I looked at Yan Zhenqing and Zhang Zeduan, and said respectfully, "Please follow me, both of you." Then I looked at Wu Sangui. He seemed to realize that I didn't like him either, and looked at me coldly. I could only reluctantly say, "You come with us too." Wu Sangui snorted, stood up, and followed us out.
There's no way around it. You can beat and scold traitors like Qin Hui, but it's much harder to deal with traitors like Wu Sangui. Look at that old guy's physique, he could easily take on three or five of me. And I've heard that although this old traitor surrendered to the left and the right, apart from being eventually wiped out by the Qing government, he rarely suffered defeats in leading troops throughout his life. Even Emperor Kangxi, his grandfather, praised this old fellow as incredibly brave.
Yan Zhenqing already knew that Zhang Zeduan was an artist, so he politely cupped his hands to Wu Sangui and said, "Has this gentleman not yet been taught anything?"
Wu Sangui said indifferently, "I am but a mere warrior. For the sake of a woman, I did not hesitate to let tens of thousands of soldiers shed their blood. In the end, I am still two-faced and despicable!" He then glared at me fiercely.
Is this an attitude of admitting fault?
Yan Zhenqing was completely bewildered and could only reply perfunctorily, "Hehe, only a great hero can be true to his nature. Brother Wu, you have great spirit."
At this point, Zhang Zeduan said to me, "Xiao Qiang, as the spokesperson of the Celestial Court (did this term already exist back then?), must be an expert in both calligraphy and poetry. I wonder what great works he has left behind so that we can admire and learn from them?"
Are you trying to put me down? I said awkwardly, "What are you talking about? I'm just a nobody..." Is there anyone named Xiaoqiang who is a master of both calligraphy and poetry? Old Zhang is really dense.
Zhang Zeduan wanted to ask more, but Yan Zhenqing had already noticed that I was a little uncomfortable, so he quickly smoothed things over, saying, "Brother Xiaoqiang is too modest. I will learn from you again in the future."
Once in the car, I turned to Zhang Zeduan and said, "Mr. Zhang, it seems that your 'Along the River During the Qingming Festival' painting has become somewhat incomplete over time. Would you like to take this opportunity to create another one?"
Zhang Zeduan resolutely shook his head and said, "Different artists, different paintings; that's a painter's basic principle." Later, I pondered the meaning of his words. He probably meant that if a painter succeeds with a single work and then only keeps repeating the same content, it's a waste of their artistic life. After all, artists are meant to create, not produce. It seems unrealistic to expect the old man to recreate "Along the River During the Qingming Festival." Even if he could paint it, it would lack the spirit of the original.
Zhang Zeduan stared blankly at the bustling traffic outside the carriage and said, "The prosperity here is enough to be a painting."
I was startled and quickly said, "Don't waste your inspiration. If you want to go somewhere crowded, I'll take you to Futai Road later, or we can go to the bar street tonight." It's quite interesting to think about. If Master Zhang were to paint a "Fuchsia Road Shopping Map" or a "Bar Street Beauty Exploration Map" under my guidance, then I... then I would become a traitor to the nation.
Zhang Zeduan didn't hear what I was saying at all; he just stared blankly outside. Yan Zhenqing said, "Don't disturb him. Painting is about achieving a natural, seamless effect, a moment of inspiration."
Zhang Zeduan smiled slightly at Yan Zhenqing to express his gratitude, then went back into a daze.
Upon reaching the school gate, Yan Zhenqing suddenly shouted, "Stop!"
I slammed on the brakes. Wu Sangui's expression changed drastically. He instinctively reached for his sword at his waist, glancing around warily as he asked in a low voice, "Is there an ambush?"
Zhang Zeduan was also startled from his reverie, rubbing his forehead and asking, "What's wrong?"
Yan Zhenqing leaned out the window, gazing at our school flag in the sky with admiration, and said, "Who did this? It truly deserves to be called a masterpiece of both calligraphy and painting. Hmm, one line of characters even uses two different calligraphic styles. The first three characters imitate the calligraphy of Wang Xizhi, the Sage of Calligraphy, while the last three characters, though I don't know whose hand they are, are of their own, yet they form a style of their own..."
Zhang Zeduan stuck his head out of the other window and continued, "What's remarkable is that the painting is both lifelike and expressive, as unrestrained as Wu (Daozi) and as spirited as Yan (Liben). Wonderful!"
I prostrated myself in admiration and said, "You two are both right. This flag is a collaborative work by the four of you. The first three characters aren't copied; they were written by Wang Xizhi. The last three characters were modified by Liu Gongquan. As for the painting..."
"Oh my, is Wang Youjun really here?"
Before I could finish speaking, the composed and insightful Yan Zhenqing immediately exclaimed.
As soon as we got off the bus, an old man approached us. I immediately pointed him out to them: "That's Lu Yu, the Sage of Tea." Before we could even exchange greetings, I pointed to another old man wearing reading glasses and carrying a notebook, who had just finished class with the children and said, "That's Bian Que, the legendary physician. The other legendary physician, Hua Tuo, is in the school clinic." Bian Que is currently teaching pinyin and simplified Chinese characters to the younger students.
As we passed the auditorium, we saw Wu Daozi. The old man, wearing a hat made of folded newspapers, was standing on a ladder drawing the dome for me. Yan Liben was standing on the wall, drawing the Seventy-Two Disciples of Confucius. I felt it was necessary to introduce them to Zhang Zeduan, since we were all in the same profession. Yan Liben waved to us and said, "Wait a minute, I'll finish drawing Yan Hui, just a few strokes left—"
Yan Zhenqing exclaimed in admiration, "Your place is truly a gathering of wise men!"
