A sweat trickles down Tao’s face as he keeps his head down. He could hear the drop resound loudly as it hit the scratched wooden floor. He could feel his heart trying to escape his chest with the sound of each shuffle of the papers in front of him. His palms are clammy as they rested on the table. His breathing begins to falter; The bubbles in his throat growling loudly as they pop every few seconds. Ah, the adrenaline and the anxiety. It certainly isn’t the first time he felt this way. Hopefully, today won’t be his last.
Wei licks the tips of her fingers before flipping to the last page of the handwritten manuscript. A couple minutes later, a smile cracked ever so slightly from the solemn woman’s face before rolling up the papers and putting them back into the scroll tube.
“Impressive, Mr. Zhong. The characters in this one are well thought out. The descriptions of the scenery are beautiful. I can see your improvement with each work. Maybe this one can even be published for His Imperial Majesty.”
Tao finally exhales, letting out the air he collected from his panicked breaths.
“I’m glad you liked it, Wei. You see, it took me quite a few- YOW!"
Tao’s hand recoils back as felt a stinging sensation from the woman’s slap on his wrist. Her stoic expression returns while she lights her smoking pipe.
“That’s Ms. Xian to you, Mr. Zhong. Your work may be phenomenal, but the amount of respect to your superiors is clearly flawed.”
Tao bows low to the ground, his nervous sweat now returning in a second wave. “My apologies, ma’am.”
“And if you are going to use a scroll tube, you would know that it would store, say... scrolls, right?”
Tao remains motionless with his head still bowed, but he smiles at his instructor’s tease.
Wei gives an exasperated sigh, passing the scroll tube across the knee-high table before taking another puff of her pipe.
“Anyway, good work. I’m looking forward to another story like we’ve talked about a couple moons ago. I assume you’ll get it done by the end of this week?”
Tao finally looks up to meet the eyes of his instructor. “Yes, of course. You’ll be very impressed.”
“Yes, please do.” Wei responds promptly, standing up and readjusting her qipao. “I expect nothing less from you when we meet again, Mr. Zhong. You are, after all, handpicked by His Imperial Majesty.”
She leaves with her arms folded in her gown and the pipe hanging from her mouth as she gracefully walks out of the room as if she were floating. Tao remains kneeling on the floor, trying to take in the compliments from his superior.
Hmm... what should I write about next...?
His eyes readjust as he gazes at the inked proverb posted on the wall in front of him.
好书如挚友。
A phrase which reads, “A great book is just as good as a close friend”.
***
“Welcome back, my Lord.”
“Thank you,” Tao murmurs under his breath, walking through the stained folding doors the Imperial maids have opened for him.
He takes a deep breath and draws in the atmosphere of his room from the center of the small room as the doors close behind him, a practice he does every time from the day the room was given to him by His Imperial Majesty himself. Once his short story came into the eyes of the nobles, he was immediately invited into the palace as a permanent resident as a writer for the emperor. He was given a room to work in: A small chamber with just enough room for a sleeping mat and a wooden writing desk filled to the brim with loose papers and stacks of semi binded books littered on the floor.
Sliding scraps of old papyrus off the small desk, he sits down on the miniature feathered cushion and grabs a new stack of papers from the small drawer on the right. He picks up a small teapot on the floor also on his right, filling his inkstone with the old green liquid before grinding a shaved ink stick left lying between the pages of a book on the desk he was supposed to read.
What to write... what to write... Ah, I can write about my life. My family. My farm. Yes, His Imperial Majesty will love it. I’m sure of it!
The grating of the stick stops, spilling drizzles of black ink onto the dirty writing surface as he takes out the familiar broken calligraphy brush he has been using before his time in the palace.
Finally, it’s time.
As with every writing session, Tao closes his eyes, letting his mind wander.
He takes a deep breath.
He lightly dips the brush into black fluid.
Finally, he begins to write.
Our story takes us to an ordinary man with an unattainable dream.
His loved ones know of his dream, but must take their own lives to account.
