When Young Master Li saw the expression of such bewilderment and astonishment on Grand Master Han Huamei’s face, he was thoroughly delighted.

Yet he asked with a show of concern: “Grand Master Han — is something the matter with the piece?”

Han Huamei looked at the young gentleman, then looked at the calligraphy.

Then he looked at Zheng Songren, who was also looking at him, and for a moment he did not know how to address the situation.

The writing ought to be his own — yet he had absolutely no recollection of ever having written this line. If it was meant to be a verse, it was slightly awkward in composition; if it was supposed to be an insight recorded at some particular moment, he had no memory of it whatsoever.

He had his own methods for authenticating his own work, of course.

Every master calligrapher carries certain subtle peculiarities in their brushwork that distinguish them from all others — peculiarities that others may not notice, but which the writer’s own eye falls upon immediately.

A certain stroke within a certain character, a particular dot or hook in another.

Judging from the verse itself, the piece should be a forgery — yet Han Huamei found himself unable to let go of the matter entirely.

He looked at the young gentleman and asked: “May I ask, young master — when did you come to possess this piece, and how did you acquire it?”

The young gentleman explained very earnestly: “It was a gift from an elder. He told me that many years ago, when he was in Daxing City, he had the good fortune of making the acquaintance of Grand Master Han. The two of them drank freely together at a wine establishment, and when Grand Master Han became deeply intoxicated, he wrote down this line at my elder’s request.”

Han Huamei’s brows knitted together so deeply they would have looked worse than the eyebrows Gao Xining sometimes drew on Li Chi for amusement.

He truly had no memory of it — but during his time in Daxing City, drinking too much had been an almost daily occurrence, and so he truly could not be certain one way or the other.

The suspicious part, however, was that he rarely drank too much at wine establishments.

And so he looked at the young gentleman and lowered his voice to ask: “Might you know which establishment it was?”

The young gentleman replied: “Well, that would be…”

He leaned closer and said in a very low voice: “Zuihong Mei.”

That was the most famous establishment of its kind in all of Daxing City — and since its name also contained the character for “mei,” and the young women there were genuinely gentle and graceful, it had indeed been Han Huamei’s favorite haunt.

In that very moment, even Han Huamei adopted a look of sudden dawning comprehension.

He thought to himself: well, that would explain it then.

Throughout the better part of his life, he had been extraordinarily generous toward the women who had kept him company.

Back in Daxing City, the literary men and even the high officials who sought a single piece of his calligraphy had a very difficult time obtaining one.

But when he had too much to drink, at the Zuihong Mei, he had given away pieces to the young women there on a whim — at least several dozen pieces, by any rough count.

Han Huamei set that piece aside. Since he could not determine with certainty whether his own work was genuine or forged, he would examine his master’s calligraphy next.

Han Huamei was confident about this. No one in the world knew his master’s calligraphy better than he did — not even his master’s own children came close.

If he could claim eight parts certainty when authenticating Master Songming’s genuine work, then when authenticating his master’s calligraphy, he had at least nine-and-a-half parts certainty.

After all, he had studied under his master for eighteen years, copying his master’s characters every single day.

And so he opened the next scroll case, unrolled the piece with even greater care.

His expression registered a flash of surprise — and then fell into a deep, profound bewilderment.

This piece read:

*The “wang” radical with a blue top joined to five-one; earth and stone, two stems, ten inches of rain.*

What… what in the world did that mean?

Was it a spell of some kind?

Young Master Li himself had no idea what it meant, actually.

Whether it was *at the mountain peak, a temple, a jug of wine* or *the wang radical with a blue top joined to five-one* — all of these phrases had come from a book of writings Li Chi had seen among Master Li’s collection.

The books Master Li had given to Li Chi were an extraordinarily varied assortment, and by some accident, one of them had been Master Li’s own personal practice calligraphy book.

Not a single line in that book made any sense to Li Chi.

As for what *the wang radical with a blue top joined to five-one* was supposed to mean — Li Chi suspected it was either a kind of cipher concealing some great secret about the world, or a type of incantation, the purpose of which remained anyone’s guess.

This book had been included in what Master Li had given to Li Chi entirely by accident. Master Li could never have imagined the scale of confusion it would cause Li Chi.

