“This item… something’s not quite right,” Mei Qing said, holding an eight-inch Duan inkstone in both hands and shaking his head slightly.
The inkstone was a classic Taishi-style piece, and under the light streaming through the window, its fine purple stone revealed tiny glimmers within its delicate texture.
The young, thin scholar opposite paled visibly and hurriedly said, “Impossible… Brother Mei, could you please check again? I’ve already shown it to several experts, and they all said there’s nothing wrong with it.”
Mei Qing gently placed the inkstone back into its wooden box, leaving the lid open. He picked up a teacup beside it, took a sip, and then placed it back next to the inkstone. The cool stone, infused with the tea’s warmth, quickly developed a dense layer of tiny dewdrops on its surface, making its color appear even more lustrous and refined.
Mei Qing was in his early twenties—handsome and refined, with bright, clear eyes. Between his long eyebrows sat a small red mole, further enhancing his refined and distinguished appearance.
After a brief pause, Mei Qing spoke, “Brother Zi Yu, your Duan inkstone is indeed from the Shuikeng (Water Pit) of Duanxi, which is not in question. Since our dynasty began, the Beibi (North Wall) of Xiayan has been exhausted, making inkstones from the old Shuikeng pits the finest of Duan inkstones. Moreover, this inkstone’s surface is covered with Tianqing (Clear Sky) patterns, and more remarkably, it’s carved from a single piece of seven-inch stone flesh. As the saying goes, ‘Seven inches is precious, eight inches is a treasure.’ There’s no doubt this is a top-grade Duan inkstone.”
The thin scholar opposite had a delicate appearance, but his narrow eyes and high cheekbones gave him a somewhat sharp and unkind look. Upon hearing Mei Qing’s words, his pale face didn’t improve, and instead, his expression turned more puzzled. “Then, Brother Mei, if you say something is wrong, what exactly do you mean?”
A portly middle-aged man beside the scholar also couldn’t hide his confusion. He wore a square scarf and a dark robe, with a short beard and a naturally calm expression. Although it was still spring and quite cool, he held a paper fan in his hand, continuously fanning himself. He seemed to agree with the inkstone’s value but, knowing Mei Qing’s reputation for accuracy, refrained from speaking. Instead, he fixed his gaze on the inkstone in Mei Qing’s hands, as if trying to spot something amiss.
“Sigh, the problem lies in this eye,” Mei Qing said, running his finger over a stone eye on the forehead of the inkstone. This eye was about an inch in diameter—round, clean, and pure, with a bright, vivid pupil, exactly the kind of “singing eye” most treasured in Duan inkstones.
“Among the four famous Duan stone patterns—Qinghua (Blue Flower), Tianqing (Clear Sky), Dong (Ice), and Bai (White)—all are renowned for their excellent ink-grinding qualities. Although the stone eye is beautiful, it doesn’t enhance ink performance, so ancient craftsmen didn’t value it highly. However, in recent years, people have focused only on appearances, treating stone eyes as the most precious feature. A single stone eye can fetch an exorbitant price. Although this might seem like putting the cart before the horse, it’s the prevailing trend, so I won’t argue against it. Brother Zi Yu, if we talk about the value of this inkstone, half of it probably comes from this stone eye.”
Upon hearing this, the two men nodded in agreement.
Mei Qing sighed again and said, “The problem is, this stone eye was artificially inlaid afterward!”
The scholar abruptly stood up but quickly realized he was too agitated. His pale face flushed slightly as he sat back down. “Inlaid? How could that even be possible?”
The middle-aged man stared at the stone eye on the inkstone for a while and then asked with some doubt, “Brother Mei, what makes you say that?” He immediately added, as if realizing his tone was too skeptical, “I know Brother Mei never speaks without reason, but this is just so hard to believe, so I must ask.”
Mei Qing smiled and said, “Brother Wang, no need to be so formal.” After a moment’s thought, he continued, “Although Duanxi water pit stones do often have stone eyes, ones this large and perfectly round are rare. Upon closer examination of the stone’s color and texture, you can tell this eye isn’t from an old pit—it’s from Meihua Pit.”
