"You can sell it, but I have a condition."
"What is it, young master?"
"You can't set up a stall on the street. You have to have a storefront."
"A storefront is very expensive."
"I want it to be expensive, because my calligraphy has to be expensive too. Otherwise, I can't afford to lose face."
"Okay, okay, I'll listen to you."
Ning Que, who had been utterly defeated by the little handmaiden, still fought a difficult battle after he decided to surrender. After making sure that he could gain some benefits or face, he finally agreed to open a shop to sell calligraphy. Now, the most practical problem in front of them was how to find a suitable shop.
Last night, when they wanted to find an inn, there was an inn. Today, when they wanted to find a shop, there was a sublet shop? Even Haotian, who favored the world, would not give too many opportunities for such a good thing. They had to find an intermediary for this kind of thing.
The manager of the intermediary took out a map and pointed out the vacant shops for them like commanding an army. He casually mentioned a few prices. Then, under Sangsang's strong request, they chose the area around the Imperial City to the government offices. Then they moved to the North City to avoid the rich West City and the quiet South City. Finally, they settled on the East City, which was known for its messiness.
Chang 'an covered a large area, but it had a larger population. The rent for a shop could be said to be extremely expensive. Even in the Eastern City, where the land was the cheapest, it was not cheap to find a suitable shop. The two of them had less than 200 taels of silver in total, so the choice was even smaller. For two consecutive days, they followed the manager of the real estate agency everywhere, but to no avail.
On the third day, there was finally good news. The manager, whose eyes were about to turn green, excitedly waved his arms and told Ning Que that a small calligraphy shop on Lin 47th Street in the East City was going to change hands. It had all kinds of stationery. The monthly rent was 15 taels of silver, and the transfer fee was another 50 taels of silver. The lease still had a year and a half left. All these conditions were very suitable for Ning Que … mainly for Sangsang.
Ning Que and Sangsang looked at each other and saw the surprise in each other's eyes. The price was indeed not high, and the location on the map was not bad. However, they had to see for themselves. Moreover, opening a shop to sell calligraphy was related to their survival in Chang 'an for the next few years. Therefore, they did not immediately agree, but asked to go to the small calligraphy shop to have a look.
The owner of the rental shop was not there, and neither was the previous owner. The steward opened the dusty wooden door with a key, and the three of them walked in. The shop was very small, with some banners hanging on the surrounding white walls. On the wooden shelves on the east wall, there were things like writing brushes, ink, paper, and grinders. The most satisfying thing was that there was a house at the back of the shop, and there was a well in the small house at the back. Ning Que and Sangsang looked around casually. Thinking of the low rent, they were somewhat willing.
"I don't want these paintings. You'll have to reduce the transfer fee." Ning Que looked at the wall full of scrolls and the shabby handwriting on the scrolls. He frowned and said, "Although those brushes, ink, paper, and inkstones are not good things, they can still be used. I'll take them as a gift from you."
Sangsang looked up at Ning Que with an admiring smile, thinking that the young master's words were very well said. The steward wanted to cry but had no tears. He thought to himself, "I already know how stingy you two are these days, but I didn't expect you to be so stingy!" "I'm just a steward, not your enemy. What's the point of torturing me?"
After torturing and torturing, the matter was finally settled. Sangsang took out a silver box from her bag and carefully counted it for a long time before handing over the agreed amount of silver. They signed a document. From this moment on, the small calligraphy shop on Lin 47th Street in the Eastern District officially belonged to Ning Que.
After sending off the steward with a smile, Sangsang put down her bag and took out a handkerchief to cover her head and face. She also took out a big towel from somewhere and fetched a bucket of well water from the back of the house, ready to start cleaning.
Thinking that they might have to sign the document today, the two checked out of the inn and carried their luggage here. They would not hesitate to save a day's inn fee. The steward obviously didn't notice this detail. Otherwise, he might have asked for a higher price, but it was more likely that he would be scared out of his wits by this stingy pair of master and servant.
The small calligraphy shop was filled with the smell of dust and water. The thin Sangsang laboriously moved the bucket of water, set up a stool, and squatted down to clean the shop. Occasionally, she raised her arm to wipe her forehead, which was not covered by the handkerchief, although there was no sweat on it.
Ning Que had never cared about such things. He took a stool and sat by the door. Looking at the corner of the imperial city that could be vaguely seen in the distance, the quiet and quiet Lin 47th Street, and the shadows of the locust trees on both sides of the street, he thought that the shop would definitely have a good business in the future. Moreover, he had only spent so little money. He could not help but feel gratified and shouted with a smile, "Young master, your hands are itching!"
The busy Sangsang was obviously in a good mood today. She answered crisply, "Let's do it tonight."
"Okay."
After a hasty dinner, Sangsang spread out a roll of paper on the long, polished table. She took out an ink ingot and an inkstone, poured water into the inkstone, rolled up her sleeves, lifted her wrist, and slowly drew circles on the inkstone. Soon, the ink became thicker.
Everything was left by the previous owner. Although it was not good, it was complete. Ning Que was already waiting by the side with a brush in his hand. On the brush holder in front of his right hand, there were five or six brushes, the tip of which could not be seen clearly.
The inferior ink did not have any fragrance when it melted, but had a slight odor. The brushes on the brush holder did not look good either, but he did not care about it. His face was full of an expectant smile, and he kept rubbing the thumb and index finger of his left hand behind his waist, as if itching.
The so-called itching did not mean that he wanted to steal money, nor did he want to spank the little handmaiden's skinny butt. He just wanted to write.
Ning Que liked to write. Even if there was no paper, ink, brush, or inkstone beside him, but only a withered branch or a big black umbrella soaked in rain, he would write on the mud or bluestone from time to time. For the past 16 years, the enjoyment of writing was undoubtedly the most important thing in his life, along with meditation.
Ning Que dragged the brush into the ink slowly and absorbed enough ink until he was full of energy. Then he stood shoulder to shoulder, quietly looking at the roll of paper in front of him. He lifted the brush out of the inkstone like a sharp knife out of its sheath, and his pen fell into the paper like a knife cutting into the bone. With a slight movement of his wrist, a vertical line appeared on the paper.
This vertical line was like a thick eyebrow of a big man with thick eyebrows.
With the first touch of the broken paper, his pen's momentum paused and then mellowed. Over the years, the line of writing had already been deeply ingrained in his bone marrow and blood. He did not need to deliberately plan and manage it. He could naturally write on the paper as long as he casually did it. As the tip of the brush gradually moved to the left, a clumsy but free aura leaped out.
The first piece of calligraphy he wrote in Chang 'an only had 16 words.
"The mountains are high and the rivers are long, and there are thousands of things. If I didn't have an old brush, I would be poor."
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