Once the name of the Man falls short.
His eternity will be spent only to live to survive.
Tao’s strokes grow faster with each word he writes, his past fueling his imagination as he continues to write page after page.
He smiles as he remembers his family and friends back home, the farm he grew up in, the people along the streets that would recognize him everyday. He cries as he relives the day where he waves goodbye to his parents as he rides the wooden carriage to the palace. He wonders if they are still doing alright at the small farm of piglets, potatoes and fishponds.
It is all coming back to him.
Nothing can stop him from writing tonight.
***
A sweat trickles down Tao’s face as he keeps his head down. Once again, he could hear the drop resound loudly as it hit the scratched wooden floor. He could feel his heart trying to escape his chest with the sound of each shuffle of the papers in front of him. His palms are clammy as they rested on the table. Ah, the adrenaline and the anxiety.
“What is this?”
Tao looks up to see his instructor’s focused expression. Her brows were furrowed and her lips were tight.
“What? What do you mean, Wei? What do yo- YOW!"
“Formalities, Mr. Zhong,” She says, returning her hand back to the papers after swatting her student’s sweaty fist.
Wei shakes her head, putting Tao’s work on the table and taking out her smoking pipe once again.
“What is this?” She repeated. “This isn’t good.”
The world stops for a moment. Tao’s jaw dropped in disbelief, his ringing ears drowning the awkward silence between the two of them. He couldn’t believe what he just heard.
“W-why is that, Ms. Xian?” He asks, his voice shaking under his breath.
“The characters are worse than before, the descriptions of the scenery aren’t up to par.” She responds without hesitation. “It’s a much lesser version of your last story.”
Wei blows a puff of smoke, tapping her fingers thoughtfully on the wooden wand. “This story is salvageable. His Imperial Majesty would much rather enjoy a more... say, joyous story with a happier ending. A character that rules over the mainland, much like your other story. Perhaps he meets a beautiful wife and marries her in a palace, bringing unity and peace. Something like your last story. Make those changes, then we’ll talk next day.”
She gets up and looks down at Tao’s sad and motionless expression.
“You’re too soft, Mr. Zhong. All I’m saying is you’re doing something different that His Imperial Majesty may not like. Please, with all due respect, make those changes, and your work will be immaculate.”
Shaking her head, she readjusts her qipao as she makes her way out the doors the palace maids opens for her.
Tao could feel his eyes begin to water, but he wipes away the tears before they fall down his face.
Cheer up Tao! She didn’t like it as much as the other one, but she gave some suggestions. Do what she asked, and do it better!
He looks back at the wall with the Chinese proverb ingrained into him since he became a dedicated writer. His smile returns, his confidence now reassured.
I have an idea!
***
“Welcome back, my lo-”
“Yes, thank you.” Tao replies hurriedly.
The sliding doors slowly close as he returns to his desk, slamming his scroll tube on the table. It rolls off as he grabs brand new sheets of clean paper. He spills more old tea into the used inkstone before grinding more of the small black ink stick from the night before, now only the length of his thumb.
He dips his brush, smearing the ink over his table.
He can’t let his idea go to waste. No time for traditions.
He begins to write.
Our story takes us to the Man with a dream.
His loved ones know of his dream, and support the Man with their hearts.
His family knows that the Man will exceed all expectations.
His eternity will be spent only to live for the King above.
Tao continues to write furiously, dipping his brush again and again without looking up from his work.
Wei liked the story, right? She just wants it to be happier, right?
The Man hopes to live a new life.
In the world of the unknown.
His paradise, full of opportunities.
He hopes to bring his family to the brand new world.
He smiles widely, constantly looking back at the papers from his scroll tube to refer to his story the night before: The story, according to Wei, that was close to absolute perfection.
Your Imperial Majesty, I will write you another great book. Just you wait!
***
Tao walks to the room where he was to meet his instructor once again. His nervous expression is nonexistent. His hands now without sweat, holding the scroll tube firmly in his grasp. The beating of his heart remained consistent. His anxiety now disappeared.