Seeing the two men widen their eyes at the inkstone, Mei Qing explained, “Meihua Pit is also an old Duanxi pit. Although its stone is too coarse to make good inkstones, it often has excellent stone eyes, especially those from Dianshui’s Dianshui Meihua Pit. Some skilled craftsmen dig out these stone eyes from Meihua Pit and inlay them into old pit Duan inkstones from Shuiyan, pretending they’re genuine eyed Duan inkstones to sell at a high price. However, although Dianshui Meihua stone eyes are beautiful, their color differs from genuine Duanxi water pit stones. With careful observation, this difference is not hard to spot.”
The two men examined the stone’s color carefully and indeed noticed a difference between the eye and the surrounding stone.
Mei Qing continued, “Moreover, Duan stones also have patterns. If you two look closely, you’ll see that the direction of the patterns on the stone eye differs slightly from those on the inkstone surface. This is another clear sign of an inlaid stone eye.”
The scholar examined it again and found it exactly as Mei Qing had described. He became furious, his face turning red with rage, cursing, “That southern rogue! He actually deceived me! How despicable!” He muttered something inaudibly, then slumped back into his chair, dejected and silent.
“Oh?” the middle-aged man interjected, “Brother Zi Yu, did you pay a high price for this inkstone?”
The scholar angrily replied, “I exchanged it for an authentic copy of ‘Fisherman’s Picture’ by Master Mei from the previous dynasty. I’ve really suffered a big loss this time.”
The so-called Master Mei referred to Wu Zhen, one of the “Four Great Masters of Yuan.” Wu Zhen particularly loved painting “Fisherman’s Picture,” and his works were already highly valued during his lifetime. Now, nearly a century into the Ming dynasty, the passion for collecting had reached new heights. An authentic Wu Zhen painting would easily cost several hundred taels of silver. If it were one of his finest works, even more money would be hard to find.
Mei Qing and the middle-aged man exchanged glances but said nothing further.
The three were sitting in a small teahouse—modest in scale but very neat and tidy. It was still early, and except for their table, the rows of tea tables were empty. The tea server leaned against the door, looking rather listless. The entire teahouse felt somewhat quiet and empty.
Although young, Mei Qing already had a notable reputation in the antique circles of the capital. In just a few years since his debut, he had gained fame for his sharp eye in several high-profile occasions. In the antique trade, it’s not experience but eye for quality that counts. Because of his sharp eye and the small red mole between his eyebrows, and his original name “Sansheng,” those familiar with him jokingly nicknamed him “Mei Sanyan” (Mei Three-Eyes). Some friends half-jokingly called him “Third Master,” a title that eventually became his common name.
The thin scholar opposite was named Li Mei, styled Ziyu, from Suzhou. He had come to the capital for the imperial examinations a few years ago but failed and decided not to return home. Instead, he settled near Confucius Temple. Since he was skilled in painting, especially adept at imitating famous landscape painters of previous dynasties, he managed to make a living.
The portly middle-aged man was a local landowner named Wang Zhou, styled Shigu. He had also entered the academic circle in his earlier years. However, due to his family’s wealth, after one official post, he chose not to pursue further government positions. With a fondness for collecting inscriptions and bronze artifacts, he had frequent interactions with Mei Qing and others.
Hearing that Li Mei had exchanged a “Fisherman’s Picture” by Master Mei for the inkstone, both Mei Qing and Wang Zhou couldn’t help but think that with Li Mei’s means, how could he afford an authentic work by Wu Zhen? It was more likely that it was his own finely imitated piece.
They changed the topic and began discussing other news from the collecting circle.
Gradually, more customers entered the teahouse. These were obviously regulars who first greeted the three men with casual conversation before heading to their usual spots. The tea server perked up, calling out the customers’ names and busily serving tea and water. With the aroma of tea and the rising steam, the small teahouse gradually became lively with the clinking of cups.
