“I don’t want anything except a few of your handwritten manuscript pages.”
“I’m not a Nobel laureate, so I can give you a bundle of them.”
“I just want a few. Look, I have something else for you. I’m sure you’ll like it.” Zhao opened the plastic bag to reveal a large ink painting, Climbing Xiyue’s Mount Hua by Shi Lu. With an unusual composition and unrestrained brushwork, it was bold and imposing. Recognizing right away that it was a later work, executed after Shi suffered a mental breakdown, Zhuang could not stop admiring it. He read aloud a line of tiny writing on the side: “If you want to see into the distance, you must climb a high building.”
“Shi has truly lost his mind. His calligraphy has the feel of inscriptions on ancient stones and bronze, but he made a mistake copying the Tang poem. In Wang Zhihuan’s original ‘Climbing the White Stork Tower,’ it was ‘If you want to see to the distant horizon, you must climb another high building.’ But Shi has dropped ‘horizon’ and ‘another,’ and now the inscription makes no sense.”
“He’s a painter, not a writer. Maybe after dropping the first word, he thought it wouldn’t look good to add it on the side, like they used to do, so he decided to omit the second one, too. That’s a vivid demonstration of his mental state. This painting was cheap; I bought it from a woman in Lintong for three hundred. I could easily get forty or fifty thousand if I sold it in Guangzhou.”
“Really, that much?”
“I’m an expert on this subject. Right now, Shi Lu’s paintings fetch the highest prices in the south, and they sell for as much as a hundred and twenty thousand yuan overseas. Do you know how Wang Ximian did so well financially? He did it by faking Shi Lu’s paintings to scam the foreign tourists. I know someone in that business who worked with Wang before, hawking fake paintings. After a recent fall-out with Wang, he came to see me about a joint gallery. You can’t make much money selling paintings by famous or lesser-known painters in a gallery. The key is to sell fake works. We could have someone fake the paintings, and then you could write a line as a foreword or a colophon. I’m sure we’d make a killing.”
“But they’d clearly be fakes. With my colophon, it would be a huge loss of face if we were found out.”
“Not true. If we were found out, we’d simply claim that we were tricked into believing they were genuine. If we had known they were fakes, then why would you have shown how much you treasured them by writing a colophon? You only decided to sell them because you were short of money. These days no more than two or three out of every ten murder and arson cases are solved, so what we do would be of no significance to the authorities, who would not have an easy time proving they were fake. An expert would buy them even if he knew they were fakes. You know why? Because they’d still be valuable, though not as valuable as the genuine articles. Besides, you’re a celebrity and a renowned calligrapher, which would make them collectible. Don’t turn your nose up at all that money and choose instead to make a pittance by slaving away at your desk.”
“You make it sound so easy, but I’m not convinced. Something like that takes time. Where would the gallery be? Just for appearance’s sake, you’d need to hang a few pieces by well-known artists, and I can only supply a few.”
“I’ve already looked into that. There’s an empty storefront suite next to our bookstore. We’ll buy it and turn it into a gallery, a perfect companion for the bookstore. You don’t have many scrolls from famous artists, and that’s fine, because I have some back home. We could also find a few more over the coming days. Did you know there’s a major work in Xijing that has yet to make an appearance?”
“What is it?”
“According to the family of that friend of mine, the owner of the fan came to Xijing three months ago to ask Gong Jingyuan’s grandfather to write a script for a stele. When it was done, the man returned with a piece of Mao Zedong’s calligraphy, which was a partial copy, only a hundred and forty-eight words, of Bai Juyi’s long poem ‘Everlasting Sorrow.’ Each character is big, about the size of a rice bowl. When he took it to the house, Gong Jingyuan was out, so his son, Gong Xiaoyi, accepted it on his behalf and reciprocated with four scrolls he’d sneaked out of his father’s collection. Now, Gong Xiaoyi is a good-for-nothing opium addict, so he wanted to sell Mao’s calligraphy for a high price to buy opium. I don’t suppose it’s sold yet, and I think I know how to get it. If we had that, we wouldn’t have to worry about not having enough to show in our gallery.”
“You’re quite the wheeler-dealer. What you’re saying sounds all right, but I can’t do it. Why don’t you go talk to Hong Jiang.”
“Who needs you to do anything? All I want is an okay from you. Hong Jiang is all right, but he can be impulsive. I know how to deal with him, so you needn’t worry.”
When they were done, Zhuang asked Liu Yue to see Zhao out.
“Jingwu, what were you talking to Zhuang Laoshi about?” she asked when they were outside. “You look so pleased.”
“We’re going to open a gallery, Liu Yue, so be nice to me and I’ll hire you as an official greeter. You won’t have to be a maid, cooking and doing the washing for others anymore.”
“Have I not been nice to you?” she said. “There’s no sign of a gallery, and you’re already giving me a hard time. You’d probably order me around like a slave if you were Zhuang Laoshi.”
He gave her a playful punch, and got one from her in return. They went back and forth a few times until she gave him a kick in the pants.
“Was that family mad at me when I left?” she asked.
“Of course, and they cursed me, too. They’re telling anyone who will listen that you fed their child sleeping pills to make your job easier. Did you do that?”
“That boy was a reincarnation of a wailing ghost. He started crying the minute he woke up. Don’t tell them I work here; they might make a scene and ruin my reputation.”
“I won’t tell. But you’re a living person, not an object, and you have to leave the house for things like grocery shopping. How can you be sure that someone from that compound won’t spot you and tell the family? If they come to see me, I’m not the police and I can’t stop them.”
Her face darkened. “Aren’t you always bragging about all the people you know? Why don’t you get some friends from the underworld to scare them a bit? You take care of it for me. And don’t even think about coming back here if you say yes but then do nothing.”
“You’re using your employer to bully me.”
After Zhao left, Liu Yue stood at the lane entrance, and before long, Niu Yueqing returned from work. When she saw the girl standing there sucking on her finger, she asked her what she was doing. Liu Yue told her she was about to go home after seeing Zhao Jingwu off. Niu Yueqing cautioned her that a young woman should not stand at the lane entrance like a flirt. As they talked, they saw Zhou Min and Tang Wan’er riding up the street on their bikes.
“Hey, you two, golden boy and jade girl,” Niu Yueqing called out. “You’re always out and about, without a care in the world. Which dance hall are you going to today?”
Wan’er got off her bike. “We’re on our way to Shimu’s house. We heard from Meng Laoshi that Zhuang Laoshi injured his foot. I was so worried, I wanted to come right away, but Zhou Min asked me to wait until he was off work. Is it serious?”
“Wan’er, you’re such a smooth talker. When you meet me you say you’re coming to visit. If I hadn’t spotted you, I’m sure you’d be off to a dance hall. Otherwise, why dress up so nicely just to come to our place?”
“That’s not true. Other people may not care about Zhuang Laoshi’s injury, but we do. I always dress up, no matter where I go, not just to your house. Looking nice is a sign of respect to the people you’re visiting.” She put her arm around Liu Yue affectionately, which prompted the girl to take note of Wan’er’s new style, a perm that draped across her shoulders. Niu Yueqing was all smiles. “I was unfair to you. Come have dinner with us. Liu Yue and I will make Shaanxi noodles.”