AVRL 6

Song Min, crouching by the doorway, had hung up his phone and, instead of going back into the showroom, had moved over to the pile of porcelain outside, peering at it curiously.

“What are you doing out here? Done with your call?” Meng Chi walked out and asked.

“Mm.” Without turning his head, Song Min pointed to a spot in the middle of the porcelain pile. “Look at that—it’s a peach shape. It’s really pretty. I want to take it out and have a closer look.”

Following his pointing finger, Meng Chi spotted a shallow, peach-shaped dish half-hidden among the weeds.

“Let me get it for you.” Meng Chi pulled the wobbling, barely-reaching Song Min behind him, stepped over with his long legs into the pile, carefully sidestepping the other porcelain pieces, and retrieved the peach-shaped vessel.

It was a peach-form washer, named for its peach-like shape. A “washer” is a type of vessel, mostly used as a stationery item for rinsing brushes, also known as a brush washer.

This peach-form washer was entirely celadon-green, with a touch of pink at the tip of the peach. Its shape was small and delicate, and when viewed from different angles, a prismatic iridescence shimmered across its surface.

“Is this a reject? I can’t see anything wrong with it,” Song Min said after examining it for a while.

Meng Chi turned the peach-form washer in his hands, inspecting it carefully all over. Aside from some mud stains on the base, he couldn’t find any obvious flaws either.

Just then, a hand as elegant as a jade sprout reached out from beside Meng Chi, pointing to the flowing lines of the peach leaf on the rim. “There’s a mark here.”

Meng Chi caught that faint oceanic scent again. He glanced at Yu Tingzhi behind him, then looked back at the peach leaf—and indeed, as Yu Tingzhi had said, there was an inconspicuous trace near the leaf veins.

This guy had incredibly sharp eyes.

“Oh, I see it.” Song Min took the piece from Meng Chi, examining it as he spoke. “But it doesn’t affect it at all, does it? It’s still beautiful. I want to buy it.”

Yu Tingzhi made no comment: “Up to you.”

“Sure, that mark should be repairable. We can ask Boss Qian about it in a bit.” Meng Chi brushed the bits of dried mud off his hands, stepping back two paces to create some distance from Yu Tingzhi.

Song Min loved peaches—he loved eating them and loved their scent; he even had a peach-scented perfume. Not minding the dirt, he cradled the peach-form washer in both hands, admiring it with obvious fondness. “I’ll put it on my desk when I get back—I can use it when I practice calligraphy.”

Suddenly, he raised the porcelain into the sunlight and turned back to look at Meng Chi. “When you look at it this way, there’s a thin film of light on the surface. Why is that?”

Meng Chi was about to say he didn’t know when Yu Tingzhi answered for him: “That’s called clam-shell iridescence.”

How does this guy know everything?

Meng Chi shot a sidelong glance at Yu Tingzhi.

“Clam-shell iridescence?” Song Min asked again.

As if oblivious to Meng Chi’s glare, Yu Tingzhi explained: “The lead in pastel porcelain, after prolonged exposure to external physical or chemical factors, oxidizes to form a thin film of light like this. Because it resembles the iridescence on a clam shell, it’s called clam-shell iridescence.”

Song Min: “I see.”

Meng Chi listened and took note of this piece of knowledge.

“Fancy that, this gentleman here really knows his stuff,” Boss Qian said, appearing out of nowhere, having caught Yu Tingzhi’s explanation. “No wonder you’re someone Teacher Meng brought along.”

Meng Chi: “…”

I’m so grateful.

The flaw on the peach-form washer wasn’t a big deal. Boss Qian said it could be repaired, but it would take a while.

Initially, he offered to fix it and ship it to Zewu for them, but Song Min was worried it might get damaged in transit, so he asked how long they’d have to wait. Boss Qian said one to two hours—not too long—so the three decided to stay. Boss Qian then invited them to have lunch there.

“You can look around some more, try your luck, see if you can dig out a few more good pieces for me,” Boss Qian said, glancing toward Yu Tingzhi.

Meng Chi laughed and called him out: “You’ve got it all figured out, haven’t you—too busy to pick them yourself, so you’ll have us do it.”

In truth, not all of the porcelain in that pile were rejects. Some had minor issues that could be fixed and still fetch a good price, but they’d sat there untouched for a long time, and Boss Qian didn’t have the time to go through them carefully. Now that he had some idle hands on hand—with a keen eye, no less—it was a resource not to be wasted.

Boss Qian chuckled. “Well, you’ve got time to kill anyway. Find me something good, and I’ll give you a discount.”

Song Min seemed quite intrigued by the idea of “treasure hunting in the reject pile.” After hearing this, he looked eagerly at Yu Tingzhi and Meng Chi. Meng Chi glanced at Yu Tingzhi and said they might as well take a look. Yu Tingzhi didn’t refuse and followed along.

Back at the porcelain pile, Song Min picked through items while asking Yu Tingzhi questions. Meng Chi stood by in silence, but his ears were tuned in.

Yu Tingzhi’s knowledge of porcelain wasn’t especially deep, but because his grandfather, Mr. Yu, loved collecting it, the family had many pieces at home, and through constant exposure, he had picked up some expertise.

