Baili Mingsu.

The two exchanged a smile, needing no words.