In the break room, there was a ready set of ink, brushes, paper, and inkstone on the desk. Qiuyun ground the ink with movements both swift and steady, and soon dipped the brush in ink before taking her seat at the table.
Her handwriting, while not possessing the spirit of a master calligrapher, was considered average in her own era. But in modern society, being able to write a neat and proper little standard script with a brush was already as rare as phoenix feathers and unicorn horns among the youth.
Yet this hip-hop styled young master, arms folded, stood behind her and gave a cold critique, “Your brushwork is stiff, the strokes are dull, the structure is rigid. No wonder you need someone to copy things for you.”
As the saying goes, amateurs watch the surface while experts see the craft. His remarks were exactly the same criticism her former mistress had made about the handwriting in her account books. Afterwards, she had even given Qiuyun many calligraphy manuals, but she had been too busy managing affairs to improve.
Thinking of her old master, a faint smile tugged at the corners of Qiuyun’s mouth. “Yes, the young master’s critique hits the mark precisely.”
Standing tall, he happened to catch that fleeting smile as she leaned forward.
Tsk. In this world, there was actually someone who smiled when he criticized them for being mediocre.
“Young Master, care to give it a try?” Qiuyun vacated the seat, leaving the brush and ink for him.
The writing tools were familiar to him. The young master’s brush moved like it had divine aid, without any hesitation. In no time, elegant and free-spirited characters appeared on the paper, clearly showing he had studied under a master and trained hard from childhood.
They say the handwriting reveals the person.
Qiuyun couldn’t help but let her gaze fall on his exquisitely designed earring, then move downward—from his sharply defined jaw to the slight bump of his Adam’s apple, to his broad and strong shoulders, and finally to his long, refined fingers, knuckles distinct, holding the brush to write.
With those hands and that outfit, he should logically be in a e-sports club, gaming on a keyboard and mouse. Yet here he stood, quietly writing Chinese calligraphy at a study desk before a latticed window?
Such a contrasting scene—even Qiuyun, with her vast experience, had to turn this image over a few times in her mind before she could accept it.
“Take a look. Does it meet the requirements?” He set down the brush.
Suppressing the words of polite refusal she had planned to speak, Qiuyun offered a heartfelt compliment, “The brushstrokes blend strength with grace, like carving into stone. They have the firmness of iron strokes and silver hooks, yet the flow of wind-swept clouds. It carries great character and literary essence.”
The young master was slightly surprised. He thought: This person’s handwriting might be poor, but her ability to appreciate and critique is strong.
He had studied under a master. The balance of strength and grace, the interplay of density and spacing, were exactly his teacher’s style. Having inherited that, he couldn’t help but carry some of his teacher’s shadow, combined with his own habit of leaving deliberate blank spaces. That sharp-eyed woman had seen through it all completely.
“Flattery.”
He seemed unwilling to dwell on the subject and shifted the conversation to business. “How many characters does ‘The Classic of Tea’ have? What price can you offer for my handwriting?”
In Qiuyun’s experience, the young master’s handwriting was only mid-tier among famous calligraphy works she had seen, but given his age, it was top-notch.
Still, she was curious. He seemed less concerned about the quality of his calligraphy and more about how much money it could fetch.
On the one hand, it could mean he was short on money right now. On the other hand, it could suggest he didn’t care at all about tying his artistic achievement to the taint of money—something that completely shattered Qiuyun’s understanding of a master calligrapher.
“The Classic of Tea runs to just over a thousand characters. What price does the young master have in mind?”
He frowned, suppressing the sense of auditory discomfort. “One hundred thousand yuan.”
“……”
What an exorbitant price. Even her mistress’s writing fee had only been one hundred thousand yuan, not including the cost of binding the book.
Qiuyun halved the price. “Fifty thousand. Right now, it’s just copying. At the speed the young master wrote just now, it would take about half a day to finish.”
His expression turned slightly cold, as if he was calculating whether spending a morning to earn a few tens of thousands was worth it.
“Eighty thousand. It’s not just simple copying; you have to ensure no wrong or missing characters during the process.”
As he spoke, Pei Cizhou’s gaze once again swept across this woman’s face. Her bright, watery eyes, thick and curling lashes, high and delicate nose, and soft, full pink lips—all perfectly set on her fair, smooth oval face. She was undeniably striking in her beauty, yet the overly calm and placid look in her eyes lent her a hard-to-describe, cool elegance.
She was undeniably stunning, but…
Qiuyun thought for a moment. “Since the young master opened at one hundred thousand and my bottom line is fifty thousand, why don’t we meet halfway and settle on seventy-five thousand, what do you say?”
Pei Cizhou held back again, but ultimately couldn’t contain himself: “Has anyone ever told you that the way you talk sounds seriously affect?”
“…Excuse me? What?”
Qiuyun had been figuring out how to persuade him to accept seventy-five thousand if he refused to budge, but this unexpected comment caught her completely off guard, leaving her frozen in place like a thunderbolt out of a clear sky.
“Anyone would think you’re some ancient person who time-traveled to modern society to scrape a living, tossing around all that flowery, pretentious nonsense.” He looked away, seeming impatient with further haggling. “Seventy-five thousand then, give me the copy.”
“……Alright.” Qiuyun concealed the storm raging in her heart and said as calmly as possible, “Leave your address. I’ll mail you the copy of ‘The Classic of Tea.’”
He glanced at her again, inwardly baffled.
It was rare for a girl he had sharply criticized not even to flush, as if she hadn’t heard him—completely unaffected, showing no reaction at all.
He jotted down an address and phone number. “Send it over, then come pick it up at Cheng Yuan in five days.”
“Alright.”
Qiuyun took the address and handed him the newly made booklet. “Please… if you would, copy it onto this booklet. After you finish, I’ll leave the payment together at Cheng Yuan.”
“Fine.” He picked up the booklet and flipped through it. The binding wasn’t like his usual bookbinder’s work, but the stitching was curiously interesting.
Having said everything she needed, Qiuyun didn’t linger. “I’ll take my leave. No need to see me out.”
“Mm.”
He glanced up, his eyes trailing her straight, slender figure as she walked slowly away, and couldn’t help lifting an eyebrow.
Was she genuinely unflappable, or just putting up a front?
Hmph. This woman didn’t seem to show any emotion, but she was probably cursing him inwardly for his sharp tongue and low emotional intelligence.
Shadows of trees fell scattered across the winding covered walkway.
Qiuyun walked out of that side chamber with a calm expression, but inside, she felt as if she had fallen into an icy abyss. Even under the long, warm daylight of summer, she was wracked by a violent shiver.
She had always been cautious, calm, and measured. She never imagined that a young man of sixteen or seventeen could shake her composure, coming so close to exposing her true origin!
Qiuyun squeezed her eyes shut tightly.
A person’s way of speaking is a habit honed over decades. Unless deliberately interfered with, it is nearly impossible to change.
It was a stroke of luck that this young master, given his social status, was unafraid of offending others, and with his bad temper, blunt character, sharp tongue, and lack of manners, he had directly pointed out this fatal defect in her.
Otherwise, if someone more perceptive noticed this habbit over time and probed a little, her identity might truly become impossible to hide.
