A Fateful Encounter

Meanwhile, ten days had passed since Jia Yun took up his post as deputy steward at the Iron Threshold Temple.

Although the affairs at the temple were leisurely, it was much better than having to be subservient to others in the mansion.

On this day, since Old Man Zhou and his two daughters were out on business, he carefully wrapped up the two manuscripts of "Liuchao Wenjie" and "Luoyang Garanji" that he had copied by lamplight some time ago, and took a cart that was delivering vegetables to the city to Jigu Zhai.

Jigu Zhai is located in Wenmofang, west of the city. The storefront doesn't look big, but the furnishings and decorations have an antique feel, which is indeed a time-honored brand.

The shopkeeper, surnamed Li, was a capable middle-aged man. He was engrossed in his work behind the counter when he looked up and saw Jia Yun. He was overjoyed, as if he had seen a god of wealth, and hurriedly came out to greet him with a cupped-hand salute.

"Oh my, my Second Master Yun! You've finally arrived! Those two books you sent last time were sold within a few days. Especially the annotated Heart Sutra, even several students from the Imperial Academy came to inquire about it, praising the copyist's excellent handwriting, which has the style of the Jin and Tang dynasties, and is far superior to the work of ordinary scribes."

Jia Yun smiled and took the rough porcelain teacup handed to him by the pageboy, taking a small sip.

The warm tea soothed his throat, and he smiled, saying, "Manager Li, you flatter me. I'm just trying to make a living; how could I accept such praise?"

As Manager Li skillfully flipped through and examined the manuscript brought by the other party, he exclaimed in admiration, "Look at this calligraphy! The strokes are straight and even, the hooks and flicks are strong, the ink is evenly distributed, and the binding is neat. To be honest, there are very few people in and around the capital who can copy this kind of calligraphy."

He held up five fingers and shook them, then counted out money from the money box, which turned out to be fifty coins more than the agreed amount.

Seeing this, Jia Yun quickly declined, saying, "Manager, how can you do this? We already agreed on a price. Besides, you already knew some things beforehand, and I am extremely grateful."

"Of course! How could I refuse?" Manager Li forcefully stuffed the money into his hand. "Second Master Yun, you may not know this, but the 'Song-style' printed books coming from Jiangnan these days, while neat and orderly, are rather stiff. Handwritten copies like yours, with their personal style, are sought after by those pretentious gentry, and their prices naturally rise accordingly. This small token is just to add some ink to your writing, please don't refuse!"

As the two were talking, they suddenly heard a clear sneer coming from behind the bookshelves by the window.

The voice carried the clear, youthful tone and undisguised sarcasm: "Heh, shopkeeper, your flattery skills have certainly improved. He looks about my age. At that age, if he could truly write such beautiful calligraphy, he'd have to have been holding a pen since birth and have a top scholar as his father to supervise his practice every day!"

Jia Yun looked in the direction of the sound and saw a young man dressed in a moon-white silk robe emerge from behind the bookshelf.

This young man was about fourteen or fifteen years old, but his handsome face and eyebrows exuded a natural air of nonchalance. He was wearing a dark blue silk cloak draped over his shoulders.

Although he did not wear any eye-catching ornaments, except for a white jade dragon pendant at his waist, his overall demeanor was far beyond that of ordinary wealthy young men.

Jia Yun had seen a lot of the world in the mansion and recognized that the kesi (silk tapestry) technique was a tribute from the Jiangnan Weaving Bureau, something that even ordinary noble families rarely saw. Therefore, he had already concluded in his heart that this person was either rich or noble.

Manager Li noticed that the customer was unfamiliar, but the man had an imposing presence and a towering retinue of servants behind him.

So he dared not be negligent and hurriedly stepped forward with a smile: "Young master, you are joking. I run an honest business, how could I dare to lie and deceive my customers? If Master Yun writes well, then he writes well. If I lied and was exposed, wouldn't I ruin my own reputation? This is what this customer just copied by hand. Please take a look and correct it."

As he spoke, Manager Li presented Jia Yun's copy of "Liuchao Wenjie" with both hands.

The young master took it casually, initially just flipping through it, but his gaze froze the moment it touched the page.

He ran his fingertips across the paper, carefully examining the structure of the strokes. His expression gradually changed from indifference to astonishment, and then from astonishment to solemnity.

These characters are really good! And...

The young nobleman flipped through several pages, then suddenly looked up, his gaze piercing Jia Yun like lightning: "Did you really write this?"

Before Jia Yun could answer, he pressed on, "Where did you learn that? Who was your teacher?"

