Chapter Fourteen: Twice Encountering Kindred Spirits

After greeting them, Zhang Xu lowered his head, gazing at the characters he had just written with an expression as enraptured as if he were beholding the lover of his dreams. Pei Min, too, let his eyes fall upon the calligraphy, visibly moved. This time, what Zhang Xu had written was no longer his earlier "Praise of Prince Jin," but rather a passage from Jia Yi's "On Passing Qin":

"And so to the First Emperor, inheriting the legacy of six generations, he wielded his long whip to command the empire, devoured the two Zhou dynasties and destroyed the feudal lords, ascended to the utmost throne and ruled the world, brandished his cudgel and scourged the land, his might reverberating across the four seas."

Zhang Xu's wild cursive script surged with grandeur; its composition opened wide and closed in great sweeps, each stroke descending with the weight of a thousand jun. Wild but never grotesque, the calligraphy flowed with untamed freedom. Especially from the opening, "He wielded his long whip to command the empire," the brushstrokes were unbroken and powerful, cascading downward with momentum. In the subsequent lines—"devoured the two Zhou dynasties and destroyed the feudal lords, ascended to the utmost throne and ruled the world, brandished his cudgel and scourged the land"—the writing was completed in a single, continuous motion, without pause. It evoked the very spirit of the King of Qin raising his sword, as if all under heaven would vanish into dust—a perfect display of the beauty of wild cursive. Concluding with "his might reverberating across the four seas," the composition balanced density and openness, rising and falling in harmony, forming a seamless whole.

"Exquisite, truly exquisite!" Pei Min exclaimed, clapping his hands in admiration. "The grandeur of this calligraphy far surpasses last night's surging Yangtze and roaring Yellow River. Its spirit is not confined to those two rivers, but encompasses the entire world—an imperial ambition to swallow all under heaven. Who throughout the ages can match the First Emperor in such boldness? The words and the script illuminate one another; this piece is worth a fortune."

Looking at the work, Pei Min marveled that Zhang Xu's reputation as a master of wild cursive was well deserved. In the art of calligraphy, Sage Wang Xizhi might have surpassed Zhang Xu in overall achievement, but in wild cursive alone, Zhang Xu's hand was the very pinnacle of the art.

Zhang Xu paused, looking at Pei Min with growing delight in his eyes. "You understand my writing?"

"Why not?" Pei Min replied with a laugh. "With so many drunkards in the world, why would I have brought you out of the tavern to this inn? Last night, when I saw you writing with such vigor—your brushstrokes as bold and sweeping as the great rivers—I knew you were no common drunkard."

Zhang Xu's eyebrows danced with excitement. "To be frank, while traveling from my hometown to the north, I passed the Yangtze and saw its mighty waves rolling east, and was moved in my heart. The other day, I visited the Yellow River; its surging roar gave me even more inspiration. I longed to channel these feelings through my brush, but when I picked it up, I could not find the right sensation—just a sliver of insight was missing. It was maddening. I am addicted to wine; often, in the warmth of drunkenness, I receive divine aid, and the calligraphy I produce is far beyond what I can achieve when sober. So I went to the tavern to seek intoxication. I finally found the feeling, but instead produced this piece,"—he pointed to the "Praise of Prince Jin" on the table—"and was so grief-stricken I could have wept."

Pei Min understood. That "Praise of Prince Jin," viewed on its own, was nothing but childish scrawl—bearing none of the majesty of a master of cursive.

Zhang Xu, still somewhat agitated, continued, "Today, seeing you wield your sword—your style grand and sweeping—its spirit resonated with my own, yet was subtly different, possessing a mysterious, unstoppable killing intent. I was inspired anew, suddenly recalling the First Emperor of old, and wrote this piece. I have practiced calligraphy for thirty-five years; this, I dare say, is my finest work."

Pei Min replied, "Since childhood, I have loved the sword, developing my own style. Last night, witnessing your brushwork, I felt as if the Yangtze and Yellow Rivers were racing and roaring before my eyes. Today, seeing you write in midair, I sensed a faint harmony with the Dao of the sword, from which I derived this new technique. It is grand and heroic—among all the sword arts I know, it stands out as a masterstroke."

"Ah, so that's it!" Zhang Xu exclaimed with sudden clarity. "No wonder your sword intent and my calligraphic spirit resonate. Without my writing, there would be no sword; without your sword, there would be no words. For us to meet through calligraphy and swordsmanship is truly a rare fortune—an encounter worthy of a tale. Come, Brother Pei, please sit, let us talk at length." He had just sat down when he sprang up again, saying, "To converse with a friend without wine—how can that be? Brother Pei, wait here a moment; I shall fetch some wine." He reached for his waist, only to discover he had no money.

Pei Min laughed, "Let me go buy it, then."

"Absolutely not! Next time, you may treat, but this time, it must be my turn." Zhang Xu was unconcerned. Carefully, he set aside the "Ode to the King of Qin," then pulled a piece of silk cloth from his writing basket. With a flourish, he wrote a poem upon it, blew gently to dry the ink, and grinned, "Now we have wine money!"

Pei Min could not help but chuckle at his own needless worry. Even Zhang Xu's casual script was valuable enough to buy wine.

Sure enough, before long, Zhang Xu strode back in with two large jars of wine, followed by the innkeeper's assistant carrying a brazier for warming the drink.

At first, Zhang Xu had thought Pei Min was merely a wandering swordsman—like the musician Boya and the woodcutter Ziqi of old. But in conversation, he discovered Pei Min was a tribute scholar en route to the capital for the imperial examination, with a breadth of learning no less than his own. Their talk flowed effortlessly, especially on the subject of calligraphy, in which Pei Min demonstrated a solid foundation and unique insight. They felt a kinship, two kindred spirits meeting by chance.

Zhang Xu asked, "What do you think of General Wang's calligraphy?"

Pei Min, knowing that General Wang referred to Wang Xizhi—who rose to the rank of Right General—replied, "His brushwork penetrates the wood; in terms of calligraphic skill, none can rival him. Yet Wang Xizhi's true contribution to the art was innovation. Before him, the Han and Wei styles dominated, monopolizing the field and stifling progress. Wang Xizhi mastered clerical, cursive, regular, and running scripts, studied the forms in depth, traced them in mind and hand, drew widely from various schools, refined every style, and fused them into a single tradition. He broke free from the Han-Wei orthodoxy, creating his own school. After him, calligraphy flourished with a hundred schools, each with their own brilliance. His merit is unsurpassed; he deserves the title of Sage of Calligraphy."

Zhang Xu slapped his leg and laughed heartily, "Your view matches mine! The world praises Wang Xizhi's writing; to my mind, his script was unprecedented, but not necessarily unmatchable by those who follow. Yet his contribution to calligraphy is peerless."

Pei Min applauded in admiration. Zhang Xu was bold, but he had every reason to be, and his words made sense. Pei Min agreed, "I feel the same. It is not only so in calligraphy, but in all things. The knowledge and experience handed down by our forebears is not meant for us to worship as gods, but to serve as goals to surpass. Only when each generation strives to exceed the last can greatness endure. In this way alone do we honor our ancestors. Surpassing them is not disrespect, but the highest respect."

"Marvelous!" Zhang Xu was deeply moved. "People say I am wild, but in my eyes, you are the truly bold one—bold with reason and sense." He sighed, "To have met a kindred spirit!" Then laughed aloud, "They say confidants are hard to find. In my good fortune, I have met two in these past two months. Heaven favors me. Brother Pei, come to Chang'an with me—I will introduce you to another friend, a fellow lover of wine. He is a Court Academician, named He Zhizhang..."