Master Dan regarded the drying silk with a contemplative air. The only sign of his distress was the deep crease between his white brows.
“Shall we try it on paper first?” Zhi Lan piped up. “I think I remember the composition well enough.”
He dipped his head in acquiescence.
Silk paintings usually started with a line drawing on paper. The artist would then place the primed silk on top and trace over the drawing with a fine brush. But Master Dan had felt spontaneous on the day they went to Shui Jin Mountain, so he painted directly on the silk. As a result, there was no paper sketch that he could retrace. They really had to start from scratch.
Zhi Lan and Master Dan each took a sheet of paper from beneath a hefty paperweight. She dribbled some water into the inkstone beside it and began to grind with an ink stick. After a few moments of silence, broken only by the steady scraping of the inkstone, Master Dan took a brush and soaked its white bristles into the dark well.
“Well, my dear disciple, what do you think of this situation we’ve gotten ourselves into?” Master Dan said at last.
“Earning Magistrate Bu’s patronage? I think it’s an achievement, sir,” Zhi Lan said politely.
“You know what I’m speaking of.”
Zhi Lan rubbed her chin. “Very well. It’s terrible and we’re doomed.”
Master Dan laughed. “An accurate description.” He grew serious again, hovering his brush over the paper. “Is this what you want, child? To follow me city to city and work under the whims of bureaucrats?”
Master Dan was from an impoverished noble family that had fallen from grace after his late father had gambled away all their riches. He had cut ties with his family completely, opting for a nomadic artist’s life, living off one patron to another.
“Of course! I wouldn’t have begged for your tutelage otherwise,” Zhi Lan said.
She didn’t think that was such a bad life to live. She had first met Master Dan over a year ago, when she was still living in a remote farming village with her parents and brothers. He had been a traveler, seeking a great river to paint. Ma had taken one look at his white scholar’s robes and deemed him respectable enough to offer him temporary lodging. Zhi Lan had been endlessly curious—and delighted—to find that Master Dan was a painter. She was exceedingly fond of drawing herself, though she never had enough paper to indulge the hobby.
Master Dan had offered his supplies to let Zhi Lan demonstrate her skill. She had drawn one of her chickens, Pu’er, with black ink. Master Dan had subsequently let her use his colored pigments, which Zhi Lan dipped her brushes into eagerly, resulting in a chicken with ultramarine blue and cinnabar red feathers, though Pu’er was a primarily brown chicken.
“Overzealous with ink, perhaps, but a steady hand and a good sense of composition,” Master Dan had concluded. He had then let Zhi Lan look through his portfolio, which included a half-finished painting of a rocky landscape.
“I am looking for a river to go here,” Master Dan had said, tapping the empty bottom half of the painting. “Will you help me find one?”
The next day was the first of their many grand nature excursions. Zhi Lan had led Master Dan to the neighboring river they used to irrigate the farm. The current was strong that morning, throwing white foam against the rocks. She had helped Master Dan grind his inks and hovered over his shoulder as he created magic before her very eyes.
By evening, she had practically begged on her knees for him to accept her as his student.
Zhi Lan was brought back to the present when Master Dan sighed and set down his brush with a click. His paper was unmarked.
“I can’t help but think you’re meant to find your fortune elsewhere,” Master Dan said. He gestured to the lavish apartments around them. “This is an old bachelor’s life. I travel and paint to make a name for myself. I bend to the whims of my patrons. I have these rooms, but depend on another to provide them to me. Zhi Lan, you are young. This is as good a time as any to return home and get married. I won’t blame you if you leave.”
Magistrate Bu’s threat lingered over them, heavy yet unspoken.
“If I marry, I will have to bend to the whims of my husband and depend on him to provide my rooms. The situation isn’t much of an alternative, is it?” Zhi Lan said with a wry smile. “I’d much rather suffer with you, if I have to suffer at all. Besides, there is still much you need to teach me.”
Master Dan tsked. “Someone ought to teach you to curb that smart mouth of yours.”
“They can try.”
He didn’t laugh. “I’m getting old. I worry I will have nothing to leave you. No name, no legacy. Will you promise to go home after I’m gone, child? I don’t want you wandering about in this manner alone.”
“Master Dan, please don’t speak of such things!” Zhi Lan cried. “You have decades left to live. That’s plenty of time to make a name for yourself and turn this situation of ours around. We’ll solve this together.”
Master Dan merely sighed.
Zhi Lan picked up the brush he had set down, rewetted it with ink, and hovered the tip over her paper. “It was like this, yes?” She swept her brush upward, tracing the towering contour of Shui Jin Mountain.
***
IT WAS NEARING MIDNIGHTwhen Zhi Lan retired to her room, setting her shoes outside and donning her indoor slippers. The suite was connected to Master Dan’s and equally nice, featuring lush furniture and a vanity with a large bronze mirror. Pots of cosmetics were arranged on the table. She didn’t presume they were for her use, but she did peek in the red enameled containers out of curiosity before changing for bed and pulling the pins from her hair.
