Chapter Forty-Six: Calligraphy

In truth, Liu Meiju had always been full of drive. She had considered starting her own business three years ago, back when the company was flourishing, but her rather conservative husband, Zhang Haiguan, had firmly opposed the idea. With Zhang Ye still in school and needing care, she had set aside her ambitions. Now, with the company teetering on the edge of collapse, her old determination returned, and she felt a surge of passion to make something of herself.

"Alright then, you can get thirty thousand from your company. After setting aside ten thousand at home for Ye’s schooling and marriage, there’s still fifty thousand left, so that’s eighty thousand in total. That should be enough," Zhang Haiguan, influenced by Zhang Ye’s words, was uncharacteristically bold for once, despite his usual cautious nature.

"We don’t need to keep aside the money for school and marriage. It’s better to invest more as capital into the business. If we do this, let’s do it big. Small ventures don’t earn much and are just a headache," Zhang Ye said, surprised that the family had so much spare money. But when his father mentioned saving for his marriage, he wiped the sweat from his brow, a little embarrassed.

He was only sixteen, after all—marriage was still a distant thought.

After dinner, Zhang Ye watched TV for a while, then went to his room to write. Over the past few days, his novel had grown to thirty or forty thousand words.

Inspired by the day’s events, Zhang Ye found his creativity unusually abundant that night. He wrote for more than three hours straight without feeling the slightest fatigue. Enthusiasm surged within him, and words flowed from his pen at an astonishing pace.

He knew he was truly in the zone; not caring that it was already midnight, he pressed on until a complete scene was finished. Only then did he let out a quiet sigh and set down his fountain pen.

It was past two o’clock. Satisfaction lit up his face—he was feeling more and more like a real writer.

After a quick trip to the bathroom, Zhang Ye lay down and drifted off to sleep.

At five the next morning, Zhang Ye woke up right on schedule, not in the least tired from his late-night efforts. Since starting his practice of the Five Animal Frolics, his physical condition was remarkably good and his energy more than sufficient.

He washed up and glanced in the mirror, surprised to find that the bruises on his face and body had completely faded. If you didn’t look closely, there was no sign he’d ever been hurt.

"It seems my body’s recovery speed has really improved," Zhang Ye thought in satisfaction, smiling to himself as he headed to the small grove by the river for another day of training.

Yesterday’s defeat and beating still weighed on his mind. Though the water played a role, the real issue was his own lack of strength; he hadn’t truly regained the peak of his previous life. Had he done so, those thugs, whose bodies had long been hollowed out by wine and meat, wouldn’t have been a match for him—even in the water.

Thinking of this, Zhang Ye put even more effort into his training, increasing the time he devoted to it each day. Practicing the Five Animal Frolics once every morning was enough, as this health-preserving, energy-cultivating art didn’t require endless repetition—just daily persistence to maintain its effect. The additional time Zhang Ye spent was on training in the Zhang Family Kicking Technique he had learned in his previous life at the martial arts school.

The Zhang Family Kicking Technique had never been famous—not because it wasn’t powerful, but because its training method had been lost. Without the training method, only the moves remained. While still good for fitness and self-defense, when facing truly strong opponents, one’s energy would be lacking, breaths too short, and strength insufficient. Thus, the technique remained obscure, never widely spread.

For Zhang Ye’s current situation, however, it was just right. It would help him quickly boost his combat power and avoid being caught off guard in situations like yesterday’s.

After breakfast, Zhang Ye stopped by the fruit shop to check in. Everything was running smoothly, with daily profits close to ten thousand. In good spirits, he gave a few instructions and left.

He was becoming more and more like a hands-off boss. In Zhao Haidong’s eyes, he was simply loafing around, wasting a great opportunity instead of focusing on the business.

Of course, Zhang Ye had his own matters to attend to. Today, he went to the stationery store, bought a bottle of Dege ink, a Da Baiyun calligraphy brush, and some white paper, then hurried home.

He hadn’t forgotten the injustice Wang Auntie had suffered. Gu Changming, chief editor of the newspaper, had quietly dismissed her without a word. How could he not be angry? He planned to bring a calligraphy scroll to Gu Changming’s home and demand an explanation.

Zhang Ye’s calligraphy wasn’t outstanding, but it wasn’t bad either. He had practiced for several years and had a natural talent. Often, his teachers praised his writing, lamenting that it was a pity. For what, Zhang Ye didn’t know—perhaps because he had missed the best age for training.

After preparing everything, Zhang Ye straightened the paper, gauged the proper size for the characters, and began.

His hand holding the brush was steady, not the slightest tremor. His strokes flowed with the energy of a dragon or a snake, finishing in one breath. In the blink of an eye, a four-character phrase appeared on the white sheet.

"Never Back Down." Zhang Ye glanced over it, dissatisfied. His hand was stiff from lack of practice. He quickly discarded it and began again.

After two or three hours, Zhang Ye gradually found his rhythm. His strokes grew steadier and more powerful. Words and phrases emerged, each like a dancing black butterfly upon the paper, ready to take flight.

After lunch, Zhang Ye returned to his room, sorted through the morning’s work, and selected three or four pieces he found satisfactory. He packed them up and headed out.

His parents paid little mind to his actions. It was summer, after all—why not let the child enjoy himself? But once school started, they would become strict disciplinarians, constantly urging Zhang Ye to study.

So Zhang Ye counted himself lucky. At least he didn’t have to endure what Zhao Haidong did—being scolded by his father at every opportunity and locked in to do homework and read.

Riding his bicycle, Zhang Ye went straight to Gu Changming’s house.

Gu Changming lived on the west side of Lihua County, in a sparsely populated, rather remote area. His home was a standalone courtyard, with beans and greens growing by the gate. There was also a grapevine on one side, with clusters of pale green grapes nearly ripe.

Zhang Ye called out at the door and was answered by Gu Changming’s wife, a robust elderly woman, who was inside doing laundry.

In front of her, Zhang Ye didn’t dare address Gu Changming as a brother, but politely asked, "Excuse me, is Chief Editor Gu at home?"

"Oh, you’re looking for our old Gu? He’s here," she replied, calling out loudly and inviting Zhang Ye inside.