98, All that my eyes can see is mine.

While most residents of Yi Prefecture were preoccupied with the Little Mo Family and the Gu Family, and the Ink Merchant Guild was devoting all its efforts to preparing for the grand ceremony in September, Xuan Zhu Fang quietly hung its sign and opened for business at the tail end of the East Market.

A simple wooden signboard bore the three characters “Xuan Zhu Fang” in vermilion script. Two lanterns swayed beneath the eaves, and only two or three shop assistants stood ready. One morning, they began to do business.

The hall was not large, consisting of but a single floor. Shelves held few ink balls, boxes, or beds, yet more were thick, heavy catalogs. When a curious customer entered, an assistant would carry the volume forward with a welcoming smile, lead the guest to a small compartment screened by a vine-and-wild-rose barrier, serve tea and refreshments, spread the pages before them, and point while explaining each intricate illustration one by one.

The catalog was no ordinary volume. Every illustration depicted ink balls with meticulous care, accompanied by detailed explanations. One style could be pre-ordered in various variations, and the drawings were so vivid they seemed alive, leaving the eye dazzled and unable to decide which to choose.

Matching grinders and boxes were also available. The experienced assistants could locate the perfect companion piece for any ink ball from the catalog, no matter the style.

In addition, there was another catalog bound in silk and mounted with gold thread. Its ink balls were all set inks—more precious and exquisite—and each set was strictly limited. Once sold out, the shop would produce no more, guaranteeing their uniqueness.

The entire establishment comprised a front hall and a rear workshop, where ink-making masters crafted the balls. Should one wish, the workshop itself could be shown to visitors.

Of course, the tour did not involve revealing the formulas or materials, only the visible workings.

Nearly every curious customer who entered left behind some silver and placed a pre-order. When a buyer insisted on taking an ink ball at once, the assistants politely declined, preferring not to close the deal. As the shopkeeper had said, “A fine ink ball is worth the time and care it takes to carve. Xuan Zhu Fang values quality above all—never mass-produced mediocrity.”

Such words stirred admiration for the shopkeeper. In trade, few would refuse a customer at the door. Doing so meant they were not motivated by profit but by the art of ink-making itself. Consequently, the prices were higher than ordinary shops, yet most customers found them acceptable.

At the mouth of the alley opposite Xuan Zhu Fang, Gu Fei stood with a faint smile. She watched the occasional customers come and go. The assistants greeted them with warm smiles.

“Does it seem appropriate?” she asked. “What do you think?”

Feng Lizhi leaned against the wall, arms folded across his chest. His face was as jade, proud and unyielding. He had observed the shop for some time until he saw the assistants refuse business at the door. Then he asked in puzzlement, “Since the shop is open for trade, why would you turn away some customers? Word would spread quickly, and those with ill intent could seize the opportunity to slander Xuan Zhu Fang as greedy.”

Gu Fei replied, hands folded in her lap, “This principle did not originate with me. You should ask Zi Yuan.”

When the name came up, Feng Lizhi glanced sideways at the woman in pale yellow standing beside Gu Fei. He had never met her before in Yi Prefecture, yet Gu Fei had brought her into the business. That trust was evident.

Zi Yuan’s vermilion lips curved upward, her peach-blossom eyes sparkling with allure. “May I ask, Lord Feng, whether a buyer of ink balls in any of the large or small shops in the East Market would go elsewhere if one establishment did not satisfy?”

Feng Lizhi did not immediately grasp her meaning and frowned. “Of course. The rule is to compare three shops.”

Zi Yuan continued, “But suppose one shop offers only a small stock of ready-made ink balls while the majority are pre-orders. It accepts only the highest quality, and every single one is unique—no second piece can be found anywhere in the East Market. Would you spend the silver?”

Feng Lizhi understood at once. Gu Fei was not interested in ordinary scholars and students whose purses contained uncertain sums. She distinguished customers by rank, dealing only with aristocratic families. Though she might sell fewer ink balls each month, each one’s value was several times that of ordinary stock, yielding greater profit and sparing the ink masters undue fatigue.

Feng Lizhi clapped his hands in delight. “Excellent! Those refined scholars and literati have always regarded wealth as worthless, yet the moment they encounter an ink ball that moves them, they spare no expense.”

“Those people have always come to my grandfather’s door seeking ink. With Xuan Zhu Fang now open, they will arrive like flies scenting blood.” He laughed, recalling that he had paid five hundred taels as a contribution. Within a month he might even break even.

Gu Fei gave him a disdainful look. “You are the fly.”

She laughed again. “Lizhi, I cannot invite you to the shop, but I would like to invite you to help make ink. The current masters can manage ordinary balls, yet they lack the skill for fine, superior work. Naturally, I will pay them in full.”

Feng Lizhi’s smile turned mischievous. “Invite me? That can be arranged. Xuan Zhu Fang already has five hundred taels from me, but Gu Fei, the salary you offer will not be small.”

