Chapter 97: Seeking Guidance

Liu Yitiao smiled.

If Huang Feiyun had meant to write anything else, that would have been one thing. But he had chosen to write in regular script. Was that not the same as brandishing a sword before a master swordsman? Overreaching, and then some.

When Zhang Chuwen saw the style of Huang Feiyun’s writing, he too felt it looked strangely familiar, though for a moment he could not recall where he had seen it. Then, seeing the smile on Liu Yitiao’s face, he suddenly remembered: was this not the very script Liu Yitiao had used at their house a few days ago?

He remembered it clearly. When Liu Yitiao had answered Chu Chu’s examination question, the five characters of that line had been written in precisely this manner. At the time, he had merely thought the handwriting novel and peculiar. He had never imagined it was a new and emerging style of calligraphy.

Seeing that Zhang Chuwen seemed to have caught on, Liu Yitiao gave him a faint smile and a nod. Then he rose, walked over to Huang Feiyun, picked up the brush Huang Feiyun had just laid down, and with swift strokes wrote a great character beside Huang Feiyun’s character for "base."

The brushwork was full and forceful, vigorous and powerful, surpassing Huang Feiyun’s by no small measure.

Liu Yitiao lifted the paper, blew on it twice, and handed it to Huang Feiyun. "Brother Feiyun, please take a look. I wonder what you think of this character of mine?"

Huang Feiyun took the paper and examined it carefully. Afterward, he looked at Liu Yitiao for a long while with a complex expression, as if he had thought of something. Then he set aside the airs of a scholar, clasped his hands, and asked, "Might I ask Brother Liu, have you been to the capital in the past month or so?"

"I have been in Sanyuan all this time and have not left. Why do you ask?" Liu Yitiao said, shaking his head with his hands behind his back, not understanding what the young man meant.

"May I ask one more thing: how many years did Brother Liu practice this style of calligraphy?" As he spoke, Huang Feiyun’s expression grew somewhat excited, and his gaze toward Liu Yitiao became fervent.

Liu Yitiao felt a little unnerved by that look. Was this fellow ill?

He thought it over. From primary school through middle school, he had practiced for only four or five years. So he said, "Not many—only five years."

At that, Huang Feiyun’s eyes lit up entirely. He hurriedly put away the sheet in his hands and carefully tucked it into his robe. Then he bowed deeply to Liu Yitiao and said, "Feiyun was rude just now. I hope you will not take offense, sir."

"Huh?" Liu Yitiao and Zhang Chuwen both froze. What was this sudden turn in the play? Huang Feiyun, who had just been bent on making trouble for Liu Yitiao, had become so courteous in an instant?

"May I ask which great master of calligraphy taught Sir Liu? I should very much like to pay my respects," Huang Feiyun said, straightening up and looking at Liu Yitiao with eagerness. He clasped his hands and added, "I beg Sir Liu to make the introduction for me."

"Brother Feiyun, what do you mean by this?" It was just a new kind of script. Why were they all acting as though they had seen some priceless treasure? First Li Rusi had been like this, then Wang Zhihong, and now even Huang Feiyun. Liu Yitiao truly could not fathom the thinking of these ancient people. He shifted aside and said to Huang Feiyun, "Brother Feiyun, I am only a farmer. What teacher or lineage could I possibly have? Perhaps you are mistaken?"

"Sir Liu, do not deceive Feiyun. This Liu family script only appeared in Chang'an a little over a month ago, and before that no one had ever been seen writing it. Since you have not been to Chang'an recently, yet have practiced this script for more than five years, if not taught by a master, then where else could you have learned it?" Huang Feiyun stared at Liu Yitiao and said with sudden realization, "This script is called the Liu family script. Since Sir Liu has long practiced it, then yes, yes, this writing must be deeply connected to you." With that, he bowed again. "I beg you not to withhold your guidance, and to introduce me to the master if you can!"

