Chapter 83: Grand Opening

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"In the midst of rapture, sword in hand cleaves the mountains; swift brush dances dragons and serpents, startling ghosts and gods!"

...

"What a splendid line! What a bold scholar!"

...

As Chen Jianchen gathered his concentration and, with a flourish, picked up a large wolf-hair brush to write the couplet in one breath on either side of the doorway, the crowd immediately erupted in exclamations, casting admiring glances his way.

"In the midst of rapture, sword in hand cleaves the mountains; swift brush dances dragons and serpents, startling ghosts and gods!"

What spirit, what grandeur!

The students from Minghua Academy, invited by Chen Jianchen to lend their support, looked at one another in awe. This couplet, they admitted to themselves, was beyond their ability to compose—one’s literary temperament may radiate naturally, but whether that spirit is bold or gentle, trickling or torrential, makes all the difference, and there are endless intricacies to consider.

Two of the academy’s scholars watched intently, stroking their beards. Master Liu, who taught painting and calligraphy, focused on Chen Jianchen’s handwriting; Master Huang, who taught poetry, concentrated on the meaning behind the couplet.

“A fine couplet—worthy of a toast!” Master Huang, past sixty, sporting a snowy goatee, was so moved that he inadvertently plucked out several beloved beard hairs, causing him some distress.

“This young man is certainly not one to remain in obscurity!” Master Liu was equally impressed.

Both men, nearly seventy, had taught countless students, but pupils like Chen Jianchen were rare indeed. Once he succeeded in the examinations, he would surely become a favored disciple.

A teacher imparts knowledge and dispels confusion. What matters most is whether their students can bring honor to their tutelage. The saying “peaches and plums bloom everywhere” aside, even from a practical standpoint, such relationships form a network of immeasurable benefit.

The bond between teacher and student was especially steadfast in the Tian Tong Dynasty—considered a fundamental principle in the books of sages, and any who violated it were deemed criminals.

“Liao Studio!”

At this moment, Chen Jianchen had finished writing the horizontal scroll—two bold and vigorous characters.

Upon seeing the scroll, many were puzzled. Master Huang stepped forward and asked, “Liuxian, does this scroll have any particular origin or story?”

Inspired, Chen Jianchen respectfully replied, “It was the name of my former master’s study. That elder enlightened me greatly, and I dare not forget his kindness, so I use this name in remembrance.”

Master Huang nodded repeatedly, pleased that Chen Jianchen honored his teachers—a quality always worth upholding.

Chen Jianchen continued, “Sir, I opened this shop not only for business, but also for a quiet place to converse with friends. Thus, ‘Liao Studio’ is fitting.”

Even the usually austere Master Liu broke into a smile. “Liuxian, your words echo my own thoughts. As scholars, our beliefs should be noble; how can we, like merchants, chase petty profits day after day? The stench of money is intolerable, and once touched, hard to wash away.”

Chen Jianchen humbly accepted their guidance, though in his heart he disagreed somewhat. A gentleman may love wealth, but should obtain it righteously. Without money for protection, not only one’s family, but even oneself, could starve. Still, he had no wish to argue—there was no need, nor would it lead anywhere.

Today, after all, was the auspicious opening of his shop.

To open a book and painting shop in Jiangzhou City had always been one of Chen Jianchen’s dreams, closely tied to his own interests. Now, the wish was fulfilled. With this shop, he had an enterprise, could train Abaox, and entrust her with its management. His mother, Lady Mo, would no longer need to toil at weaving.

Since their last conversation, Chen Jianchen had made time to teach Abaox reading and writing—he realized he had something of a “teacher’s temperament.” Yingning, Xiaoyi, and now Abaox, all counted as his students. Perhaps someday he could open a tutoring class?

Hmm, it was worth considering...

Abaox was bright and quick-witted; after about a month of instruction, she recognized more characters than the mouse demon and could write a respectable hand.

The first time she wrote her own name, she was so moved she threw herself into Chen Jianchen’s arms, her bright eyes brimming with tears.

Chen Jianchen understood her feelings. In the Tian Tong Dynasty, most women had no access to education and were illiterate; the taste of not knowing a single word was unpleasant—even if many grew accustomed to it.

Once she learned to read and write, Abaox seized every spare moment to devour books from Chen Jianchen’s study. Her diligence and passion made outsiders think she was preparing for the imperial examination.

It turns out, everyone harbors ambition in their hearts...

Chen Jianchen encouraged her, unafraid she might discover Yingning and Xiaoyi, since both little demons had already left Jiangzhou and returned to Sleeping Pine Cave.

After the Black Robe Guards escorted the Buddhist monks out of Jiangzhou back to the capital, there had been no further word. Yingning clamored to return to Sleeping Pine Cave, eager to seize every moment to cultivate her Daoist arts.

Chen Jianchen agreed to her request, sending Xiaoyi, whose injuries had improved, back to Maple Mountain with Yingning for mutual support. He instructed them to act with caution and retreat at the first sign of danger.

After their departure, Chen Jianchen’s study grew much quieter—so quiet it felt odd, an unfamiliar ache called “longing” beginning to stir.

We are not plants or stones—how can we be without emotion?

When companionship becomes habit, sudden separation leaves a hollow in the heart, making one uneasy.

Fortunately, with the shop now open, there were new tasks to keep him busy and distracted.

“Ha ha! Young master, congratulations on your grand opening! This old Daoist has come to join the fun!”

A familiar voice rang out, pulling Chen Jianchen from his reverie. Looking up, he saw Daoist Guanghan, still clad in his century-old, threadbare robes, smiling broadly in front of him. Beside him was no sign of Daoist Qingyun, but instead a tiger-faced, round-cheeked boy of about twelve or thirteen, whose childish features had not yet faded and whose hair was tied in a high ponytail, making him quite endearing.

Seeing Guanghan wink at him, Chen Jianchen quickly caught on and said, “May I ask, Daoist, what fun do you intend to bring today?”

Guanghan laughed, “Today, I brought this little apprentice and happened to pass by your shop on its opening day—a stroke of fate. How about the two of us perform a magic trick to liven things up?”

Apprentice?

Chen Jianchen looked at the boy thoughtfully, but before he could respond, the crowd, excited at the prospect of a show, began to cheer.

“Wonderful!”

“Start the performance! If it’s good, there’ll be rewards!”

Wang Fu, sharp-eyed among the crowd, recognized Daoist Guanghan and hurried over to whisper a warning to Chen Jianchen, advising him to be wary lest Guanghan play some mischievous prank.

Chen Jianchen smiled, “No harm.”

He then called for people to clear a wide space, inviting Guanghan and his apprentice to perform.