213: Chapter 212: The Little Red Clay Stove 213: Chapter 212: The Little Red Clay Stove Song Yun was very curious about why those important figures always spoke in such profound and inscrutable ways, their words so vague and ambiguous that you could never grasp their true meaning.
This behavior was exactly like that of a military strategist in the Lu Kingdom.
When the king of that time asked him whether they should send troops to attack a certain country, the strategist merely replied with a single word: “Perhaps.” The king went back and, turning it over in his mind, couldn’t understand what that “Perhaps” meant.
As a result, his health deteriorated more and more until just before his death, he summoned the strategist and repeated his interpretation of that “Perhaps,” asking if that’s what he had meant.
The strategist responded again with “Perhaps,” and the king immediately breathed his last.
Song Yun concluded that this strategist must have been a spy sent by another country and that the king of Lu had probably been angered to death by him.
But now he found himself in a similar situation, just like that king from the past.
He was sleeping soundly at home when suddenly Li Shishi burst into his room.
Song Yun thought Li Shishi was going to do something strange to him.
As he closed his eyes, ready to enjoy whatever was coming, Li Shishi shook him awake.
Li Shishi, too, found it strange; she had just fallen asleep when her grandfather called, asking her to bring Song Yun back with her.
It looked like it was Song Yun’s first day back, and yet her grandfather’s information was so astoundingly accurate.
But owing to the authority her grandfather held in her heart over many years, once Li Shishi woke Song Yun, she gave him a few minutes to wake up and then dragged him to the Li Family Mansion.
Upon entering the house, all of Li Shishi’s numerous aunts, who were supposedly important figures, were there.
They bombarded Song Yun, who had just woken up, with a torrent of questions, leaving him without a clue about what was happening when he was ushered into the study.
Song Yun had been standing in the study for almost an hour now, and Mr.
Li, apart from the initial “Wait here,” had not paid him any further attention.
Wait here?
What did that mean?
Was it implying he had angered Mr.
Li, who would soon come to punish him, or was it simply a straightforward instruction to wait a while?
Perhaps Mr.
Li was just indulging in his old habit of acting like a high-ranking official?
After all, wasn’t that what’s commonly depicted in TV dramas and movies?
When someone goes to see an official for business, the officials love to say “Wait here” with an air of importance, as if they had nothing better to do, even if they had the time to play a round of mahjong.
To everyone, it’s always the same words, “Wait here.”
Waiting and waiting until who knows when—the proverbial “monkey’s birthday.” How could one carry on living like this?
Song Yun fumed inwardly, thinking that even eating instant noodles at home would be far better than standing here like a fool.
Just as Song Yun was grumbling to himself about what to do, Mr.
Li continued to write in his leisurely manner.
He was writing in cursive script, flowing like clouds and water, exuding an extraordinary flair that made Song Yun admire the old man’s ability to put on a show.
With that kind of talent, picking up ladies would surely be a piece of cake.
“Fish leap in the sea at this moment; flowers bloom in the sky beyond.” Mr.
Li penned the final stroke with a flourish and then, standing at the table, regarded it for a moment before beckoning Song Yun over and asking, “How is it written?”
“It’s very good, freely executed with a carefree spirit.
These eight characters are quite sufficient,” Song Yun replied.
Mr.
Li dabbed away the excess ink on the paper with a cloth and smiled, “Your flattery has improved a lot compared to before.
Your earlier praises, though plentiful, lacked substance, but now, even with fewer words of flattery, they carry a genuine sense of appreciation.”
Song Yun also smiled sheepishly but cursed inwardly, Damn, this old man is really addicted to this act!
If it weren’t for his being Li Shishi’s grandfather and an acquaintance of his master, just based on what he said earlier, he would…
he would…
Damn, it seemed there wasn’t much he could do after all, since he was a person who respected the elderly.
“The character reflects the person; from the strokes of writing, one can discern an individual’s true nature.
The shape of a character, its spirit, all reveal the scribe’s character.
Without rules, there’s no sense of order.
We must abide by the rules of our times while we live; don’t talk to me about breaking them.
I’ve lived a lifetime hearing endless nonsense like that, and in the end?
Everyone bows their head under the weight of conventional thinking.
Ah, such is the nature of people—they never learn their lesson without a taste of suffering,” Mr.
Li sighed.
“Look at this piece of writing: ‘Fish leap in the sea at this moment; flowers bloom in the sky beyond.’ But how many truly escape the mundane to find their true freedom?”
“Thank you for the lesson, Mr.
Li,” Song Yun accepted graciously.
“Don’t talk as if we’re strangers,” Mr.
Li waved his hand and continued, “I wouldn’t bother speaking to you if I didn’t find you likable.
I don’t bother lecturing the many others out there, so don’t harbor any resentment in your heart.”
“Not at all, I’m more than happy,” Song Yun said with a smile.
“Good, it’s fine if you understand.
Take this piece of calligraphy with you.
Although it may not be worth much, it should give you something to ponder for a while,” Mr.
Li said, and began to wash his hands.
After washing his hands, Mr.
Li settled down at a tea table and beckoned Song Yun over, saying, “Come, join this old man for a cup of tea.”
Song Yun obediently sat across from Mr.
Li and, looking at the tea set on the table, laughed, “I’m not a tea art master, but I do know a bit.
How about I make the tea today?”
“Hm?” Mr.
Li paused, his intent to personally brew the tea halting.
He glanced at Song Yun and smiled, “Not many young people nowadays understand this art.
Today, I’ll test your skills.
If the tea isn’t good, this old man won’t drink it, you know.”
After speaking, Mr.
Li took out an old box from the desk drawer, and from it, he took a small packet of tea leaves and smiled, “Although this isn’t the top-notch Da Hong Pao from the mother tree, it’s not far off and can be considered quite exquisite.”
Allowing Song Yun, a junior, to handle such precious tea carried a certain significance.
Song Yun accepted it with a smile and then lit some pine nuts with kindling, tossing them into the small red clay stove.
Mr.
Li never used modern water-heating tools for his tea; he imitated the ancients in everything, and Song Yun had studied this somewhat.
Perhaps today he wouldn’t embarrass himself in front of him.