“Where’s Liu Bazi today? Usually, he’s the earliest to come,” Wang Shigu, his round face showing surprise, kept fanning himself with his white folding fan.
Li Mei, somewhat disdainfully, replied, “That guy is always so mysterious. Who knows what he’s up to?”
The person they referred to as Liu Bazi was a regular teahouse patron who usually joined their table daily. The four of them, all sharing a passion for collecting, met daily at the teahouse to chat about interesting stories. As his name suggested, this Liu Bazi, whose real name was Liu, was a mysterious figure. No one knew his full name or where he lived or what he did for a living. Because of the scars on his face from a past injury, people called him “Liu Bazi.”
Liu Bazi always arrived early at the teahouse, but due to his disfigured appearance, he always wore a large straw hat to cover his face, regardless of the season. Because of this, people generally didn’t like him and rarely spoke to him. However, last year, when Wang Shigu acquired a Ruyao porcelain jar and was unsure of its authenticity, he invited Mei Qing to examine it. Although Ruyao pieces were extremely rare, even Mei Qing couldn’t immediately determine its origin. At that moment, Liu Bazi spoke up, stating that the jar was not Ruyao but an official kiln piece from the Northern Song dynasty, and he explained the key differences in detail.
The famous kilns of the Northern Song dynasty were known as the “Ruguan Ge Jun Ding” five kilns, with Ru and Guan being the most outstanding. Their appearances were quite similar, and both were extremely rare. Without deep knowledge, it was indeed difficult to distinguish between them. Liu Bazi’s expertise immediately impressed everyone. Therefore, Mei Qing and the other three no longer cared about his appearance and became tea companions, sitting at the same table daily.
Among the four, Liu Bazi usually arrived the earliest. Today, for some unknown reason, the three had already arrived, but there was still no sign of him.
Frowning, Mei Qing said, “Old Liu doesn’t seem to be in good health normally. Yesterday, I heard him coughing. I hope he hasn’t caught a chill.”
Just then, a clear voice came from outside the teahouse, “Are Master Mei, Master Wang, and Scholar Li here?”
The three quickly turned around to see a boy of about thirteen or fourteen peeking in through the door. The boy had a cheerful face, wore clean coarse cloth clothes, and carried a large bamboo basket covered with a rough blue cloth. Mei Qing recognized him as Chige, a boy who usually sold chess-shaped pastries on the street, and waved him over. Li Mei, however, looked displeased.
Chige came from a poor family; his father had passed away long ago, and he lived with his mother, whom everyone called Old Lady Chi. She made small pastries every day to sell on the street for a few copper coins to survive. Fortunately, although young, Chige was sensible, clever, and good at making people like him, so his pastries sold well. Mei Qing often bought a few as breakfast.
The three seated men all knew him. However, Li Mei usually considered himself above being called a scholar and disliked being addressed as such, often explaining the difference between the two titles to others. Now, hearing Chige call him “Scholar,” he felt a bit unhappy again.
“Chige, why aren’t you out selling your pastries? What do you want with us?” Wang Shigu asked, fanning himself with a frown.
“Hello to the three masters. It’s not that I’m causing trouble, but Master Liu Bazi sent me. He said he’s feeling a bit unwell and wants you three to come to his place, as he has something he needs to ask for help with,” Chige said with a smile.
Upon hearing Chige’s words, Mei Qing and the other two exchanged glances. After all, their relationship with Liu Bazi wasn’t particularly deep. Since Liu Bazi was unwell and had asked for their help, it was likely he had no family to turn to.
“Since we’ve met, it’s fate. Since Liu Bazi has asked, and we have nothing better to do, let’s go together. If we can help, we should help,” Wang Shigu said, snapping his fan shut with a “swish” and looking at the other two.
Mei Qing had no strong objections, while Li Mei looked somewhat displeased but only moved his lips twice without saying anything further. The three settled the tea bill and followed Chige out.
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