Though Madam Feng’s parting words were muttered, they were loud enough for everyone in the Li household to hear.
Madam Zhao was furious but knew better than to argue over such matters because of a few unpleasant words. She could only vent her anger by snapping her cleaning cloth.
This incident would naturally cool the relationship between the two families.
However, Old Shopkeeper Li and Zhenniang remained remarkably composed.
He, having passed his sixtieth year and understood life’s vicissitudes, wouldn’t take such matters of sentiment to heart.
As for Zhenniang, having lived two lives, what could truly trouble her? Someone who had experienced death once tends to develop a much more philosophical outlook on life.
In Zhenniang’s view, Madam Feng wasn’t a clever person. For marriage proposals, especially between acquaintances, such direct approaches were inappropriate. One should know that if the proposal falls through, both families would be left in an awkward position.
And now, wasn’t that exactly what happened?
At present, Zhenniang put those thoughts aside as she and her grandfather crouched together, discussing and calculating the proportions for the superior lacquer smoke materials – how much tung oil to use, the ratio of raw lacquer, and the amount of lard needed.
These oil ingredients had to be properly proportioned to produce premium-grade smoke material.
Fortunately, they had earned some money from the previous tung oil smoke production; otherwise, they wouldn’t even have had money to buy lard.
Thinking of tung oil smoke, Zhenniang recalled the earlier arrangement for Third Elder Cheng and young Master Luo to deliver tung oil for smoke production.
She glanced at the sky through the city gate tunnel – just a sliver visible, growing gray, indicating evening was approaching.
“Mother, didn’t the Chen and Luo families send any tung oil today?” Zhenniang asked Madam Zhao, who was busy working nearby.
“No, you’re getting ahead of yourself! Who do you think the Cheng and Luo families are? Why would they personally deliver tung oil? Who cares about your little smoke production? You think the Cheng and Luo families can’t produce it themselves?” Madam Zhao, already irritated, responded sharply.
Hearing her mother’s words, Zhenniang was momentarily stunned before breaking into a knowing smile.
“The Cheng and Luo families indeed won’t deliver tung oil,” Old Shopkeeper Li commented, eyes narrowed.
“Yes, I was thoughtless. Tomorrow I’ll go to the Cheng and Luo ink shops to collect twenty jin of tung oil each for smoke production,” Zhenniang nodded.
Collecting it oneself versus having it delivered were two entirely different matters.
Going to collect tung oil was work, for earning money – and in her case, also for keeping her word.
But if they were to deliver it, that would be condescending to honor talent. After all, both families had large ink-making workshops with skilled smoke-production masters who were experts wherever they went. The two families couldn’t possibly humble themselves by delivering tung oil to a young girl – wouldn’t that boost others’ pride while diminishing their dignity?
Even setting aside such concerns, how could they explain it to the master craftsmen in their workshops?
These implications hadn’t occurred to Zhenniang immediately, but Madam Zhao, with her simple reasoning, had hit upon the truth of the matter.
“Indeed, that’s how it should be. In life, one’s credibility cannot be compromised,” Old Shopkeeper Li stated.
Thus passed an uneventful night.
The next morning, Zhenniang rose early and went about her usual tasks – heating water, organizing the smoke-production tools in the woodshed, then preparing to go to Four Treasures Street to collect tung oil from the Cheng and Luo ink shops. This was partly for credibility, and partly to fulfill karmic connections.
Huizhou had hundreds of ink workshops and thousands of ink craftsmen. Since the Huizhou prefecture office was located in Shexian, Four Treasures Street had become a gathering place for the four precious things of the study.
Even merchants from the two capitals frequently visited, and various warehouses had branch offices there. Four Treasures Street was undoubtedly the busiest market in the area.
Zhenniang walked unhurriedly, with Xier following behind, skipping along with a stick and hemp rope.
Naturally, forty jin of tung oil was no lightweight. Though Zhenniang had an adult’s soul, her current body was only fourteen years old and somewhat malnourished due to poverty, making her appear rather frail with limited strength.
That’s why she had recruited Xier’s help – they would need to work together to carry the tung oil home.
