Li Keji followed Meng Jianqing back to Yingtian. When they passed through Yueyang and were changing horses at the post station, members of Wen Ruhai’s household were waiting there.
Wen Ruhai had returned to his ancestral home in Yueyang for his old clan leader’s eightieth birthday even before Li Keji’s release from prison. He had sent his servants to wait for Li Keji at the post station, firstly because he hadn’t seen him for many days and wanted to meet and chat, and secondly because Li Keji’s servants Wan An and the book boy Bao Yan, who had returned to Qingcheng by water route, were now staying at his house. Old Wan An had fallen seriously ill near Yueyang after days of hardship and worry. When he came ashore to recuperate, Wen Ruhai heard the news and took both him and Bao Yan to his home to nurse them back to health. They had only recently recovered and had planned to return to Qingcheng, but when Wen Ruhai learned of Li Keji’s journey to the capital, he persuaded them to wait in Yueyang.
Wen Ruhai lived in the old Wen family estate on the outskirts of Yueyang, near Dongting Lake. During flood season, the lake water had already risen to the foot of the small hill where the Wen estate stood. The servants who welcomed them said that during great floods, the lake water would reach the outer walls of the estate, so the foundation walls were specially reinforced with bluestone. Despite the flood danger, feng shui masters said this location had excellent feng shui that promoted literary fortune. The two elder brothers of the main branch who inherited the old estate, Wen Duan and Wen Fangwen, had both entered government service through literary reputation, serving respectively as Minister of Rites and Prefect of Huzhou. The five brothers of the younger generation had also mostly entered service as Imperial Academy students, with bright futures ahead. Therefore, the Wen family had never considered moving to Yueyang city proper, only continuously reinforcing the dikes and courtyard walls. However, apart from Wen Ruhai, all the older and younger generations of his branch held official positions and couldn’t return, so the vast estate was left with only him and two caretaker families.
Wen Ruhai not only prepared a grand feast but also invited several renowned literati from Yueyang as company, and summoned the most famous local opera troupe for entertainment.
Meng Jianqing smiled and said quietly to Wen Ruhai: “His Majesty most detests officials of all ranks drinking and listening to opera. Moreover, Master Li is in mourning—wouldn’t this be rather inappropriate?”
Wen Ruhai laughed: “If Captain Meng hadn’t reminded me, I would have truly forgotten this matter. It won’t happen again, won’t happen again. Today is rare with Brother Li coming from afar—let’s not spoil everyone’s mood. Come, come, Captain Meng, you should also request a performance. This troupe is quite excellent—to come to Yueyang and not see their opera would make the trip worthless.”
Since Meng Jianqing couldn’t lose face, he could only join everyone in taking his seat and requesting performances.
Li Keji only took his seat after visiting Wan An and Bao Yan, sitting shoulder to shoulder with Wen Ruhai.
Wen Ruhai repeatedly urged him to drink. Later, even Meng Jianqing couldn’t stand it and blocked Li Keji’s raised cup: “Don’t get drunk.”
Wen Ruhai smiled: “I know Brother Li’s heart is heavy, which is why I’m urging him to drink. One drunk solves a thousand sorrows—wouldn’t being drunk be even better?”
Li Keji was only startled for a moment before laughing loudly: “Right, right, one drunk solves a thousand sorrows! Come, let’s all drink to our hearts’ content!”
He tilted his head back and drained another cup, though his heart was filled with countless confused emotions.
He had forever lost the most important people in his life. Even if he could rise to great heights in the future, even if he could become famous throughout the world, what meaning would it have without them by his side? For whom should he continue walking this path step by step?
Thunder rolled across the lake surface, and everyone drinking and watching opera unconsciously turned to look outside the great hall.
Lightning tore through the night sky, and soon torrential rain poured down.