But all was far from well.
His eyes are dark and red, his brown linen shoes now dragging across the stone path. His hands are stained with black ink that has now become permanently infused with his skin. All signs of life are drained from him, getting progressively worse as he approaches the folding doors the concerned palace maids have opened for him.
Over the past few days, Tao has made changes to his story with the help of Wei. His schedule was made up of critiques from his instructor, then proceeding to rewrite the sections that needed work.
Except each time had another complaint followed by a suggestion. Then two with a suggestion. Then three.
But as time went on, the deadline of his new story inched closer with each passing day. Wei became more demanding of Tao, her harsh words getting more and more aggressive with each mistake she found. He rewrote his story over and over again, sacrificing his need to sleep and eat in order to get it right. Each passing day felt like a setback to Tao’s efforts, but in his own opinion, there was simply nothing more he could do about his story.
Hopefully, today will be different. Today MUST be different. Today is the deadline.
Tao walks into the meeting room, placing the scroll tube on the low wooden table before kneeling on the dirty wooden floor. Wei was already there, her folded arms now reaching for the familiar scroll tube once again. She slowly takes out the papers in the tube, and begins to read the story she was all too familiar with by now.
No words are exchanged for the minutes they kneel in the dark room. Tao keeps his head down with his tired eyes closed, hearing his heartbeat beat softly in his chest. His palms are resting on his lap, shaking from having to hold the brush for too long. But he is calm and collected, finally at ease. He fears nothing now.
And then he finally heard it: A sound to break the silence.
Wei chuckles softly, shaking her head.
“You finally did it. Congratulations, Mr. Zhong.”
Tao breaks into streams of joyful tears as he hears the news from his superior.
Finally, it’s over! His hard work finally paid off.
Then, she slams her hand onto the wooden desk. The books and scroll tube flying off the table from the impact. His joyful face looks over to see a face the demons would fear.
A face a friend wouldn’t make.
“Can’t you get the hint, Tao?!” She screams. “His Imperial Majesty wants a story about HIM and not of you! What don’t you understand?! You’re useless! Nothing but a dumb fat pig who deserves to rot!”
The words echoed in Tao’s head as he felt his head getting heavier with each repeated scream in his head. His body sinks into the cold and blackened ground, collapsing from the sudden exhaustion that was continually built until this very moment.
“Ms. Xian, can I rest for a mom-”
“What in heaven’s name is going on here?!”
Tao recognized the cry that bellowed from outside the room. But his body pinned him to the ground, preventing him from paying his respects to the voice. He turns his head to see Wei’s slippers running past him to greet the voice behind the folding doors.
“Oh, Y-Your Imperial Majesty,” He hears Wei stammer. “I-I’m afraid your story-”
“This is the writer’s story, yes? Let me see it,” The other voice firmly interjects.
“Your Imperial Majesty, it is merely on scrap pieces of parchment paper. You would want a scroll with fresh ink, am I right?”
“Not at all. I would love to read what he has been working on for the past few days.”
“But-”
“Let me see it. Hand it over.”
Tao could hear papers being passed around. A few minutes go by as he hears the emperor read to himself in a hushed voice, accompanied by the hushed voices of the servants and maids that he knows are talking about him and his lack of respect in the presence of His Imperial Majesty. The voices gradually become distant as Tao’s body begins to feel numb.
“Yes! This is perfection! I’ve never seen any story like it! There is nothing greater than the story I’m holding in my hands! This shall be read across the nation! Who wrote this? The boy? Tell him that he did a wonderful job, will you?”
“Ah... yes, Your Imperial Majesty!” He hears his instructor say proudly. “Absolute perfection! Tao... continues to astound me to this day. Absolute... perfection.”
I see. His Imperial Majesty loved it. That’s fantastic.
Satisfied, Tao smiles weakly as he begins to drift off into a deep sleep.
His Imperial Majesty found a friend. Thank the heavens for that.