I pulled him along and said, "Come on, I'll go find Wang Xizhi for you."
Upon arriving at the lecture hall, Wang Xizhi and Liu Gongquan were busily engaged in their writing. Wang Xizhi had written: "Study hard and make progress every day," while Liu Gongquan had written: "Hard work, simplicity, liveliness, and striving for excellence." A pair of these works will be displayed in each class later. This was just a temporary measure I had in mind; no matter how well they wrote, the content probably wouldn't be recognized, right? Of course, this wasn't their main task. Several steles in the new campus were waiting for them to make rubbings, so for now, they were just practicing their calligraphy.
Before long, Wu Daozi and Yan Liben arrived, and the meeting of the masters was quite lively. Zhang Zeduan was the youngest among them. After greeting everyone, he rubbed his hands and said, "Brothers, it is not easy for us to gather here. I have thought of a topic." It was clear that Master Zhang was very excited, a far cry from his previous taciturn demeanor.
Yan Liben and Wu Daozi said in unison, "Oh, my brother, please speak."
Zhang Zeduan said, "During our dynasty, His Majesty Emperor Huizong once set a topic: 'Returning home on horseback, the fragrance of flowers lingers on the hooves.' The goal was to depict the scene in a painting, especially how to highlight the word 'fragrance.' Do you two gentlemen have any good ideas?"
Wu Daozi laughed and said, "How about the three of us each create a painting at the same time, and then you all give your opinions?"
When Wang Xizhi and the others heard that these three great painters were going to have a painting contest, a once-in-a-millennium event, they applauded and cheered, along with Yan Zhenqing and Liu Gongquan. Wu Sangui said impatiently, "You guys do it, I'm going to go for a walk outside." I ignored him.
The classroom was well-stocked with brushes, ink, and paints, and the three masters of painting each occupied a table. Yan Liben said, "Shall we set a time limit of one incense stick's time?" The other two nodded.
But where could I find incense for them? In the end, I lit a cigarette, placed it upside down on the table, and said, "Gentlemen, this will have to do. Three cigarettes is the limit, and that should take about the time."
So, amidst the swirling smoke of Jingbaisha, the three masters wielded their brushes. It would have been even better with some music, but unfortunately, Yu Boya smashed his zither.
Although Wang Xizhi and the others were not skilled in painting, they still had profound artistic attainments. They gathered around the three of them, looking completely absorbed.
These three artists each had their own distinct style. Wu Daozi painted the fastest; in the blink of an eye, a galloping horse leaped onto the paper, the rider leaning forward, gazing ahead, full of dynamism. However, it was not yet clear how he would depict the character "香" (fragrance).
Yan Liben slowly drew little figures on the paper, but he didn't even draw a horse, which was even more inexplicable.
Zhang Zeduan simply painted a hesitant horse, but there was no indication of where the fragrance would come from.
By the time the two cigarettes had burned out, Wu Daozi's paper already depicted vibrant figures in fine clothes and riding spirited horses; Yan Liben had drawn over a dozen small figures of various shapes and sizes, but still no horses; Zhang Zeduan, on the other hand, continued to flesh out his horse and rider composition. It can be said that these three paintings by this point were already masterpieces of traditional Chinese painting. Their brushwork and structure were skillful and refined, yet none of them yet truly captured the essence of "fragrance."
I placed the last cigarette on the table—thankfully, it was agreed to be just one incense stick, otherwise the masters would have been poisoned by nicotine if they had insisted on taking their time and producing fine work.
I was getting impatient, and Wang Xizhi and the others seemed to be getting restless too. Although they still looked relaxed with their hands behind their backs, they noticeably quickened their pace, looking around at the painters.
When the last bit of cigarette was less than three centimeters long, Wu Daozi suddenly straightened up and wiped away his sweat. I thought he was about to finish, but to my surprise, he immediately widened his eyes, bent down again, as if entering the final sprint. I watched as he flicked his wrist, drawing a series of ink dots behind the hind hooves of the large horse on his paper. The ink spread, and I could see that they actually represented many flower petals. Thus, his painting became a knight galloping at full speed, kicking up a trail of petals. Although the season couldn't be discerned from the knight's clothing, the vibrant spring atmosphere was unmistakable from the petals. Only then did Wu Daozi let out a long sigh; it seemed he had truly finished.
By this time, the smoke had burned down to its last wisp, yet Yan Liben's paper only showed a group of dumbfounded little figures. I was dumbfounded too—it seemed that Yan was going to lose in terms of conception. But then, Yan Liben suddenly depicted a horse in the distance, about to disappear from view, and then added a few flower buds above and beside the little figures…
Looking at this painting again, the overall effect is immediately different. The flower buds already indicate the season, and only now can one truly appreciate that the expressions on the faces of the little figures are actually of them reveling in the fragrance of the flowers. Yan Liben's ability to depict human expressions is superb; he truly lives up to his reputation.
Zhang Zeduan, however, seemed completely oblivious to the time, still meticulously sketching his figures and horses like a schoolchild. The horse's gait was quite leisurely, and there was nothing particularly noteworthy about the figures, but the depiction of flowers and fragrance was completely absent. Could it be that Master Zhang could only paint "Along the River During the Qingming Festival"? It's a shame he even came up with this question.
But no one expected that in those final seconds, Zhang Ze, with a blank expression, casually added two fluttering butterflies around the rear hoof of the horse in the painting...
Then, the third cigarette went out completely.
Wang Xizhi was stunned for a long time before he couldn't help but exclaim, "Wonderful!"