Gu Fei’s smile deepened. She glanced at Zi Yuan, who spoke at once. “The young miss has calculated that Xuan Zhu Fang need only the two of you to oversee operations. Therefore both shall serve as the foremost ink masters of Xuan Zhu Fang. All future ink materials will be supplied by the shop, and monthly wages will be twenty percent of the profit earned that month.”

Twenty percent of the profit!

Feng Lizhi’s jest had startled him. The Little Mo Family earned at least five hundred taels monthly; twenty percent would exceed one hundred taels. Ordinary ink masters, even talented ones, received no more than ten to twenty taels, while many earned only a few. If Xuan Zhu Fang grew, his stipend would only increase.

“Gu Fei, the shop has just opened. Is this arrangement too generous?” Feng Lizhi felt uneasy.

Gu Fei shook her head. Her gaze was sincere and pure, like clear ice water. “Lizhi, do you think I am content with opening only this small shop?”

Feng Lizhi raised an eyebrow. “How so?”

Gu Fei looked across at Xuan Zhu Fang, now empty of customers while the assistants lingered inside. “A journey of a thousand li begins with the first step. Xuan Zhu Fang is my first step. With this foundation as my root, whatever lies within my sight shall be mine.”

Within my sight—shall be mine.

The words were bold and domineering, yet they issued from Gu Fei’s lips. Feng Lizhi was stunned. Staring into her eyes, black as obsidian, he wondered whether they were not empty boasting.

“Within my sight shall be mine…” He repeated the phrase in a low murmur. The blood in his veins surged, boiling like water, while in his chest rose the noble ambition of a true man.

He had been born into an ink-making family, where his ancestors had taken pride in the craft. He had followed the path his grandfather laid out, step by step, until his hundredth year when he inherited the Feng name. The same teachings had been passed to every generation, perpetuating the family line without end.

He had always believed that beyond ink-making he possessed neither talent nor ambition.

And now Gu Fei’s words were like a key, slamming open a door he had never known existed yet had always yearned for—one that belonged to him, Feng Lizhi, not merely the family destiny pressed upon him by the Fengs.

He was Feng Lizhi, a man who lived for the Feng Family… yet also a man who wished to live for himself.

“Lizhi? Lizhi?” Gu Fei called his name twice, puzzled by his sudden distraction after a single sentence.

Feng Lizhi returned to himself. A bitter smile touched his lips. Even Gu Fei, a mere girl, possessed such lofty ambitions. He felt utterly unworthy.

“Nothing,” he said. “I suddenly remembered something.”

Gu Fei regarded him sharply. “Lizhi, you…”

“I should return,” he interrupted, waving a hand. His expression carried complicated, somewhat sour emotions. “Gu Fei, I will visit you again another day.”

The moment the words left his mouth, he turned and strode away, robes billowing.

Gu Fei watched his retreating figure, her pink lips pressed tight. She could not understand why one sentence had provoked such a strong reaction. Beside her, Zi Yuan gave a soft laugh. “Young miss, do not trouble yourself. Lord Feng was simply thinking of himself and has not yet fully grasped the matter.”

“Thinking of himself?”

Gu Fei asked, still uncertain of the meaning.

Seeing nothing further to interest them at Xuan Zhu Fang, Zi Yuan pushed Gu Fei toward Linglang Pavilion while they walked and talked. “Indeed. Lord Feng is unlike you. You have always known exactly what you want, how to achieve it, and how to seize it. Yet Lord Feng has enjoyed smooth sailing for more than twenty years; every need has been arranged in advance. No one has forced him, yet from childhood he has been surrounded by ink-making. He believes that path is the only one open to him.”

Gu Fei nodded slowly, her gaze drifting across the bustling streets. “Is ink-making not a fine pursuit?”

Zi Yuan chuckled. “It is not bad. In your eyes it is perfect—hundreds of percent good. In Lord Feng’s eyes it is also good. Yet for it to truly be good, he must first understand what he himself truly desires.”

Gu Fei shook her head. She recalled her own past: leaving home at a young age, living in Da Jing under the Mo Family where no one cared what a child wanted. Her first lessons were ink formulas; the objects she knew best were ink balls; even the patterns on her dining plates depicted ink balls. Those around her praised her innate talent for the craft, saying she had been born to make ink. Thus she had no other path. When she finally understood the world’s ways, she was betrayed and harmed. Only after returning to Yi Prefecture had she learned anything else—and even then, only ink-making remained.

Now she had many things to accomplish: toppling a hundred-year-old great family, relying solely on ink-making.

She had endured hardship without the luxury of extra thoughts like Feng Lizhi’s. In her view, ink-making was the root that sustained her existence. Without it, she would be no different from a floating duckweed with no roots.

ps:
The third update will be delivered before 24:00.