Liu Mentang spent her days in the shop, swatting flies and learning the abacus from the accountant. Once she grasped the basics, she began calculating the costs of hiring shop assistants. As she meticulously worked through the accounts, her brows furrowed with worry. She realized that spending money every day without earning a single coin was simply not sustainable.
Occasionally, customers wandered into the shop, only to leave after a single glance. Liu Mentang politely stopped a few patrons, asking what they found unsatisfactory. One or two were honest enough to admit that the porcelain lacked originality, consisted mostly of common pieces, and yet was priced higher than in other stores. Naturally, they intended to shop elsewhere.
After hearing this feedback, Liu Mentang spent a sleepless night thinking. The next day, she and Li Mama set out to investigate other shops’ merchandise sources, hoping to find some way to improve their business.
Most porcelain in town came from scattered kilns in surrounding villages. The finest pieces, created for imperial tribute, would never circulate among common folk. More exquisite items were reserved for established shops, leaving newer ones unable to acquire them. Coarser porcelain, though cheaper, offered only the slimmest profit margin and depended on high-volume sales. Typically, peddlers sold such pieces in village markets, barely making enough to cover basic costs, let alone the expenses of running a shop.
After several days of exploration, Liu Mentang’s worry grew heavier. She wondered why her husband had chosen to leave their hometown to open a business here, especially in porcelain where they had no advantage. At this rate, the shop would suffer serious losses. Thankfully, the upcoming internal river works project would likely raise local property values. If that happened, they could at least rent out the shop to maintain a modest livelihood.
The rental income would be far less than the profits from trade, but it could sustain them if they lived frugally. However, they might not be able to keep all the servants. She worried about her husband's ability to adapt without his usual attendants and the fate of their two elderly maids if the Cui family dismissed them.
Having just boasted to Li Mama about a prosperous future, Liu Mentang now faced the possibility of sending the maids back to their hometowns. The thought weighed heavily on her. She continued searching for solutions, walking until her legs ached and her skirt became stained with mud from the country roads, yet still found no perfect answer.
If the worst came to pass, she could only give Li Mama and the others some money for their retirement, ensuring they would not be destitute. It would exhaust most of her remaining funds, but at least the Cui family still had the shop as their foundation.
These thoughts dampened Liu Mentang’s spirits, and she decided to return to Lingquan Town. However, after only a few steps, she heard someone call out, “Madam, please wait!”
Turning around, she saw Zhao Quan—the divine doctor she had not seen in a long time. Zhao Quan was in the area searching for reclusive talents. Aside from his medical expertise, he was also skilled in calligraphy and painting. However, he paid little attention to famous artists’ works, preferring to discover unrecognized talent and support struggling scholars.
That day, in a painting shop in a neighboring county, the Marquis of Zhennan had found a summer lotus painting by a failed scholar who used the pseudonym “Bitter Brush Recluse.” The painting had been inexpensive, costing only half a tael of silver after framing, suitable for country gentry to decorate their bare walls. Yet Zhao Quan believed the seemingly unremarkable piece held elegant brushwork and an inventive use of color, revealing the potential for greatness if the artist ever received proper support.
Excited by his discovery, Zhao Quan had set out to find the painter based on the address left behind. Though he had not found the lotus painter, he was delighted to encounter Liu Mentang—a beauty he considered as delicate as a lotus herself.
Seeing Zhao Quan again, Liu Mentang remained cautious, remembering her husband’s warning about the doctor’s habit of pursuing his friends’ wives. Unlike their previous encounters, she kept a formal distance, barely nodding in greeting before turning to Li Mama and saying, “Please tell Zhao Yishi that we have matters to attend to and must take our leave.”
Zhao Quan found this behavior strange, wondering why she would use Li Mama to speak when he stood right there. However, still excited about his discovery, he wanted to demonstrate his refined taste before the beauty. Ignoring her cold demeanor, he quickly said, “I’ve come seeking a talented painter and feared I had no one to verify my judgment. Madam, your appearance is truly timely. Please, take a look at this painting.”
He instructed his attendant to retrieve the scroll from his carriage and proudly displayed it before Liu Mentang.
Initially uninterested, Liu Mentang glanced at the painting briefly. But after a moment, her gaze lingered. Though trained in martial arts, her family’s love for antiques and paintings had given her some knowledge of art appreciation. While not an expert, she could still discern quality.
The lotus painting used subtle, pale colors to highlight the flower’s purity and upright nature. The dragonfly’s tail touching the water, sending ripples outward, brought movement to the scene, making it quietly captivating.