Jia Yun felt a chill run down her spine; the young master's tone of inquiry carried a hint of official scrutiny, as if he were probing for details.

He recalled the scene in "Dream of the Red Chamber" where Jia Zheng questioned Baoyu about his studies, composed himself, and calmly bowed, saying, "To answer your question, sir, it is indeed I who wrote it. To be honest, my family was originally a branch of the Ning and Rong mansions, and I also studied at the clan school for a few years when I was young. My calligraphy skills are entirely based on my own haphazard copying of ancient calligraphic works, which is not systematic and is really not worthy of being presented in a refined manner. I hope you will forgive my poor writing."

Jia Yun's words were half true and half false, revealing his origins while concealing his true intentions, which suited his current cautious situation perfectly.

When the young master heard him mention "the Ning and Rong mansions," his eyes lit up, and he gently closed the book in his hand and handed it back, his gaze sweeping over Jia Yun as he looked him up and down.

Although Jia Yun's clothes were worn and faded from washing, they were still clean. He had a handsome face but was somewhat thin, and his gaze was calm and composed, making him seem unlike the frivolous and boastful person he was.

After a moment of contemplation, the young nobleman suddenly said, "The calligraphy has a strong character, subtly revealing the style of Yan Zhenqing, yet also incorporating the elegance of Zhao Mengfu. It's quite rare."

Then the young master changed the subject, his voice becoming slightly deeper: "I have a book copying job for you. Would you like to take it? Don't worry about the pay; it's quite generous."

Jia Yun's heart skipped a beat, but he showed no sign of it on his face, simply shaking his head calmly: "I am grateful for your high regard, young master. However, although I am poor, I know what I should and should not do. If it involves anything forbidden or morally wrong, I cannot comply."

"It's just asking you to copy some scriptures, how could that be considered a crime?" The young master, far from being annoyed, smiled genuinely. He then held up one finger. "How about this, one coin per word?"

"One word, one coin?!" Manager Li, who had been watching the commotion from the sidelines, exclaimed in shock, his abacus clattering onto the counter. "This, this... Young master, do you know that these days, hiring a skilled scribe to copy official documents and contracts costs only twenty or thirty coins per thousand words! Your price..."

And this single word and piece of paper—that's an astronomical price!

Upon hearing this, Manager Li was so excited that he became somewhat incoherent; this price was simply unheard of!

It should be known that under the rule of the Han Dynasty, ordinary people only earn seven or eight coins a month for their work. If they are skilled or work hard, they can earn around one or two taels of silver.

A seventh-rank county magistrate's annual salary is only forty-five taels of silver. If this price were applied, copying a book of ten thousand words would earn him nearly three months' salary! How could this not be shocking?

Jia Yun was shocked when he heard the offer. The reward was beyond "generous"; it was simply earth-shattering! He forced down his turbulent emotions and quickly weighed the pros and cons in his mind.

This young master is so generous; what he wants must be extraordinary.

He thought of how he had just gained a foothold in the Jia family, how his mother had worked hard all her life and still needed his support, and how the path to the imperial examinations was long and arduous... This was a place where opportunity and risk coexisted, and one wrong step could lead to utter ruin.

Jia Yun remained silent, his expression shifting. The young nobleman did not urge him, but simply watched him quietly.

Manager Li, being a shrewd businessman, sensed the awkward atmosphere and quickly smoothed things over, saying, "There are too many people here, it's not the place to talk. If you two wish to discuss this further, please have a seat upstairs. There are quiet private rooms prepared for distinguished guests in the back, where no one will disturb you."

As he spoke, he bowed and led the way, carefully guiding Jia Yun and the mysterious young nobleman up the stairs to the second floor.

As the three figures and their silent, towering followers disappeared around the corner of the stairs, the Jigu Zhai was utterly silent for a moment.

The waiters and the occasional customers looked at each other, speechless with shock at the exorbitant reward and the sudden turn of events.

The upstairs room was very soundproof. Once the door to the private room was gently closed, the conversation inside was completely swallowed up by the heavy wooden door, and not a single sound leaked out.

Many years later, when the two had both gone very far down this path they couldn't control, they would occasionally mention that December morning on a snowy night or at dusk, and they would always smile at each other—a smile that always carried an indescribable sigh.

Only then did they realize that the most precious thing in the world was not the means to manipulate events and the scheming to advance step by step, but the pure and simple writing of a poor young man on this ordinary morning, and the sincere appreciation of another young man who had not yet been tainted by too much gain and loss.

At the time, no one knew that this seemingly accidental encounter was actually a destined meeting.