Chapter Eighty-Two: Killing Two Birds with One Stone

Zhou Zhi rummaged through the shop, turning over items, scrutinizing, picking and choosing, fussing back and forth for nearly two hours. By now, it was well past noon, and the shop assistant, Xiao Qi, was cold and hungry. Hearing Zhou Zhi finally ask about the price, Xiao Qi thought to himself, "Oh, my little master, at last you've made your choice—it's about time you leave."

Without even looking at Zhou Zhi, Xiao Qi waved his hand generously and said, "No need for money, take it as you please!"

In his mind, these piles of old papers ought to have been thrown out long ago; it was only that the mess beneath was too dirty to bother cleaning. If Zhou Zhi would just leave, Xiao Qi would gladly give him not only one book, but even several more. He would be more than happy.

Zhou Zhi was momentarily taken aback, then replied, "How could I not pay you? These are, after all, goods bought for money. Let me give you fifty copper coins!"

Of course, Zhou Zhi understood Xiao Qi's thinking—he would be delighted to receive even a single coin, let alone fifty, for something he was ready to give away for free. Yet, this was an authentic work, and paying a little for it eased his conscience.

The "Thirteen Postfaces to the Orchid Pavilion" was a priceless treasure in later generations, and even in the Ming Dynasty, anyone with knowledge would pay tens of thousands of silver taels for it.

Zhou Zhi was always puzzled how such a rural, modest Four Treasures Studio could possess such a treasure, and how it had lain there unnoticed for so long.

It all came down to the fact that, though Gaoxiang Town was bustling, it was isolated. Few literate people lived here, and even fewer could recognize its value.

Zhou Zhi recalled how, in later times, many treasure seekers often ventured into remote, backward regions, buying valuable items cheaply from locals with little experience or knowledge.

"Fifty copper coins?" Xiao Qi’s mouth hung open, unable to close for a long time. Even the fine, intact calligraphy copies on the shelf would not fetch fifty coins, yet this poor fellow was offering fifty in one go.

"What a fool, this guy is truly a fool," he thought.

But then, glancing again at Zhou Zhi’s shabby clothing, Xiao Qi felt disappointed, suspecting Zhou Zhi was just teasing him. How could such a poor farmer carry fifty coins? Fifty coins could buy three pounds of prime pork!

As Xiao Qi’s thoughts wandered, Zhou Zhi had already taken a handful of copper coins from his cloth pouch, counted out fifty, and presented them.

Seeing the money, Xiao Qi stopped speculating, smiled broadly, and eagerly took the coins, not even bothering to count them before tucking them into his own pocket. Naturally, he intended to keep the money for himself, since his master would never imagine someone would pay for those worthless scraps.

When Zhou Zhi took out the cloth pouch, Xiao Qi saw clearly that it was heavy, filled with coins. His demeanor toward Zhou Zhi changed dramatically, his smile now ingratiating and his heart filled with joy. He began to look at Zhou Zhi with new respect.

Xiao Qi was quick to reflect: "It seems you can't judge a person's wealth just by their clothes. Appearances can be deceiving."

"Brother, would you like to buy anything else?" Xiao Qi asked, now much more enthusiastic.

"Yes, of course. How much for those red papers?" Zhou Zhi had already noticed the pile of red paper in the corner and inquired.

"Red paper? Three sheets for one coin."

"Go count how many sheets there are—I’ll take them all!" Zhou Zhi declared grandly.

Xiao Qi’s mouth fell open again. There were at least two thousand sheets in that pile—counting them one by one would take forever. Yet, he had already changed his opinion of Zhou Zhi, regarding him highly. Having just pocketed fifty coins, he had no choice but to start counting.

These red papers, each three feet square, were usually bought for happy occasions. After a while, Xiao Qi grew impatient with counting and went to check the account book instead.

The ledger was thick, but much faster to consult. He checked how many had been stocked, how many sold, and after a rough calculation, said, “Altogether, there are two thousand three hundred sheets. Since you’re buying so many, let’s call it two thousand one hundred sheets. That will be seven hundred coins.”

It was not a valuable item, and such decisions were his to make.

Zhou Zhi then selected two large and two small calligraphy brushes, simple ones made from bamboo and sheep's wool, and bought an ink stick. Altogether, he paid Xiao Qi one thousand one hundred and twenty coins.

Having bought everything he needed, Zhou Zhi stacked the thick pile of red paper onto his small cart and left the Four Treasures Studio, continuing along the commercial street.

Xiao Qi stood at the shop door, watching Zhou Zhi’s slightly thin figure disappear, puzzled. Why buy so much red paper? The man he met today was peculiar—a real mystery.

The sun was already sinking westward, and Zhou Zhi felt the pangs of hunger. He hurriedly bought several baked buns to eat, bought a few more for the family, then went to the cloth shop to purchase several yards of fashionable blue and patterned fabric, and finally headed home.

As soon as he entered the courtyard, his younger brother, Zhou Shaocheng, spotted the pork and buns on the cart, and bounded over excitedly, exclaiming, “Brother bought pork—and buns! So much meat and so many buns!”

Shaocheng hadn't eaten buns in years. Zhou Zhi quickly took one from the paper bag and handed it to him, saying, “Eat, Shaocheng, it’s still warm!”

Zhou Zhi had walked briskly, so the buns were indeed still warm. Zhou Shaocheng grabbed it with his small hands and eagerly stuffed it into his mouth.

Hearing Shaocheng shouting outside, Zhou He, their mother, knew Zhou Zhi had returned and came out of the house. Seeing the pile of red paper on the cart, she asked in bewilderment, “Zhi, why did you buy all this red paper?”

Zhou Zhi laughed, “Mother, since I can write, I plan to use these days to write spring couplets, and sell them at the town market at the end of the year.”

Selling spring couplets was an idea Zhou Zhi had long considered. Ever since the days of Emperor Zhu, it was a tradition in Ming to paste spring couplets during New Year.

There were few literate people among the common folk, and even fewer who could write couplets. During New Year, most people bought red paper ahead of time and asked a scholar or a student to write for them.

Asking favors was never comfortable, especially from scholars, often requiring gifts. In the end, a pair of spring couplets for New Year could cost quite a bit.

Those scholars or students could write couplets, but they all had a certain pride and would never lower themselves to write couplets for sale at a stall.

Zhou Zhi saw an opportunity.

Though it wouldn’t make a fortune, at least he could earn something, and more importantly, it would be a good way to practice calligraphy—a win-win situation indeed.