Liu Mentang spent her days in the shop, swatting flies and learning to use the abacus from the accountant. Once she grasped the basics, she began calculating the costs of hiring shop assistants. As she meticulously worked through the accounts, her brows furrowed in concern. She realized that spending money daily without earning any was unsustainable.
Occasionally, customers would enter the shop, only to leave after a glance. Liu Mentang politely stopped a few patrons, asking what they found unsatisfactory. One or two customers were honest, stating that the porcelain lacked originality, consisted of common goods, yet was priced higher than other stores. Consequently, they intended to shop elsewhere.
After hearing this feedback, Liu Mentang spent a sleepless night contemplating. The next day, she and Li Mama set out to investigate other shops’ merchandise sources, hoping to find ways to improve their business.
Most porcelain in town came from scattered kilns in surrounding villages. The finest pieces, meant for imperial tribute, never circulated among commoners. More exquisite items were exclusively supplied to established shops, leaving newer stores unable to acquire them. Coarser porcelain, though cheaper, offered little profit margin and relied on high-volume sales. Typically, peddlers sold these items in streets and villages, unable to cover shop expenses.
After several days of exploration, Liu Mentang grew increasingly worried. She wondered why her husband had chosen to leave their hometown to run this business, especially in porcelain where they held no advantage. At this rate, the shop would suffer significant losses. Fortunately, the upcoming internal river works project would likely increase property values, allowing them to potentially rent out the shop to maintain their livelihood.
Although rental income would be less than profits from trading, it could sustain them if they lived frugally. However, they might not be able to keep their servants. She worried about her husband’s ability to adapt without his usual attendants and the fate of their two elderly maids if the Cui family dismissed them.
Having just boasted to Li Mama about future prosperity, Liu Mentang now faced the possibility of sending them back to their hometowns. The thought troubled her deeply. She continued searching for solutions, walking until her legs ached and her skirt was stained with mud from country roads but found no perfect solution.
If worst came to worst, she could only provide Li Mama and the others with some money for their retirement, ensuring they wouldn’t be left destitute. This would deplete her remaining funds, but at least the Cui family had the shop to sustain them.
These thoughts dampened Liu Mentang’s spirits, and she decided to return to Lingquan Town. However, after just a few steps, she heard someone call out, “Madam, please wait!”
Turning around, she saw it was Zhao Quan, the divine doctor she hadn’t seen in a long time. Zhao Quan was in the area searching for reclusive talents. Besides his medical expertise, he was also well-versed in calligraphy and painting. However, he had little interest in famous artists’ works, preferring to discover unrecognized talents and act as a patron to struggling scholars.
That day, in a neighboring county’s painting shop, the Marquis of Zhennan had found a summer lotus painting by a failed scholar who used the pseudonym “Bitter Brush Recluse.” The painting was inexpensive, costing only half a tael of silver after framing, suitable for country gentry to decorate their bare walls. However, Zhao Quan believed the seemingly unremarkable work showed elegance in brushwork and innovative use of color, indicating the artist could become a master if given the opportunity.
Excited by his discovery, Zhao Quan had set out to find the artist based on the address left behind. Although he hadn’t found the lotus painter, he was delighted to encounter Liu Mentang, whom he considered a delicate lotus herself.
Seeing Zhao Quan again, Liu Mentang remained cautious, remembering her husband’s warning about the doctor’s tendency to pursue his friends’ wives. Unlike their previous encounters, she maintained a formal demeanor, barely nodding in greeting before turning to Li Mama, saying, “Please tell Zhao Yishi that we have matters to attend to and must take our leave.”
Zhao Quan found this behavior strange, wondering why she would use Li Mama to convey a message when he was right there. However, still excited about his recent discovery, he was eager to showcase his refined taste to the beauty before him. Ignoring her coldness, he quickly said, “I’ve come seeking a talented painter and was worried I had no one to validate my judgment. Madam, you’re here at the perfect time. Please, take a look at this painting.”
He instructed his attendant to retrieve the scroll from his carriage and proudly displayed it to Liu Mentang.
Initially uninterested, Liu Mentang glanced at the painting briefly. However, her gaze lingered as she noticed its quality. Though trained in martial arts, her family’s interest in antiques and paintings had given her some knowledge of art appreciation. While not an expert, she could discern quality.
The lotus painting used subtle colors to highlight the flower’s pure and upright nature. The dragonfly’s tail touching the water, creating ripples, added a sense of movement to the stillness, making it intriguing.
After studying the painting for a moment, Liu Mentang suddenly bent down to examine the dragonfly more closely.