Wind rose and waves surged on Dongting Lake, with giant waves beating against the embankments. The Wen estate on the small hill seemed to tremble slightly, and people in the great hall involuntarily felt the ground shaking beneath their feet. Across the courtyard, the small opera stage was performing the all-martial scene of Changban Slope, with gongs and drums creating tremendous noise that echoed the lightning and thunder, filling the courtyard with a strange atmosphere—as if they were not on shore but in a giant boat, separated from the terrifying waves of Dongting Lake by mere inches.
Li Keji’s mind was in a daze. After a while, he heard Wen Ruhai speaking to him. Wen Ruhai smiled: “Brother Li, the paintings you gave me last time in the capital were all taken by the Imperial Guard headquarters as evidence for their case. It looks like there’s no hope of getting them back. Tonight you should paint another one for me, shouldn’t you?”
Meng Jianqing was slightly startled. Was Wen Ruhai lying, or had someone truly confiscated those paintings behind his back as the case supervisor? Who would have such audacity? Just a few paintings—was it worth offending him over this?
Li Keji couldn’t help but smile. Wen Ruhai’s habit of requesting paintings at grand feasts hadn’t changed at all, making him feel as if he had returned to the time before the Dongting Lake case, when he would drink and paint with Wen Ruhai.
Without waiting for his answer, Wen Ruhai had already ordered two servants to clear a space in the center of the great hall and place a long table at the edge of the clearing, preparing brush, ink, paper, and inkstone.
The sound of wind and waves on Dongting Lake mixed with thunder and drum sounds. Wen Ruhai suddenly slapped the table and sang aloud a Yuan dynasty song:
“Poetry flows free, sword spirit bold, heroes don’t fret over fortune’s hold. Slay dragons in the river, shoot eagles in the clouds, wield a brush at the table. When successful, he laughs at idle people; when he stumbles, idle people laugh.”
Meng Jianqing studied Wen Ruhai, his mind suddenly stirring.
At this moment, Wen Ruhai’s bearing resembled Iron Flute Autumn more than Li Keji’s did.
No wonder these two men got along so well.
Li Keji’s gaze fell on the rice paper on the long table, lingered briefly, then turned toward the snow-white walls on both sides of the great hall.
The paper on the long table was insufficient to contain all the emotions in his heart at this moment.
He suddenly grabbed a full box of thick ink from the table and, with a sweep of his arm, splashed it through the air onto the white wall on the right.
A strange light flashed in Wen Ruhai’s eyes as he gestured for servants to quickly prepare more ink.
Li Keji grabbed an embroidered silk cover from the antique stand, wadded it into a ball, and using the silk as a brush, spread the ink stains on the white wall. Where the ink was too high to reach, he leaped onto the roof beams, hooked his feet around the crossbeam, and hung upside down to render the ink.
Wherever the embroidered silk touched, the ink immediately separated into varying shades—some spreading like clouds and mist, others heavy like turbid waves.
When another box of ink was ready, Li Keji leaped down, threw aside the silk, grabbed the largest wolf-hair brush, dipped it full of ink, and with sweeping strokes and outlines, the eight-hundred-li expanse of Dongting Lake appeared on the wall—rippling waters, urgent wind and low clouds, a lonely boat resting in the lake’s heart as if being tossed toward mid-air by giant waves. Most heart-stirring of all was the expansive momentum that absorbed hundreds of rivers and the strange artistic conception of a solitary boat remaining still amid surging waves that reached the sky.
Finally, he wrote with his brush “In eight hundred li of Dongting Lake, who recognizes the lone boat’s free passage?” then threw the brush onto the table. He collapsed from the crossbeam, and gazing at the Dongting Lake on the wall, tears unconsciously streamed down his face.
Meng Jianqing was suddenly shocked and couldn’t help but hold his breath like everyone else in the hall, staring up at the white-capped waves of Dongting Lake on the wall.
He began to think that perhaps someone really would be blinded by profit and bold enough to abuse their official position to take away the paintings Li Keji had previously given to Wen Ruhai. Perhaps for that person, those paintings were indeed worth the risk.