Chapter Ninety-Seven: Mi Dian

In this world, there are those who love wealth, those who love women, and those who delight in reading, calligraphy, music, clothing, gardening, dance, and countless other hobbies—endless and varied in their peculiarities. Among them are those who cherish the collection of paintings and calligraphy, some to the point of obsession. The gentleman before Li Sanjian was undoubtedly one such enthusiast, verging on fanaticism.

After Li Sanjian displayed his most exquisite paintings, this man clutched them tightly, unwilling to part with them, urging Li Sanjian to follow him back to his residence to fetch money, as if fearing refusal. This moved Li Sanjian deeply. He himself loved painting, yet had never encountered anyone so passionate about art. Were he not so destitute, he would have gladly gifted the works. "True friends are rare to find, even if the grass grows at the world's end," Li Sanjian mused.

“Who are you? Where do you come from?” The man suddenly recalled something and asked. The man was certain this was the one he sought. To meet him here was like finding a needle in a haystack without effort—a stroke of fortune.

Li Sanjian looked at the man, whose face radiated excitement, with some puzzlement and replied, “My name is Li Sanjian, from Qiongtai, Danzhou. I was a candidate in Guizhou... no, a student in Lingshan County, Qinzhou.”

After passing the preliminary examination, one gains the status of a “Jieren.” They then proceed to the provincial exams in the capital. Regardless of whether they pass or make the list, the Jieren status is automatically revoked afterward. If one fails to qualify for exemption in subsequent civil service exams, they must return to their place of origin to regain Jieren status before trying again.

The exemption criteria were notoriously stringent; without five or six attempts at the imperial examinations, one could not obtain it. Clearly, Li Sanjian did not meet the exemption conditions. This meant he would have to return to Guizhou in two years to reacquire his status if he wished to take the provincial exams again.

This notion cast a shadow over Li Sanjian’s heart. It was as if all his previous efforts were wasted, and he had to start anew. The journey alone would consume over half a year, incurring considerable costs in time and money.

Yet, after a moment of gloom, Li Sanjian quickly rallied. Wasn’t all he had done just for this? In his previous life, he had succumbed to despair in the face of setbacks. Now, having been granted a second chance by Heaven, he vowed to persevere no matter what, never to give up under any circumstance.

Unaware of the whirlwind of thoughts in Li Sanjian’s mind, the man, brimming with joy, grasped Li Sanjian’s hands and shook them vigorously, laughing heartily. “Indeed, it is you! Wonderful, wonderful! Quickly come back with me to the prince’s mansion. I must see how you paint!”

It was not concern for his reputation that moved him but a desire to hold Li Sanjian close and kiss him twice over.

“Prince’s mansion? Your Highness?” Li Sanjian was stunned. A prince? Could it be that this man before him was a royal prince of the court?

Li Sanjian had guessed the man’s noble status but never imagined he was a prince. There were few princes in the Song dynasty, and Li Sanjian found it hard to believe.

“P-Prince?” Li Sanjian stammered, “Pr-Which prince are you?”

“Impudent!” A retainer snapped, “My master is the military governor of Pingjiang and Zhenjiang, the Duke of Duan, Prince of the Great Song. How dare you speak so disrespectfully, boy?”

The man’s name was Zhao Ji, brother to the reigning emperor Zhao Xu, the eleventh son of Emperor Shenzong. He bore a striking resemblance to Li Yu, the last ruler of Southern Tang, and was equally elegant, talented, and passionate about painting. He spared no expense in collecting calligraphy and paintings, to the point of obsession.

“No matter,” Zhao Ji said with a smile, unfazed by the interruption. “Will you come with me to the prince’s mansion? I shall welcome you with open arms.”

In the past, Zhao Ji collected only authentic works, rarely ever meeting the artists themselves. Now, with both the genuine paintings and the painter before him, how could he not be overjoyed? Li Sanjian’s “Old Man Hunting in Autumn” still hung in the mansion.

“I am but a humble man, unworthy of such honor, but if Your Highness does not mind, I would be glad to accompany you,” Li Sanjian replied reluctantly.

Refusing was pointless. After all, he was dealing with a prince, who could easily have him taken by force. Moreover, Zhao Ji’s courteous and sincere invitation had won Li Sanjian’s favor.

“About the money...” Li Sanjian hesitated.