And he certainly could never have imagined how much greater the confusion it would bring to Han Huamei.

Han Huamei began to think that perhaps he did not know himself as well as he had believed — and perhaps he had not truly known his master as well as he thought either.

He had followed his master in the study of calligraphy for eighteen years. Before laying eyes on this piece, he had been confident that he had seen every character his master had ever written.

Yet he had no memory of ever having encountered this passage. To be perfectly honest — each individual character was perfectly recognizable, every single one — but what they meant when put together, he genuinely did not know.

Han Huamei looked at the young gentleman.

The young gentleman wore that expression of innocent curiosity and earnest inquiry: “Grand Master Han — is there something the matter with this piece as well?”

Han Huamei thought for quite a while and could not figure out how to answer.

The calligraphy was definitely genuine. All of his master’s distinctive brushwork characteristics were present, and they were in the subtle places — someone unfamiliar with his master, unfamiliar with this calligraphy, would never have been able to detect them or fabricate them.

He smiled at Li Chi — a smile tinged with something slightly bitter, though trying to conceal that bitterness beneath a mask of awkward composure.

“I… let me look at the others.”

And so Han Huamei opened the third scroll case. This was a surviving work left by his master’s master — whether it was genuine remained to be seen.

Of course, at this particular moment, Han Huamei no longer had complete confidence in himself.

In all the years of his life, he had never doubted himself the way he did now.

He opened the third scroll case and removed the piece with the same exquisite care. Any person of renown in the literary world, any calligrapher of true accomplishment, knew one thing with certainty: among all of Master Songming’s disciples across every generation, it was the fourth-generation inheritor, Wang Xiaohu, who had most captured the divine spirit and style of Master Songming.

Anyone who said Han Huamei’s work resembled Songming’s most closely was merely flattering him — for the simple reason that Han Huamei was still alive.

If Han Huamei’s calligraphy already carried eight-tenths of Master Songming’s divine spirit, then the calligraphy of Master Wang Xiaohu carried nine-tenths of Master Songming’s divine spirit.

After opening this piece and reading what was written on it, Han Huamei abruptly rolled the scroll back up at lightning speed.

In that instant, even Zheng Songren caught a glimpse of Han Huamei’s face flushing red — and in his eyes, a flicker of horrified panic.

This expression was more than enough to convey that Han Huamei was no longer merely experiencing an unprecedented crisis of self-doubt. He had now begun to doubt his master’s master as well.

Of course, Zheng Songren had also managed to see what was written on the piece.

Those characters read: *Upon your body, soaring freely.*

Never mind Han Huamei as a direct lineage inheritor — even Zheng Songren felt his old face flush at the sight of those ten characters. They were… decidedly improper.

Not that their reactions could be blamed, really. When Li Chi had first encountered this line, his expression had gone something like this:

First he froze. Then his eyes gradually widened. Then they gradually narrowed again, and as he stared at those ten characters, he let out an involuntary exclamation of admiration.

He had even muttered to himself: *Master Li, tsk tsk… bold!*

The actual original line, however, read: *Upon your heart, soaring freely.* When Master Li had written it, he had changed “heart” to “body” entirely on purpose — he had been humming to himself and had made the substitution deliberately.

What couldn’t that man get up to?

Young Master Li, witnessing the magnificent array of expressions playing across Grand Master Han’s face, was in fact unable to hold back just a tiny bit. The corners of his mouth pulled apart, and a barely audible sound escaped — a short, suppressed laugh.

And the little page boy standing beside him, who had also been looking at the calligraphy with curiosity, had naturally also read those ten characters clearly.

Her face went redder than even Grand Master Han’s elderly complexion — considerably redder.

Li Chi had disguised himself slightly when he came — making a few subtle adjustments to the contours of his face while keeping his basic features intact.

Which was why the fake shop assistant Liu Yangong had felt a vague sense of familiarity upon looking at him, but could not place where he had seen the face before.

But Xiahou Yili, who was playing the role of the little page, had worn no disguise whatsoever — she had simply changed into a page’s clothes.

The reason for bringing Xiahou Yili was that Li Chi knew his own people had surely been watched for quite some time by now.

