Chapter Thirty-Three The pen falls on the forty-seventh lane
Chapter 33 The pen comes to Alley 47
"It's okay to sell it, but I have a condition."
"Master, what are the conditions?"
"You can't set up a stall on the street, you have to have a facade anyway."
“The storefront is very expensive.”
"I just want it to be expensive, because my handwriting also needs to be expensive, otherwise I can't afford to lose this person."
"Okay, okay, I'll listen to you."
Ning Que, who was completely defeated in front of the little maid, still fought hard for a while after deciding to surrender. After making sure that he could gain some benefits or face, he finally agreed to the proposal of opening a shop to sell calligraphy. Now the most practical thing before them is
The problem is how to find a suitable shop.
I was looking for an inn the night before and there was an inn. Today I was looking for a shop and I turned around and saw a sublet shop? For such a good thing, even Haotian, who favors the world, will not give too many opportunities. This kind of thing must be
Find an intermediary.
The manager of the intermediary office took out a map and pointed out the vacant shops to the master and servant as if commanding a march. He mentioned a few prices casually, and then at Sangsang's strong request, he chose the shop area and retreated from the surroundings of the imperial city.
Around the bureau and Yamen, we exited the North City to avoid the prosperous West District and the quiet South City, and finally landed in the East City area, which is known for its clutter.
Chang'an City occupies a large area but has a larger population. The rent of a shop is really expensive. Even in Dongcheng, where the land price is the cheapest, it is not cheap to find a suitable shop. The two of them have a lot of money in total.
When I got 200 taels of silver, I had even less room to choose. I followed the agency manager around for two days in a row, but still got no results.
On the third day, the good news finally came. The agent manager, whose eyes were about to turn green, excitedly waved his arms and told Ning Que that there was a small calligraphy and painting shop in Lin 47 Lane, Dongcheng, that was to be changed hands, and there were a lot of paper in it.
The Mo family has everything, the monthly rent is fifteen taels of silver, the transfer fee is another fifty taels of silver, and the lease is still for one and a half years. All these conditions are very consistent with Ning Que... mainly Sangsang's requirements.
Ning Que and Sang Sang looked at each other and saw the surprise in each other's eyes. The price was indeed not expensive, and the location looked good on the map, but everything had to be seen to be believed, let alone opening a store to sell calligraphy.
It was related to their survival in Chang'an City in the next few years, so they did not agree immediately, but asked to go to the small calligraphy and painting shop to have a look.
The owner of the rental shop was not there, nor was the original owner. The steward took the key and opened the dusty wooden door, and the three of them walked in. The shop was small, with some banners and squares hanging on the white walls around it. On the wooden shelves on the east wall
There are pens, inks, papers and other things on display. The most satisfying thing is that this shop has a shop in front of the house and a well in the small house behind it. Ning Que looked around casually and thought of the low rent.
I am somewhat willing.
"I don't want these calligraphy and paintings. The transfer fee needs to be reduced a little more." Ning Que looked at the densely packed banners on the wall and the crude and crude calligraphy on the banners. He frowned and said, "Although those pens, inks, paper and inkstones are
It's not a good thing, but I can make do with it. I'll take it as a scrap collector, but it must be considered a gift from you."
Sang Sang raised her little face and looked at Ning Que with a smile full of appreciation, thinking that what the young master said was so beautiful. The manager of the agency was about to cry, thinking that in the past two days, he had already known how stingy you two masters and servants are.
I didn’t expect you guys to be so stingy! I’m just a manager and not your family’s enemy. What’s the point of torturing me all the time?
After torture and torture, the matter was finally settled. Sangsang took out the silver box from the package and counted it carefully for a long time before handing over the contract silver. Both parties initialed a document, and from this moment on, this hotel located in
The small calligraphy and painting shop in Lane 47, Dongcheng District, officially belongs to Ning Que.
Sending the manager of the agency away with a happy smile, Sangsang put down the package, took out a handkerchief to cover her head and face, and pulled out a large towel from somewhere. She fetched a bucket of well water from the back of the house and was about to start cleaning.
Thinking that they might have to sign documents today, the two of them checked out of the inn and came over with their luggage. They would not be polite if they could save a day's inn money. The manager of the agency obviously did not pay attention to this detail, otherwise he might ask for a higher price.
Some, but it is more likely that he will be scared to death by this pair of stingy master and servant.
The small calligraphy and painting shop was filled with the smell of dust wetted by water. The skinny Sangsang struggled to move the bucket, climbed high and squatted on a stool to clean, and occasionally raised his arm to wipe his forehead exposed by the handkerchief, although there was not a drop on it.
beads of sweat.
Ning Que never paid attention to such things, so he moved a stool and sat next to the door, looking at the faintly visible corner of the imperial city in the distance, at the quiet Lin 47th Lane, and at the locust trees on both sides of the street in front of him.
Looking at the shadow of the tree, I thought that this place was quiet and elegant, and the business of the shop would definitely be good in the future, and I only spent so much money. I couldn't help but feel relieved, and shouted with a smile: "Young master's hands are itchy!"
The busy Sangsang was obviously in a very good mood today, so she responded crisply and said, "Let's go tonight."
"Okay."
After a hasty dinner, Sangsang spread out the paper roll on the polished long table, took out the ink ingot and inkstone, poured water into the inkstone, rolled up his sleeves, raised his wrists and raised his fingers, grabbed the ink ingot and rubbed it slowly in circles in the inkstone.
, after a while the ink gradually became thicker.
Everything was left over from the previous owner. Although it was not in good condition, it was in good condition. Ning Que had already been waiting with a pen beside him. There were five or six brushes placed diagonally on the pen holder in front of his right hand. He couldn't tell what the nibs were.
The bad ink melted away and had no fragrance but a bit of ink smell. The brush on the pen holder didn't look very good, but he didn't care about it. His face was full of an expectant smile, and the thumb, index and two fingers of his left hand behind his back kept moving.
Rubbing it, it feels like it's itching.
The so-called itchy hands don't mean that I want to steal money, or that I want to spank the little maid's skinny butt, but that I want to write.
Ning Que likes to write. Even if there is no paper, ink, pen or inkstone beside him, but only a dead branch or a big black umbrella soaked by rain, he will write on the mud floor or bluestone from time to time. Over the past sixteen years,
The enjoyment of pen and ink is undoubtedly the most important thing in his life, along with meditation.
Ruohao entered the ink slowly and dragged it out, sucking in enough ink until he was full of energy. Ning Que stood shoulder to shoulder, looking at the scroll of paper in front of him quietly. He lifted the pen out of the inkstone like a sharp knife out of its sheath, put down the pen and put it into the paper like the blade of a knife penetrating into the bone, and moved the paper slightly with his wrist.
There is an extra vertical column on the stool.
This thick vertical ink hammer looks like the brows raised by a tall man with thick eyebrows.
With the first touch of the broken paper, his strokes faltered but then flowed smoothly. Over the years, writing has been deeply rooted in his blood. There is no need to deliberately plan and manage, just do it casually.
It flows naturally on the paper, and as the strokes of the brush gradually move to the left, a clumsy yet free-spirited breath emerges.
The first painting he wrote in Chang'an City had only sixteen characters.
“The mountains are high and the rivers are long, and there are millions of things. Without an old pen, a young and strong person can be poor.”