Chapter Forty-Three: Using the Sword as a Brush

The little novice monk's collapse was indeed a little spectacle arranged by Chang Hao. After losing the highest honor, Chang Hao had sat at home for several days in gloomy irritation. At last, unable to bear the stuffiness any longer, he made plans with his idle companions to go out and clear his mind on the third day of the third month. In the end, he cleared nothing at all and only ended up with a bellyful of anger.

Along the banks of Qujiang, rumors spread everywhere about the rejoicing of the newly successful scholars, and most of them concerned Pei Min. People said he was the Literary Star descended to earth, that his talent was unrivaled, and that he and Jia Chen, the foremost courtesan, were a perfect match, about to perform a tale of exquisite romance.

To Chang Hao, Pei Min was the culprit who had stolen his top laureate title, and all this splendor ought to have belonged to him. If not for Pei Min, the one dazzling the world today would have been him, and the one winning the beauty would have been him as well...

Chang Hao could not bear to watch Pei Min gather every accolade so smoothly, so he arranged for a trusted man to stage a scene, intent on making Pei Min sick at heart and irritating him to the core. Even if the inscription at the wild goose pagoda could not be stopped, he would still make Pei Min unhappy.

If Pei Min was unhappy, then Chang Hao would be happy.

When Pei Min spotted him in the crowd, Chang Hao did not bother to hide his feelings; he offered a smug, mocking look that said: what can you do to me?

Pei Min had already suspected that Chang Hao was behind this matter, and now that he saw that provocative expression, it only confirmed his suspicions.

The abbot of the great Ci'en Temple was in a panic when he saw the ink and brush scattered on the ground and the inkstone smashed to pieces. The inscription at the wild goose pagoda brought the greatest benefit to their temple, and the wall recording the names of the hundred successful scholars had already become one of the sights beneath the pagoda in the capital. Countless visitors from near and far came here to admire it, bringing enormous fame and incense offerings.

If mishandled and the glory of the inscription at the wild goose pagoda were lost, it would be a heavy blow to the great Ci'en Temple.

"Why are you still standing there? Hurry and prepare new ones!" the abbot barked, his anger directed at the innocent novice.

Pei Min raised a hand to stop him. "Master, there is no need for such trouble. Who says one cannot inscribe a name without a brush?"

As he said this, he looked at Chang Hao and gave him a smile tinged with gratitude. With Chang Hao's status, he would not dirty his own hands; dragging him out into the open would only give him a chance to bite back. To deal with such a man, the more angry and aggrieved you became, the happier he was. The less you treated him as anything important, the more miserable he would become.

But Pei Min had no intention of swallowing this humiliation. Only when one lacked the strength to take revenge did one speak of a gentleman's revenge, ten years is not too late. With the strength to retaliate, Pei Min believed more strongly in immediate karmic justice...

Under the puzzled gazes of the crowd, Pei Min stepped before the stone wall and drew his longsword.

Rather than a brush, he trusted his sword more. With no hesitation, the Autumn Water Sword's tip entered the wall, and he used sword in place of brush to write: "Gui Chou Ox, second year of the Primordial Beginning, second month, Pei Min..."

His action drew cries of shock from all around. Since the custom of inscribing names at the wild goose pagoda had become popular, no one had ever used anything other than a brush. For Pei Min to use a sword in place of a brush was far too bold.

Lu Ze, Feng Zhi, and the rest of the successful scholars were stunned one after another, and from a short distance away they began to discuss it in disbelief.

"What is he doing? If the brush, ink, and inkstone are broken, just prepare new ones. To use a sword instead of a brush, he is disgracing us all..."

Lu Ze and Feng Zhi also felt regret. Had they known this would be the outcome, then even knowing they were not his match, they should have fought together for it. The words carved at the pagoda were meant to be passed down for all time, to be seen by future generations. To imagine one's own name crooked and awkward, would that not invite mockery for centuries to come?

Xue Yong wanted to speak up for Pei Min, but when he opened his mouth, no words came out.

In inscribing a name, calligraphy matters most, and the brush is the heart of calligraphy. Only with a brush can one write truly beautiful characters. Carving with a sword tip could barely count as hard-brush writing; how could hard-brush writing compare with brushwork that balanced strength and suppleness? And this was the sword tip, a cutting blade of a "hard brush" even more so...

Thinking of their names being ridiculed by later generations for a hundred years, the successful scholars grew restless and uneasy; some even felt the urge to rush forward and stop him.

Yet just as Pei Min shifted his body to write the second vertical stroke and reveal the first column of characters, the surroundings suddenly fell silent.

Everyone present, without exception, wore expressions of astonishment!

All eyes fixed on that column of characters, and the more they looked, the more they were shaken, the more they looked, the more dazzling it seemed!

Those who understood calligraphy even cried out in amazement.

"My heavens!" Lu Ze's mouth fell open.

"This, this writing..." Feng Zhi stared in stunned disbelief, his eyes wide as round as saucers, unable to speak.

Jia Chen had been worrying about Pei Min the whole time, but when she saw this writing, she smiled, smiling so brightly that her face was full of light.

What Pei Min wrote was not the script of this era. As someone who had day and night received instruction from the two great masters of calligraphy, Zhang Xu and He Zhizhang, how could he not understand the gap between brush script and hard-brush script? Thus from the very beginning, Pei Min had not intended to write his most accomplished small regular script, but a Song-style typeface. Song-style typeface is a carved script, a font formed when the woodblock engravers of the Ming dynasty, through long practice in carving and writing, refined the strokes of Tang regular script into a distinctive ornamental style. Each stroke carried the flavor of the carving knife. It preserved the essential qualities of Tang regular script, yet was more squared, crisp, and forceful.

The Song-style characters Pei Min carved were square and upright, their strokes horizontal and vertical, thin horizontal strokes and thick vertical ones, with distinct corners and rigorous structure. They were neat and even, highly regular in their strokes, giving a clear, bright, vigorous impression.

With exquisite control down to the finest hair's breadth, Pei Min carved the characters with his sword, presenting Song-style typeface before all, and instantly stunned every connoisseur.

The faster Pei Min wrote, the more stone chips fell. Before long, the names of more than twenty successful scholars had all been carved into the wall...

At the end, still unsatisfied, Pei Min added a poem: In former days, my sordid life was not worth boasting of; today my unrestrained joy knows no end. Riding the spring breeze, my horse's hooves fly; in one day I behold all the flowers of Chang'an.

"Miraculous!"

"The writing is divine, and the poem too is divine. He is truly possessed by the Literary Star!"

...

All kinds of praise rang out without pause.

Pei Min sheathed his sword, looked at his masterpiece, then turned back in satisfaction and once again found Chang Hao in the crowd, offering him that sweet smile...

The more they did not want him to shine, the more he insisted on shining; even the Emperor of Heaven himself could not stop him...

Chang Hao only felt both cheeks burning, especially at that thankful smile, which was like a champion boxer's fierce straight punch landing squarely on his head. Thinking of his malicious scheme, not only had it caused Pei Min no harm, it had instead fanned his flames, pushing his already blazing fame and popularity even higher still. Chang Hao swayed, then simply fainted from rage.

Pei Min paused, not expecting the other man to be so fragile, and let out a cold inward laugh: "utter trash."

The abbot of the great Ci'en Temple looked at the wall of the wild goose pagoda, at those knife-cut and axe-hewn characters, and could not stop grinning. This matter would surely spread through Chang'an and beyond, and the great Ci'en Temple would share in the glory.