Zhao Ji’s retainers nearly leapt at the chance to beat Li Sanjian senseless. How could a prince—not just any noble but a Song duke—be so petty as to haggle over a paltry sum?

“Ha! I will have someone send you to your lodgings,” Zhao Ji laughed heartily.

It was natural to love money—human nature itself. Especially for a man as poor as Li Sanjian, Zhao Ji had already noticed his simple attire; a mere commoner. Li Sanjian’s straightforward request only endeared him further to Zhao Ji.

“Your Highness, returning to the mansion!”

“Your servants pay respects to Duke Duan, Your Highness!”

Li Sanjian followed Zhao Ji back to the Duan Prince’s mansion, where the household eagerly assembled at the grand entrance to welcome their lord’s guest.

It was Li Sanjian’s first glimpse of true aristocracy—a magnificent and imposing estate.

Inside, Li Sanjian’s eyes roamed in wonder. Emperor Taizong Zhao Guangyi’s accession to the throne had been clouded in controversy, still a source of criticism to this day. Suspicious and wary, the Taizong Emperor took great precautions against potential threats.

Since Emperor Taizong, imperial princes were granted titles but no lands or military power. Even positions with real authority were rare. The Zhao clan received generous annual stipends and rewards, ensuring a life of comfort without power, preventing any internal strife.

As the son of Emperor Shenzong and brother to Emperor Zhao Xu, Zhao Ji too was granted the title of Duke of Duan with generous rewards. His mansion was grand and imposing.

Yet, despite its grandeur, no vulgarity tainted the estate. Every plant, brick, and tile exuded refined elegance, causing Li Sanjian to silently admire. Surely, Duke Duan Zhao Ji was a man of remarkable taste and literary accomplishment.

Ignoring the household, Zhao Ji hurriedly led Li Sanjian into a spacious hall, furnished with several desks adorned with precious brushes, ink, paper, and inkstones.

Eager to witness Li Sanjian’s painting skills firsthand, Zhao Ji could hardly contain his curiosity.

“Little Ji is home? What rare treasures do you bring today?” Before Li Sanjian could swallow the tea just handed to him, these words startled him so much he almost spat it out.

“Little Ji?” Such a term carried many implications. Li Sanjian chuckled inwardly. Who in the mansion dared address Zhao Ji so familiarly? Could it be an elder relative?

Turning, Li Sanjian saw a short middle-aged man with a goatee almost twisted into strands, dressed all in white, stained with oil marks. He stood at the doorway, glaring at Zhao Ji.

One foot wore a boot; the other rested on a wooden clog.

“Has the teacher arrived?” Zhao Ji smiled without concern. “Perfect timing. No strange objects today. Instead, I have brought back an extraordinary man.”

The middle-aged man’s attention snapped to Li Sanjian. Clomping forward, nose nearly touching Li Sanjian’s chest, he circled him thrice, then sneered, “Is this the man? What makes him so remarkable?”

His expression was scornful.

From afar, Li Sanjian had smelled a foul stench; now up close, it was even stronger. Though repulsed, he bowed respectfully. “I am Li Sanjian of Lingnan. May I ask, sir, your name?”

The man stared silently.

“Oh, haha, Mr. Li,” Zhao Ji quickly smoothed the awkwardness, “this is Mi Fu, styled Haiyue Waishi. Mr. Li, he is a master poet, calligrapher, painter, and connoisseur—my honored guest.”

“I asked what makes him special! Why all the words?” Mi Fu shot a glare at Zhao Ji.

“He... he’s nothing special personally. But his paintings are unparalleled. In my view, no one in the world can match his art,” Zhao Ji replied patiently.

Mi Fu stepped close again, pressing his nose against Li Sanjian’s chest, and looked up mockingly. “A mere boy with milk still on his lips, and yet dares to claim he is the best in the world?”

He then jabbed two fingers into Li Sanjian’s chest.

“Not at all, not at all,” Li Sanjian backed away two steps, putting distance between himself and the overpowering stench.

“My humble work hardly deserves such lofty praise...” Li Sanjian began, only to be cut off.

“If I say you’re the best in the world, you are the best in the world. What, are you having second thoughts?”

Li Sanjian was left speechless. Such a man! Utterly baffling. Inwardly, he cursed this man as a madman.