Lingkongzi was stunned, then shook her head slightly: "Precious Scroll. He is actually... actually..."
But for a mont she couldn't think of a suitable word to describe him—indeed a rare figure in the world, hard to describe.
“The two Painting Daoists enshrined in the Grotto-Heaven, barely stepping into the Manifestation Realm, already thought themselves extraordinary. Consuming so many artifacts and materials, it took ten years to produce one Precious Scroll.”
“Now this Li Yunxin... heh, created a Precious Scroll for a beggar? What happened?”
Congyunzi hurriedly said: "In the afternoon..."
...
...
In the afternoon, Li Yunxin brought a stack of paper, an inkstone, and a brush to Changn Street.
Under a weeping willow by the street, he spent one ounce of silver to rent a table from a fortune teller and sat down.
Willow trees were not prone to insects and provided shade. He sat like this with his eyes closed for a while before opening them to observe the pedestrians on the street.
Seeing soone who "caught his eye"—of course, this was the wording of those secretly observing him—he would wave and call that person over, asking if they wanted a portrait for fun.
Half of the people thought it was so scam, waved their hands, and quickly walked away.
The other half took his painting skeptically, felt it was painted very well, and left happily.
Occasionally one or two who happened to know him from before, even if forcing themselves, couldn't hide their excitent. Li Yunxin would frown and say go away, go away, don't want you.
That person would ask "why" with pain and disappointnt.
Li Yunxin would say, you already know , so what's the fun? People who don't know take this painting back, finding out it's very valuable later is fun. Or taking it back and throwing it away, finding out it's very valuable later is even more fun.
Since they knew him and knew what ability he had, they had to walk away dejectedly.
Just like this for two hours, Li Yunxin saw a beggar.
The beggar was very old, skinny as a stick, with ssy hair. But surprisingly, this beggar was very clean. He wore tattered clothes, but they were clean and dry. His hair was ssy but not greasy. Nor was he like ordinary beggars, huddled in a corner reaching out for money.
His way of begging actually had so backbone.
He walked up to passing pedestrians squinting his eyes, first reciting a few lines of poetry. The poems weren't written by him, nor were they fitting for the scene. Probably morized from so poetry collection. Then he would say a few auspicious words—if that person pushed him away with an impatient face, he wouldn't pester.
Only when soone paused slightly would he beg for sothing after speaking.
Li Yunxin stared at him for a good while before asking others about this old beggar.
He learned that this person was originally a butcher. Ancestors were all butchers, lived quite well. Originally his family was content with being butchers, thinking they could buy so land later and upgrade to landlords.
But by his ti, he had other thoughts—felt he had to do so great career, couldn't spend his life in diocrity. So after his father passed away, he closed the shop and first studied. Started reading at twenty, read until twenty-eight, couldn't even beco a Tongsheng scholar.
Actually, it wasn't that he didn't try, just dull enough—ordinary people could try annotating classics and history after three or four years of reading; he hadn't morized a thousand-book poem collection after four years. Read for another two years until thirty, abandoned the pen for the sword, and joined the army.
But the Great Qing had been at peace for a long ti, where were the opportunities to make contributions? So he was delayed in the military registry for ten years, didn't even make squad leader.
Finally disheartened, he retired and returned ho. But on the way, he encountered robbers—he was a ten-year veteran after all, so they fought. Eventually killed one and injured one. He wasn't the only one traveling; there were a few fellow villagers, but they all huddled together in fear.
The bandits were also a motley crew. Five or six of them, seeing soone died, fled quickly.
The people traveling with him sent him back to Weicheng. The prefect at that ti knew about this and privately awarded him fifty ounces of silver. Told him to recover peacefully, and when healed, beco the militia instructor of the prefecture.
But he was heavily injured, almost lost his life. Took half a year to recover, but was left with eye disease, only able to see people vaguely. When he was about to recover, that prefect fell ill. Sick for three months and died, and no one ntioned the militia instructor matter again.
After that, his hands and feet weren't agile, his eyes weren't good, and he slowly used up his family wealth. By the age of sixty, he was completely destitute, endured for two or three years, and finally went to the street to beg.
But after all, he felt he was a scholar, and an old soldier. And had killed bandits with his own hands, almost beca a militia instructor—should have so backbone. So... he beca like this.
After hearing his story, Li Yunxin paid attention to him. The person telling the story asked, why not paint a portrait for this beggar?
Li Yunxin just shook his head.
After a while, nearing dinner ti, a peddler pushed a cart to sell sour soup noodles. This was a noodle dish made from fernted corn flour, quite appetizing in this season.
The steaming stall looked very tempting in the golden slanting sunlight; sour soup noodles could have pickled cabbage added, green vegetables added, and could also be stir-fried. People who went to the market bought it, squatted aside to eat after buying.
At this ti, the old beggar rested not far from Li Yunxin, muttering to himself looking at that stall.
Others couldn't hear clearly in the noise, but he could.
The old beggar seed to be talking to soone beside him, but also seed to be muttering to himself: "Back then, ah, guarding the border at Wuwei Fortress. Staying in the fortress with the brothers for a month, once out, just wanted to eat sour soup noodles—the sour soup noodles at that ti..."
He stopped here, swallowed saliva, and didn't speak anymore. Looking up and squinting at the stall—Li Yunxin didn't know if he could only see the afterglow of the setting sun clearly, or could see the blurry shadow of that stall. But also felt, he seed to be looking at sothing else.
What...
The youthful years that could never be grasped again in the afterglow of the sunset.
The confidante who waited a lifeti in her hotown but eventually grew old and turned into white bones, while he could only sit in front of the grave until dawn in his old age.
Standing in the fierce wind of Wuwei Fortress with a group of young people from everywhere, chests bare drinking strong wine, thinking of when to ride horses to trample Yanshan but eventually hair turned white.
Would he regret it?
The old man looked like this for a while, stood up with so difficulty, felt for a few large coins, and walked towards that stall.
He stood by the stall, closed his eyes, sniffed the slight sour sll in the wind for a while, and said: "Young brother, give a bowl... of soup."
The young peddler frowned: "Huh?"
The old man squinted, trying to find the small pot boiling sour soup, pointed: "...Soup. Just give a bowl of soup."
The peddler pondered for a while before realizing this old beggar only wanted soup, not noodles. Sizing him up briefly, he waved his hand: "Not selling! Go go go!"
While waving his hand, he leaned back slightly, ready for this old man to pester him again.
But he saw this old man just sigh, turn around, and walk away slowly. The peddler frowned, whispering: "Sick."
Li Yunxin watched for a while and laughed.
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