After studying the painting, Liu Mentang suddenly bent down to look more closely at the dragonfly.
Seeing her interest, Zhao Quan felt immensely proud and said, “What do you think? Isn’t it fresh and refined? I declare that if this painter receives a noble recommendation, he will surely gain fame throughout the land. Madam, would you like to join me in witnessing the moment this hidden master meets a kindred spirit?”
Liu Mentang slowly straightened and asked Li Mama, “Please inquire where the divine doctor says the painter lives and how far it is from here.”
Li Mama, understanding Liu Mentang’s distant attitude toward the doctor, silently sympathized with the wrongly suspected Marquis of Zhennan as she relayed the question.
Delighted by Liu Mentang’s apparent willingness to join him, Zhao Quan eagerly replied, “It’s not far! Just in the village ahead. If we hurry, we can return before sunset, in time for your evening meal. If we’re delayed, I know a wonderful waterside restaurant. I could treat you there, and we can enjoy the lake view with some wine and dishes.”
Hearing this, Liu Mentang frowned inwardly, confirming her suspicion that the doctor’s character truly was questionable. How could he casually invite a married woman to dine alone?
Refusing to ride in Zhao Quan’s carriage, she returned to her donkey cart, following slowly behind his entourage.
Zhao Quan, aware that Liu Mentang believed herself to be Cui Jiu’s wife, understood her need to maintain propriety while traveling. He took no offense and found her modest behavior even more charming. He longed to spend more time with her, imagining them as immortal companions wandering mountains and rivers in search of fine paintings.
After a short journey along country paths, they arrived at a dilapidated thatched cottage where the scholar supposedly lived. As Zhao Quan stepped out of his carriage and instructed his servant to knock, the cottage’s owner appeared.
The man was a scholar in his forties, wearing a faded, threadbare robe. His beard was unkempt and his temples were graying. He was unsteadily hoeing in the courtyard, where spring seedlings trembled in the breeze.
Hearing the call, the scholar barely looked up, giving them a brief glance before silently returning to his work.
Accustomed to such eccentricity, Zhao Quan politely called, “Are you the Bitter Brush Recluse who sold your painting to the ink shop in the neighboring county?”
The old scholar finally half-raised his eyes and gave a grunt of acknowledgment.
Pleased to have found the right person, Zhao Quan praised the painting and explained the purpose of their visit.
After sizing up Zhao Quan, the scholar set down his hoe and opened the gate. Poorly equipped to host guests, he prepared a mat in a flat area of the courtyard for them to sit cross-legged.
As a woman, Liu Mentang remained standing to the side with Li Mama, observing quietly.
The scholar offered no refreshments, so Zhao Quan's servant, concerned for his master’s comfort, produced a box of pastries and used the carriage’s brazier to brew tea.
The old scholar devoured most of the pastries, clearly used to irregular meals. Once satisfied, he became more talkative and discussed the painting with Zhao Quan.
However, as Zhao Quan enthusiastically analyzed the lotus painting, the scholar’s expression grew increasingly despondent. When Zhao Quan finished, the scholar thought for a moment before saying, “Thank you for your appreciation, but you do not understand painting. It’s getting late. Please take your leave.”
Zhao Quan, utterly stunned, felt his pride as a nobleman flare. He demanded, “Where have I gone wrong? Please enlighten me. How can you dismiss my understanding without a single explanation?”
At this moment, Liu Mentang, who had remained silent since entering the courtyard, finally spoke. “Sir, I also have some thoughts on this painting. Would you be willing to hear them?”
The scholar, accustomed to solitude and unimpressed by beauty, had barely noticed Liu Mentang. Hearing her speak, he brushed pastry crumbs from his robe and said, “Please, madam, speak quickly. I must chop wood for the fire.”
Approaching the painting, Liu Mentang pointed to the dragonfly and said, “I believe I see a faint image in the dragonfly’s eye… a woman admiring lotuses on a bridge, her reflection captured within the insect’s gaze.”
Her words startled Zhao Quan, who stared at the painting intently before calling for his servant to bring the yin-yang mirror—a gift from a tributary state to the imperial court. The magnifying mirror, designed for elderly scholars, was something Zhao Quan occasionally used for seal carving and kept in his carriage for leisure.
Taking the mirror eagerly, Zhao Quan examined the dragonfly’s eye. To his astonishment, within the tiny insect eye, no bigger than a soybean, there was indeed the faint scene of a willow-lined bridge… and an elegant woman holding a parasol.
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