Chapter 29: Yu Shinan and Ouyang Xun Pay a Visit

After settling Zhao Long, Du Chengfeng returned to the main hall of the courtyard, only to his surprise to find three elderly gentlemen seated on the left side of the hall. The maid Chunlan was brewing tea for them.

Du Chengfeng looked closely—weren’t these the three renowned calligraphers from the Chang’an Poetry Gathering? How had they managed to find him here?

As soon as Chunlan saw Du Chengfeng, she forgot all about brewing tea and hurriedly reported, “Young master, these gentlemen arrived earlier and asked for you. When I couldn’t find you, I had them wait in the hall.”

“I see, thank you. You may go,” Du Chengfeng replied with a gentle smile and a wave of his hand.

“Yes, sir.”

Now that the host had appeared, the three masters all rose to their feet. Chu Suiliang looked at Du Chengfeng with a playful glint and said, “Young friend, you gave us old men quite the chase! We followed you all the way to Du Family Village, only to hear you’d moved to Chang’an. If not for the villagers’ kindness in leading us here, we would’ve made the trip in vain.”

“Oh, what a shame! What a shame! I am truly sorry to have troubled you all to come in person. Please forgive my lack of courtesy,” Du Chengfeng said apologetically, bowing his hands in respect. Elders should be honored, and seeing these esteemed men come all this way touched him deeply.

Though Chu Suiliang was still in his middle years and held no high office, history would remember him as a man of integrity and one of the famed chancellors of early Tang. Du Chengfeng held genuine respect for all three.

“Please, gentlemen, have a seat,” Du Chengfeng said, then inquired, “May I ask what brings you all this way to seek me out?”

Once they were seated, Yu Shinan, calm and composed as ever, stroked his beard and nodded with delight. He smiled and said, “Young man, you took the top prize at the poetry gathering, then slipped away quietly without even collecting your reward, leaving us three quite regretful.”

Chu Suiliang added, “To tell the truth, we’re all extremely interested in the script you used. Would you be willing to discuss it with us?”

Ouyang Xun also sighed in admiration: “Your calligraphy is truly unique, forming a style all your own, and your skill is profound. Even we two old bones must admit we cannot compare.”

Faced with such praise from these masters, even Du Chengfeng, strong-minded as he was, felt a bit awkward. He could only reply with humility, “You flatter me, gentlemen. You are the true masters of the art—I have always admired your work.”

“My boy,” one of them said with a chuckle, “as the saying goes: ‘The accomplished may teach.’ Excessive humility is pride in disguise. We are genuinely intrigued by your new script.”

“In truth, we have tried to imitate it, but we can capture only its form, not its spirit. It resembles yours, but lacks its essence. We hope you would be generous enough to instruct us,” Yu Shinan said, stepping forward and bowing deeply and sincerely.

Du Chengfeng, meeting the clear gaze of this aged minister of the Tang, felt a stirring in his heart, moved by the candor of these venerable men.

It was just a slender-gold script, yet it had brought these true masters to set aside their pride and seek instruction from him. Du Chengfeng couldn’t help but feel admiration.

With that, he returned Yu Shinan’s bow and said, “You honor me, sir. Perhaps you would all care to join me in my study for a discussion?”

On hearing this, the three men were visibly excited, exclaiming, “Excellent! Wonderful!”

“Please, gentlemen, follow me,” Du Chengfeng said, leading them to his study.

In the study, Du Chengfeng gave a detailed explanation of the essentials and finer points of the slender-gold script. The three masters listened, utterly absorbed.

He went further, sharing insights into several notable modern calligraphic styles, for which the three men expressed boundless admiration for his comprehension and mastery.

The guidance Du Chengfeng offered opened a dazzling new door for them, a revelation that made them feel suddenly enlightened, as if a flood of clarity had washed over them.

Encouraged by his instruction, the three again attempted to emulate Du Chengfeng’s slender-gold script. This time, their work bore a closer resemblance in spirit; only time and practice stood between them and true mastery.

Calligraphy, after all, is not learned overnight. Du Chengfeng was the rare exception, but the three masters were more than satisfied with their progress.

Lost in discussion, the hours slipped by unnoticed—two whole hours had passed. By then, all were feeling a bit hungry, and the three guests prepared to take their leave. Du Chengfeng, knowing it was not suitable to press them to stay, saw them to the door.

Just as they were about to go, Chu Suiliang looked at Du Chengfeng with a hopeful expression and said, “Young friend, I have a small request—would you oblige us?”

“Please, Master Chu, speak your mind,” Du Chengfeng replied graciously.

“We would be honored if you could write each of us a piece in your own hand,” Chu Suiliang said a bit sheepishly.

“Yes, please!” Yu Shinan and Ouyang Xun echoed, their faces earnest.

Unable to refuse, Du Chengfeng wrote for each of them—one in slender-gold script, and two in other renowned modern styles—a poem by a famous Ming dynasty writer: “The River Flows Eastward,” now widely recognized as the theme to a popular television drama.

The river flows eastward,
Waves sweeping away heroes.
Right and wrong, success and failure, all turn to emptiness in the blink of an eye.
The green hills remain,
How many times has the sun set in crimson?
White-haired fishermen and woodcutters on river islets,
Accustomed to autumn moon and spring breeze.
Sharing a jug of cloudy wine in joyous reunion,
How many affairs of old and new
Are all but laughter and idle talk?

This poem describes the search for eternal value amid the surging and settling of history, and the quest for profound insight into life’s triumphs and losses. It evokes the rise and fall of dynasties and the bittersweet passage of life itself, reflecting a noble spirit and a broad-minded soul.

As one savors these verses, it seems not the river alone but the relentless tide of history that rushes past.

It is as if one hears a sigh from the depths of the ages, and in that sigh, seeks the eternal meaning of life.

He chose this poem because it was so fitting, filled with resonance and poetic charm. Unlike Yue Fei’s “Man Jiang Hong,” which expresses a different set of emotions, both were among Du Chengfeng’s favorites, and in the moment, he wrote them out with ease.

The three calligraphy masters were overjoyed, regarding his work as a priceless treasure. The ink was not yet dry before they had carefully packed the scrolls away, as if guarding them from would-be thieves.

Du Chengfeng could only smile—these men were true lovers of the art, people of genuine temperament and rare character. He let them have their way; after all, he had taught all he could.

Besides, this would only enhance his own reputation, for these three were among the most celebrated calligraphers of early Tang, their fame already unrivaled in the land.

“Young friend, we are deeply grateful for your guidance today. We shall take our leave, but hope you will visit us at our homes in the future,” the three said, now even more courteous after his instruction. Du Chengfeng agreed to each invitation in turn.

“Allow me to see you out.”

“Oh, and one more thing,” Yu Shinan said as he turned back, “I noticed, as I entered, that everyone in your household—servants and attendants alike—seemed spirited and cheerful, without the least reserve, even, perhaps, somewhat lacking in the usual decorum. Please don’t misunderstand me—I mean no criticism. I merely found it quite unlike any other household I have visited.”

Sharp observation indeed, Du Chengfeng thought. No wonder he was a trusted minister under Emperor Taizong; none of these men were to be underestimated.

He answered calmly, “Here, everyone is treated as an equal. There is no hierarchy of men over women, no distinction of master and servant—merely employer and employee. Moreover, all are free people, not slaves, and their wages are two or three times the usual rate. That is why you see what you see.”

“I see,” Yu Shinan replied, though he didn’t fully understand. Still, it was not the time to probe further; another day, perhaps.

“Very well, we shall take our leave now.”

“Safe travels, gentlemen.”