The New Year was drawing near, and a heavy snowstorm swept in.
Amid the densely clouded sky, large flakes of snow fluttered down like a Milky Way pouring from the heavens.
Icicles hung from the eaves, and branches were cloaked in a silvery garb.
The small stream outside Baoho County appeared even clearer and more transparent against the backdrop of the snow.
The townspeople stepped out of their hos clad in thick, warm clothing, trudging through the fluttering snow.
Their steps crunched in the snow, leaving a trail of deep and shallow footprints across the vast white blanket.
Standing under the eaves, Qi Xiu gathered his cyan-grey cotton robe around him, his hands in Sleeve Gathering, as he looked up quietly at the snow falling gently before him.
In the blink of an eye, he had been in this world for two years.
Listening to the laughter, the firecrackers, and the excited, joyous footsteps of children outside the door, Qi Xiu’s gaze subtly shifted.
He was not from this world.
Two years ago, due to a car accident, he had returned from the dead by occupying soone else’s body, living again in this world.
It’s New Year’s again, huh.
Exhaling a puff of frosty breath, Qi Xiu let out a brief sigh.
Two years.
He wondered how his parents were faring in that other world.
Although he wasn’t an only child, at the ti of his death, his brother was only six years old. His parents, white-haired, had buried their dark-haired son; they had probably grieved for who knows how long.
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK—
Just as Qi Xiu was lost in mories, gazing at the endless snow, soone knocked on the wooden gate outside the courtyard.
"Is Mr. Qi at ho?" a clear, bell-like voice called from beyond the door.
Shielding himself from the wind and snow, Qi Xiu approached the door and pulled it open.
Outside stood a little girl, about eight or nine years old, wearing a crimson quilted jacket and holding a wooden basket.
"Xuan’er, what’s the matter?"
"My mom asked to give this to Mr. Qi," Qiao Xuan’er said in her childish voice, straining to lift the basket she carried. "She also wants to ask you to help our family write a Spring Festival couplet."
Qi Xiu took the basket from Qiao Xuan’er. He lifted the red cloth covering it and found a whole basket of stead buns and over ten eggs.
The original owner of the body Qi Xiu now inhabited was a poor scholar.
He was an abandoned infant, adopted and raised by an old scholar.
When he was sixteen, his foster father passed away. He left behind nothing but three liang of silver fragnts and a house that barely provided shelter from the wind and rain.
Fortunately, the original owner, though a scholar with no strength to truss a chicken, had been taught to write beautifully from a young age by the old scholar.
Thanks to his calligraphy, he made ends et by copying letters for neighbors, composing Spring Festival couplets during festivities, and writing eulogies for deceased elders, barely managing to scrape by.
"Got it. Tell your mother I’ll bring so ink and paper over later," Qi Xiu said, gently squeezing the little girl’s cheek. He smiled as he watched the spirited child bounce away.
Returning to the house, he locked the stead buns and eggs safely in the cupboard.
Qi Xiu turned and went back to his bedroom, placing the ink, brush, and inkstone into the cloth bag he had made himself.
"I’m nearly out of ink. With the increase in demand for Spring Festival couplets these days, I’ll need to buy another bottle soon," he said. He shook the nearly empty ink bottle, a crease forming on his brow.
There had been several murder cases on the Comrce Path outside Baoho County in the past fortnight. This caused the number of rchant caravans to decrease significantly. Consequently, prices in the city had also risen quite a bit.
The ink, which used to cost three copper coins per bottle, had gone up to five copper coins a bottle. The nearly twofold price hike was putting a strain on Qi Xiu, who was running short on savings for certain reasons.
Hopefully, things will get better after the New Year.
After packing his things, Qi Xiu wrapped an old, faded cotton scarf around his neck and tightened his sleeves before stepping out into the storm.
...
"Uncle Qiao, I’ve finished writing it. Co take a look; is it alright?"
Putting down the brush, Qi Xiu unrolled his sleeves. He gently straightened the red paper spread out on the table to make it as flat as possible.
"Not bad at all, truly excellent! I’d say, Mr. Qi, your calligraphy could be considered top-notch here in Baoho County."
With a smoking pipe clenched in his teeth, Qiao Yong praised the Spring Festival couplet on the table as he exhaled dense clouds of smoke.
"You’re too kind, Uncle Qiao. My calligraphy is just average; it’s not as good as you say."
"And please, you don’t have to call Mr. Qi. Just ’Little Qi’ is fine. I don’t have any official title to warrant ’Mr.’," Qi Xiu replied humbly while cleaning up his ink and brush.
"Ah, I’ve got a sharp eye. You do have talent; it’s just not your ti yet. Here, this is the fee; take it."
Fishing out a string of copper coins from his bosom, Qiao Yong handed them to Qi Xiu, speaking earnestly.
"Well then, I’ll accept your kind words. This seems like too much..."
Noticing that the amount of copper coins wasn’t right, Qi Xiu was puzzled for a mont and attempted to return them.
"Keep it. It’s the New Year, and it’s not easy for you on your own. Buy sothing tasty for yourself," Qiao Yong said, stopping Qi Xiu’s hand as he tried to give back the coins.
"Then... thank you, Uncle Qiao." His heart ward, Qi Xiu put away his things and took his leave from the Qiao Family.
As he walked back ho, the butcher’s shop by the roadside made Qi Xiu pause.
It’s New Year’s after all; today, I’ll have at as well.
