Chapter 356 — The Old Man Sells Paintings for a Living
The Herdsman of the Wasteland · Page 3 of 4
Shen Mu did not know whether to laugh or cry. He plucked Snowfox — who was nuzzling and rubbing against his neck in a most cloying way — off his shoulders, held her in his arms and gently stroked her little head, and said with a smile, "Is Ling'er learning to read from Grandpa Deaf? Do you know all the characters in your books?"
Snowfox became a little girl again and said with a sweet smile, "I know them all; it is just the meaning that is hard to grasp. These days I often run over to beg Grandpa Deaf to teach me."
Shen Mu set her down, his eyes glinting, and said, "Grandpa Deaf, selling calligraphy and paintings this way will not do. Those who know their worth are few, after all. And there is war of late — in prosperous times, calligraphy and paintings; in troubled times, gold. The past two years have brought disaster upon disaster, and even the rich are not many. If you want to sell them, you must use a few tricks."
He gathered up all the Deaf Elder's calligraphy and paintings, set them aside, and took up a brush to paint.
As he painted, butterflies rose one by one from the paper and fluttered around the stall; then sparrows flew out too, chirping, drawing passersby to watch and click their tongues in wonder.
Shen Mu painted on without pause, and the birds flying from the paper grew ever more numerous — swallows and sparrows dancing — and then a great swan beat its wings and flew out from the paper, its pinions spread seven or eight feet wide, and all around rose a chorus of astonishment.
The Deaf Elder sneered, "Showing off! I am not that sentimental fool the Blind Elder; I have no need of such display. Those who know worth will know it; and as for those who do not, they may beg me and I still will not sell to them!"
Shen Mu turned a deaf ear, and a seven-colored phoenix flew from the paper, soaring back and forth along the street of calligraphy and paintings, drawing even more passersby.
Shen Mu took up his brush and painted a god — a door god — and the door god actually leapt out of the painting, huge of body and awe-inspiring, forcing the crowd to fall back.
"Your mastery is not yet sufficient!"
The more the Deaf Elder looked, the angrier he grew. He snatched the brush from Shen Mu's hand and painted a door god of his own. At once a godlike, demonic majesty burst forth, pressing the crowd on the street back and back, and a deity over a hundred zhang tall rose up from the paper — phoenix eyes, curling beard and whiskers, a divine saber resting in the crook of his elbow, all evil warded off, a divine might beyond compare.
"This is what a door god looks like!"
The Deaf Elder touched his brush and wiped; with a swish the door god fell and settled back onto the paper, lifelike as could be; and at that moment all the butterflies, birds, phoenix and door god that Shen Mu had painted melted into splashes of ink and fell.
Who was the greater and who the lesser — one glance made it plain.
Shen Mu exclaimed in admiration, and all around there were exclamations too. Someone came forward at once to buy the door god painting and named a price, and the price left the Deaf Elder stunned out of his wits. He had sold paintings here for over two months; had Snowfox not found him, he would nearly have starved to death — and now the first painting he sold fetched such an appalling price.
Snowfox was startled too, and hurried forward to haggle; the price ended up many times dearer than dragon saliva, enough to make one's tongue click.
A single painting of the Deaf Elder's was enough to live on for a lifetime.
Snowfox sold the door god painting, took the money, and at once rolled up the Deaf Elder's other paintings. Shen Mu opened the Taotie Pouch, and the little girl stuffed the Deaf Elder's paintings into it.
The two exchanged a glance and blinked, of one mind.
Rare goods are worth hoarding; sell too many, and they lose their value.