Seeing her interest, Zhao Quan felt proud and said, “What do you think? Isn’t it refreshingly elegant? I declare that if this person receives a noble’s recommendation, they will surely gain fame throughout the land. Would you like to accompany me to witness the moment this master meets a kindred spirit?”
Liu Mentang slowly straightened up and asked Li Mama, “Please ask the divine doctor where the artist lives and how far it is from here.”
Li Mama, understanding Liu Mentang’s distant attitude towards the doctor, silently sympathizes with the wrongly accused Marquis of Zhennan before relaying the question.
Delighted by Liu Mentang’s apparent interest in joining him, Zhao Quan eagerly replied, “It’s not far! Just in the village ahead. If we hurry, we can return to town before sunset, in time for your evening meal. Of course, if we’re delayed, I know of a wonderful waterside restaurant. I could treat you to a meal there, where we could enjoy the lake view and savor some wine and dishes.”
Hearing this, Liu Mentang frowned inwardly, convinced that the doctor indeed had questionable character. How could he casually invite a friend’s wife to dine alone?
Refusing to ride in Zhao Quan’s carriage, she returned to her donkey cart, following slowly behind Zhao Quan’s entourage.
Zhao Quan, aware that Liu Mentang believed herself to be Cui Jiu’s wife, understood her need to maintain propriety while traveling. He didn’t take offense but found her modest behavior even more appealing. He longed to spend time with her, imagining them as immortal couples traversing mountains and rivers in search of fine paintings.
After a short journey along country paths, they arrived at a dilapidated thatched cottage where the scholar supposedly lived. As Zhao Quan descended from his carriage and instructed his servant to knock, the cottage’s owner appeared.
The man was a scholar in his forties, wearing a faded, threadbare robe. His beard was unkempt, and his temples showed traces of gray. He was unsteadily hoeing in the courtyard, where spring seedlings trembled in the breeze.
Hearing the call, the scholar barely looked up, giving the visitors a fleeting glance before silently returning to his work.
Accustomed to such eccentrics, Zhao Quan politely called from outside, “Are you the Bitter Brush Recluse who sold your work to the ink shop in the neighboring county?”
The old scholar finally half-raised his eyes and grunted an affirmation.
Pleased to have found the right person, Zhao Quan explained his admiration for the painting and the purpose of his visit.
After sizing up Zhao Quan, the scholar set down his hoe and opened the gate. Not well-off, he had no proper furniture for guests. Instead, he laid out a mat in a level part of the courtyard for the visitors to sit cross-legged.
As a woman, Liu Mentang remained standing to the side with Li Mama, observing silently.
The scholar offered no refreshments, so Zhao Quan’s servant, concerned about his master’s comfort, brought out a box of pastries and used the carriage’s brazier to brew tea.
The old scholar ate heartily, devouring most of the pastries, suggesting irregular meals were common for him. As he satisfied his hunger, his demeanor softened, and he engaged in a pleasant discussion about the painting with Zhao Quan.
However, as Zhao Quan enthusiastically shared his interpretation of the lotus painting, the scholar’s expression grew increasingly dejected. After Zhao Quan finished, the scholar pondered for a moment before saying, “Thank you for your appreciation, but you are not knowledgeable about painting. It’s getting late; please take your leave.”
Zhao Quan, caught off guard by this blunt dismissal, felt his pride as a nobleman stirred. He demanded, “Where have I erred? Please point out my mistakes. How can you claim I don’t understand painting without explanation?”
At this moment, Liu Mentang, who had been silent since entering the courtyard, spoke up, “Sir, I also have some thoughts on this painting. Would you be willing to hear them?”
The reclusive scholar, accustomed to his solitude and unimpressed by beauty, had barely noticed Liu Mentang. Upon hearing her speak, he brushed pastry crumbs from his robe and said, “Please, madam, speak quickly. I need to chop wood for cooking soon.”
Approaching the painting, Liu Mentang pointed at the dragonfly, saying, “I believe I see a faint image in the dragonfly’s eye… a woman admiring lotuses on a bridge, her reflection captured in the insect’s gaze.”
Her words startled Zhao Quan, who stared at the painting intently before calling for his servant to bring the yin-yang mirror, a gift from a tributary state to the imperial court. The mirror, designed to magnify text for the elderly, was something Zhao Quan occasionally used for seal carving and kept in his carriage for leisure.
Eagerly taking the mirror from his servant, Zhao Quan examined the dragonfly’s eye. To his amazement, within the tiny insect eye, no larger than a soybean, was indeed a scene of a willow-lined bridge with an elegant woman holding a parasol!