Feeling more confident with the copper coins in his pocket, Qi Xiu approached the shop.
The butcher, Liu Sanjin, was scraping his cleaver with a sharpening steel. When he saw the scholar approach, he imdiately smiled and said, "Mr. Qi, a rare guest! What will it be, sir? The usual two liang of at?"
Living frugally, Qi Xiu could only afford at once or twice a month. He never bought more than two liang per occasion, just enough to satisfy a craving. This constant interaction had led Butcher Liu to tease Qi Xiu every ti he saw him.
"Hmm, the usual. Two liang of at, sliced into shreds."
Accustod to Butcher Liu’s mockery, Qi Xiu stood in front of the shop, unfazed. He pulled out his purse and carefully counted out ten copper coins, placing them on the cutting board.
"Alright, a distinguished guest has arrived! Two liang of lean at, cut into shreds!"
Shouting deliberately loud, Butcher Liu brought his cleaver down. He cut a piece of lean at the size of a palm. After a quick CHOP-CHOP-CHOP, he wrapped it in oiled paper and handed it to Qi Xiu.
"Thank you."
With a faint word of thanks, Qi Xiu took the shredded at and turned to leave.
Watching Qi Xiu’s retreating figure, Butcher Liu snorted softly and spat out a lump of thick phlegm.
"Poor scholar, making a fuss about nothing. You’re as thin as a rail; aren’t you afraid the wind will blow you away?"
...
He carried the at back ho.
Brushing the accumulated snow from his shoulders, Qi Xiu removed the Copper Pot sitting on the stove. He stretched his icy, numb hands over the coal fire, gently rubbing them together.
Feeling his hands slowly warming up, Qi Xiu put the Copper Pot back and entered the bedroom. He pulled out his writing brush, ink, paper, and inkstone from the bag and placed them on the table.
He carefully spread out a slightly coarse sheet of Bado Paper.
"HUUH."
Exhaling a breath of turbid air, Qi Xiu raised his wrist. Holding the tip of the deer hair brush, he lightly dipped it in the ink and touched it to the top of the paper.
The air seed to ripple like the surface of water.
Ink characters road and erged, forming lines in a clear and neat arrangent.
[Calligraphy: 99.1%]
[Culinary Skills: 7.6%]
His pupils mirroring the mysterious and ancient script, Qi Xiu touched his nose and let out a wry smile.
Compared to other transmigrators, his ’golden finger’ couldn’t have been later. It only awakened one insomnia-plagued night a month ago while he was writing.
And the marvel of this golden finger was as plain and simple as it appeared: as long as he seriously engaged in sothing, he could continuously gain insights.
Take his calligraphy, for instance. With every stroke he wrote, insights surfaced in his mind, and the next stroke would improve.
Indeed, his progress in calligraphy this past month was even greater than that of the whole previous year.
To improve this calligraphy proficiency, the lamp oil I’ve consud this month is comparable to what ordinary people use in three or four months.
Staring at the calligraphy proficiency, which was nearing completion, Qi Xiu pursed his lips.
To find out what effect reaching one hundred percent proficiency would have, he picked up his brush to practice calligraphy every ti he had a mont this month.
To save ink, he would use his brush dipped in clear water for practice. That was fine during the day. But the oil consud by the lamp at night was indeed a considerable expense.
May the heavens bless ; I hope my dozen or so pitchers of lamp oil haven’t been wasted in vain.
Seeing that his calligraphy proficiency was about to be maxed out, Qi Xiu decided to push it to 100% in one go tonight. He wanted to see what effect would be produced once his calligraphy was perfected.
WHOOSH—
The night grew deep.
The snowstorm outside intensified. The sweeping wind howled. Drafts sneaking through doors and windows teased the oil lamp, causing the fla to flicker precariously, on the verge of going out.
"The snow is really heavy this year," Qi Xiu said, glancing at the snow, which had been falling all day without stopping. He got up to close the doors and windows, preventing the cold wind from further disturbing the candle fla.
"Let’s begin."
Flexing his fingers, Qi Xiu sat up straight, picked up the brush, and began to write on the paper.
In the midst of the snowy night, a solitary courtyard was illuminated by candlelight. The room was filled with a faint scent of ink, as the young man sat at the table, concentrating on his calligraphy.
His brows were slightly furrowed, his eyes focused on the ink strokes on the paper, completely imrsed in the world of writing.
The tip of his brush gently touched the paper, and each stroke was filled with strength and grace.
His movents were succinct and precise, never slackening.
His breathing was gentle yet firm, perfectly harmonizing with the rhythm of his writing.
As character after character took shape, threads of insight erged in Qi Xiu’s mind. Ti passed unknowingly.
As he drew a stroke that outlined robust bones and sinews, Qi Xiu suddenly paused, his eyes becoming hazy.
An indescribable, arcane aura escaped from within him.
Like a flood breaching a dam, a vast system of knowledge surged in his mind, gradually dispersing into his limbs and bones.
After a long mont, Qi Xiu, who had just regained his senses, stared blankly at the white paper on the table.
A strand of nearly invisible golden light coursed secretly within the ink strokes.
...
"HA HA HA!!"
In the dead of night, a sudden burst of laughter startled the birds and woke the neighbors! One household after another lit up.
Heads wrapped in cotton garnts, faces filled with alarm and anger, poked out from doors, cursing aloud, "Who is it, in the middle of the night, having a fit?!"
...
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