Before long, Song Min pulled out another vase—a warm white porcelain piece with a round belly and a slender, long neck, its mouth shaped like petals, the body glossy and smooth.

“Brother Tingzhi, can you see what’s wrong with this one?”

Yu Tingzhi, who was holding another vase, turned his gaze over. He set down the one in his hand, took the flower-mouthed vase, and examined it for about ten seconds without speaking.

Meng Chi came over, studied it carefully for a while, then pointed to the petals at the rim and said, “This petal is slightly lower than the others.”

“Indeed it is.” Song Min’s eyes lit up.

Meng Chi chuckled and gave an almost imperceptible, smug glance at Yu Tingzhi.

A faint, almost imperceptible curve seemed to tug at the corner of Yu Tingzhi’s mouth, or perhaps not. He simply handed the flower-mouthed vase back to Song Min and turned to walk to the other side.

“Brother Tingzhi,” Song Min said, looking at the plum vase that Yu Tingzhi had set back in its place, “does this plum vase have a flaw?”

“No, that one’s a perfect piece,” Yu Tingzhi said. “Nothing wrong with it.”

“Then why didn’t you… Oh, the painting on it is The Xiao and Xiang Rivers,¹ isn’t it?” Song Min rotated the vase in his hands and spotted a poem in semi-cursive script on the upper right of the scene:

“A lone wisp of sunset smoke crosses Lake Dongting, / By the Temple of the Yellow Emperor, white duckweed lines the shore. / To know the endless tears of far-off Cangwu, / Look at the one speck of green on Jun Mountain.”

Song Min read the poem aloud and, seeing the seal imprint of the author Zhang Yuangan, wore a puzzled expression. “Isn’t The Xiao and Xiang Rivers by Dong Yuan?”

“Mm,” Yu Tingzhi said. “The poem and the painting aren’t by the same person.”

The Xiao and Xiang Rivers is a landscape painting on silk by Dong Yuan of the Southern Tang during the Five Dynasties, now housed in the Palace Museum. It depicts the southern scenery—a vast expanse of lakes and mountains, with gentle, rolling hills, and figures in fishing boats on the water, capturing the misty quality of Jiangnan landscapes.

The poem titled The Xiao and Xiang Rivers, however, was composed by Zhang Yuangan, a patriotic lyricist of the Southern Song Dynasty. They were separated by a hundred years and, apart from both describing the Xiao and Xiang rivers, had no connection.

The creator of this plum vase was likely an amateur who took a shortcut by combining the two and even adding a non-existent seal of “Zhang Qianyuan.” After all, the presence of poem, painting, and seal together is a common stereotype of traditional Chinese painting.

“When Dong Yuan created The Xiao and Xiang Rivers, the combined presentation of poem, painting, and seal hadn’t yet emerged,” Yu Tingzhi said. “The painting also bears no signature or seal of the artist. It was during the Ming Dynasty that Dong Qichang, based on records in the Xuanhe Painting Manual, confirmed the artist as Dong Yuan and named it The Xiao and Xiang Rivers.”

“Poem, painting, and seal?” Song Min nodded, half-understanding. “I see.”

Song Min’s major had nothing to do with art, and most of his knowledge of poetry, painting, and calligraphy came from Yu Tingzhi.

He remembered Dong Yuan’s The Xiao and Xiang Rivers only because, during a summer vacation five years ago, when he went to visit his brother Song Chen at the Academy of Fine Arts, Song Chen and Yu Tingzhi had taken him to the Palace Museum.

In front of that painting, Yu Tingzhi and Song Chen discussed the differences between northern and southern landscape painting, talking about ancient and contemporary works with great fluency.

It was in that moment that Yu Tingzhi, in Song Min’s eyes, ceased to be merely the boy next door.

Since then, Song Min’s affection for the person extended to the things he loved, sparking an interest in calligraphy and art. But his talent was limited—he couldn’t pursue that path—and his understanding of traditional painting was not particularly detailed; he couldn’t distinguish the developmental history of poetry, calligraphy, painting, and seals.

“Poetry, calligraphy, painting, and seals each developed independently and then became integrated. It wasn’t until the Song Dynasty that all four were combined into a single painting. After that, literati painting began to emerge.” Yu Tingzhi glanced at Meng Chi, paused for a moment, then continued, “Forming the style of traditional Chinese painting commonly seen today.”

From the moment Song Min brought up The Xiao and Xiang Rivers, Meng Chi had been completely lost. He didn’t know Dong Yuan, didn’t know Zhang Yuangan, and couldn’t appreciate the painting at all.

Watching Yu Tingzhi speak with such fluency, Meng Chi suddenly remembered Chen Yan saying that Yu Tingzhi was a guest lecturer teaching art history at the School of Art.

When it came to art-related matters, Yu Tingzhi could truly be considered well-versed in both ancient and modern knowledge. It was at this moment that Meng Chi viscerally felt that Yu Tingzhi was an erudite teacher.

Despite being his romantic rival, despite the minor slight earlier, as Meng Chi looked at him, he couldn’t help but feel a certain admiration and appreciation.

Tsk. This is going to be tricky.