"Brother Yitiao," Zhang Chuwen said at this point, stepping forward to plead for Huang Feiyun. "Brother Feiyun has always loved the art of writing. He has nearly reached the point of obsession. If your teacher is nearby, then please indulge him."

"This..." Liu Yitiao gave a wry smile and shrugged at Zhang Chuwen and Huang Feiyun. "Brother Chuwen, Brother Feiyun, it is not that I am being unreasonable or unwilling to make introductions. It is simply that no one taught me this calligraphy. This method of writing was created by me alone. In that case, where am I supposed to go and find some great master for Brother Feiyun?"

"You?!" Huang Feiyun looked Liu Yitiao up and down, his face full of disbelief. "Sir Liu, your Liu family script has indeed reached perfection. But if you say it was created by yourself, forgive Feiyun’s discourtesy, but I do not believe it. From your appearance, you do not seem to be even twenty years old. Even if you learned your characters at three and practiced writing at five, that would still only amount to a little over ten years. Feiyun does not believe Sir Liu could, in such a mere decade or so, create an entirely new style of calligraphy unlike all the great masters of the present age."

No wonder Huang Feiyun did not believe it. Even the Sage of Calligraphy, Wang Xizhi, would have been hard pressed to do such a thing, let alone Liu Yitiao, a mere farmer.

Huang Feiyun did not believe it, but Zhang Chuwen was half-convinced.

Before Liu Yitiao and Zhang Chuchu’s engagement had been settled, Zhang Chuwen had secretly investigated this future brother-in-law of his. The conclusion he had reached was that Liu Yitiao possessed great talent, knew how to bide his time, and if he did not speak, he would not make a sound; but when he did, he would startle the world. That was why he did not object to his sister marrying this farmer, Liu Yitiao.

"Brother Yitiao, was this writing really created by you?" Zhang Chuwen could not help but ask for confirmation. If it were true, then this brother-in-law of his would be a rare treasure indeed. A master of calligraphy, a figure on the level of a grand patriarch—merely by that alone, he could leave his name through the ages.

"If the two of you do not believe me, there is nothing I can do. Matters like this are not something that can be settled by words alone." Liu Yitiao put on an air of take it or leave it.

Then he took from his robe the gift and letter intended for Zhang Chuchu, and handed them to Zhang Chuwen. "Brother Chuwen, this is a small gift and a letter for Miss Chuchu. I trouble you to pass them on to her. I am grateful in advance."

"Ah," Zhang Chuwen said, taking them and smiling at Liu Yitiao. "Rest assured, Brother Yitiao. Chuchu is in the inner room. I will take these to her right away. I imagine she has been waiting anxiously."

With that, Zhang Chuwen apologized to Huang Feiyun and went into the inner room.

"Sir Liu," Huang Feiyun said as soon as Zhang Chuwen was gone, bowing deeply to Liu Yitiao, "whether or not what you said just now is true, your mastery of the Liu family script is beyond doubt. I saw it with my own eyes. So I beg you here and now, please teach me."

"Hey," Liu Yitiao quickly reached out to stop him. "Brother Feiyun, there is no need for this. I cannot bear such a grand gesture from you."

Once Huang Feiyun had straightened up, Liu Yitiao said, "From what I see, Brother Feiyun is also a man who loves calligraphy dearly. If you are interested, we could exchange pointers. I am shallow in learning and lacking in skill; I would not dare claim the role of teacher."

Seeing Huang Feiyun so polite now, Liu Yitiao also became courteous in return.

"Many thanks, sir." Huang Feiyun was delighted that Liu Yitiao had agreed. Clasping his hands, he asked, "Feiyun would like to request a calligraphic work from you. I wonder if you would be willing to grant it?"

Seeing how earnest Huang Feiyun was, Liu Yitiao found it difficult to refuse, so he agreed readily.

There were pen, ink, paper, and inkstone already on the table. Liu Yitiao picked up the brush and wrote on the paper:

Life, wherever one goes, what does it resemble?
Like a wild goose treading snow and mud.
By chance its claws remain on the mud;
When the goose flies on, who can tell east from west?