But Xiahou Yili had kept almost entirely to herself and had never taken part in any of Li Chi’s operations.

And so Li Chi was confident that even without a disguise, as long as Xiahou Yili dressed as a boy, no one would recognize her.

Standing beside Li Chi, Xiahou Yili reached out and gave him a sharp pinch on the back of his waist.

It was quite painful, actually.

Li Chi endured it without making a sound, turned his head, and looked at Xiahou Yili with an entirely innocent expression. Xiahou Yili’s face grew even redder.

Li Chi meanwhile was thinking: those scandalous words weren’t something I came up with — why are you pinching me…

Han Huamei had fallen into silence — a somewhat stunned, dazed kind of silence.

He had only glanced at the piece for an instant before rolling it back up — yet he still had seven or eight parts of confidence that it was his master’s master’s calligraphy.

But in his memory, his master’s master had been an exceedingly rigid old pedant.

His own master had still snuck off to places of entertainment in secret — his master’s master would absolutely never have done so.

He would never have imagined that the old man, who had kept his own master under such strict discipline, had secretly been so… uninhibited.

“About that…”

After a long silence, Han Huamei looked at Li Chi and said: “Young Master Li, would it be possible to leave all these pieces with me temporarily? I would give you an answer after examining them carefully.”

Li Chi shook his head and said: “These pieces are of extraordinary value — calling them priceless would not be an exaggeration. How could I possibly…”

Han Huamei quickly said: “I understand, I understand — to simply leave everything behind like this is indeed rather presumptuous of me to ask. But I truly cannot reach a firm conclusion in just a few moments, so…”

Li Chi had been waiting for exactly this.

The reason he had not simply sent men to raid Yunbao Zhai outright was primarily that he wanted to get money out of them.

Nothing made him happier than extracting money, and if there was anything that made him happier than that, it was extracting money with his own hands.

If he sent soldiers in directly, he might not be able to seize all the silver — this was a Jishi Bureau establishment, and an extremely important one at that. The wealth hidden here was therefore considerable, and hard to fully account for.

Beyond that, Li Chi was simply fond of having fun.

After coming through a fierce battle, Li Chi wanted to relax a little as well — and there was no shortage of people to tease.

Of course, he could not let the art of swindling go to waste either. After all, it was a craft his own master had personally taught him, hand in hand.

And so Li Chi, in a tone of tentative inquiry but with an expression that left no room for doubt, said: “Unless Grand Master Han were to provide me with a deposit. I am staying at Maoyun Inn. If Grand Master Han has any doubts, you are welcome to have someone follow me — you give me a deposit and I cannot leave the city anyway, so we can both rest easy.”

Han Huamei immediately said: “That would be appropriate — entirely appropriate.”

He did not dare look further. He was afraid of exposing, in front of outsiders, too many of his lineage’s… *ahem*… private proclivities.

If his master’s master could write *upon your body, soaring freely*, what if it turned out his master’s master’s master had been the one to teach him such things?

Young Master Li naturally knew what was written in those pieces — but Zheng Songren and Liu Yangong present in the room did not. As an inheritor of Master Songming’s legacy, Han Huamei absolutely could not allow these two men to mock Master Songming.

He asked Li Chi: “How much… of a deposit would you require?”

Li Chi said: “These pieces are, in my estimation, all genuine originals. Each one is in truth priceless — but since Grand Master Han feels unable to reach a firm conclusion, I naturally cannot ask for a deposit commensurate with their true value. Very well then — seven pieces in total. For Master Songming’s piece, I will accept a deposit of fifty thousand taels. For each of the other six pieces, I will accept twenty thousand taels apiece.”

Zheng Songren was staggered: “Impossible — no one can possibly provide a deposit of that magnitude.”

Li Chi said: “You’re welcome to try and haggle.”

Zheng Songren immediately said: “Come down a bit.”

Li Chi: “No.”

Zheng Songren: “…”

“Agreed!”

Han Huamei snapped his head up sharply: “Pay the young master exactly as he has asked!”

Li Chi laughed inwardly, thinking: if it weren’t for the fact that a true inheritor of Master Songming’s lineage was right here in this establishment, this particular swindle would have been considerably harder to pull off.

—