Soon they arrived at the Cheng family ink shop. Third Elder Cheng wasn’t present, but the shopkeeper, Cheng Wushi, knew about the recent events. When Zhenniang said she had come to collect tung oil for smoke production, he asked her to wait while sending an assistant to measure out the oil from the back courtyard.
As for whether Zhenniang could produce premium-grade smoke material, the shopkeeper had no doubts, believing that Old Shopkeeper Li Jinshui must be the one actually producing the smoke behind the scenes.
Given Old Shopkeeper Li’s prior oath, it made sense that he would now have his granddaughter act as the front person.
And with Li Jinshui’s skills, producing premium-grade smoke material shouldn’t be a problem.
“Miss Zhen, how is Old Shopkeeper Li’s health?” the shopkeeper asked with a smile.
“He’s quite well,” Zhenniang replied with a polite bow.
They continued making small talk.
Just then, a scholarly man in his thirties wearing long-sleeved robes hurried in, immediately slamming an ink stick onto the counter: “Shopkeeper Cheng, your Cheng ink shop is utterly unreasonable! I paid a hefty sum for this Five Stone Powder ink stick, only to find its quality is terrible. You must explain this!”
“Ah, Master Dongtu, please come to the private room for tea and we can discuss this matter,” the shopkeeper quickly recognized the scholar and respectfully invited him to sit.
Master Dongtu’s surname was Zhan, and though only a xiucai degree holder, he came from a family of scholarly traditions in painting and calligraphy. He himself had started learning painting from his brother at age four and had now gained some reputation in the painting world. Ink workshops would pay handsomely for him to test their new inks.
Zhenniang remembered Zhan Dongtu because, in her previous life, her grandfather had studied Hui ink. Calligraphy, painting, and carving were integral to ink making – without these arts, ink would be mere writing material, far from achieving artistic status.
Zhan Dongtu had not only achieved considerable success in painting, but his calligraphy was particularly distinctive, following the wild cursive style of Huaisu, emphasizing spirit over form.
At this moment, however, Master Dongtu was in no mood for tea. He called for an assistant and took out his inkstone to grind the ink right there. Zhenniang then noticed that the ground ink produced many bubbles.
This was problematic, though whether it was due to poor ink quality remained uncertain – sometimes an inferior inkstone with uneven ink distribution could also cause bubbles.
“Master Dongtu, my Cheng family has maintained its reputation for generations, and all our ink products undergo a thorough inspection. Could it be possible that there’s an issue with your inkstone?” the shopkeeper suggested tactfully.
This was a matter of the workshop’s reputation and had to be clarified.
“Impossible! This is a Song Dynasty Duan inkstone from the old quarry, once part of Master Zizhan’s collection. How could it be ordinary?” Master Dongtu replied with a stern face.
The mentioned Master Zizhan was Su Dongpo.
Zhenniang examined the inkstone – it was indeed exceptional. Its surface had a warm patina, shaped like a lotus leaf, with dark rouge-red patterns inside resembling a lotus flower. This was a rouge-red purple stone Duan inkstone.
“Perhaps we could try with our inkstone?” the shopkeeper persisted.
“Very well,” Master Dongtu nodded. Being from the same area, and given the Cheng family’s good reputation, he was willing to accommodate.
“Bring the Gold Coin Duan inkstone from the study,” the shopkeeper instructed his assistant.
Soon, the assistant carefully brought the inkstone. Zhenniang observed the dark copper coin patterns on it, the whole stone emanating the lustrous glow of purple jade borders – another fine inkstone.
After dropping some clear water on the stone, the shopkeeper began grinding the ink slowly.
“Oh no, it’s bubbling again!” Before long, chains of small bubbles appeared on the inkstone. Now even the shopkeeper was at a loss for words.
“How can this be? It’s truly good ink, made with the finest ingredients by our master craftsman, and we even added the Five Stone Powder to enhance mental clarity and inspiration during writing,” the shopkeeper muttered.
Five Stone Powder? Zhenniang was startled at first, then understood – when separate, neither the inkstone nor the ink had issues, but when combined, the problem emerged.