Chapter 33 The pen falls on Alley 47

"You can sell it, but I have a condition."

"Master, what are the conditions?"

"You can't set up a stall on the street. You have to have a facade no matter what."

"The storefront is very expensive."

"I just want it to be expensive, because my handwriting also needs to be expensive, otherwise I can't afford to lose this person."

"Okay, okay, I'll listen to you."

Ning Que, who was completely defeated in front of the little maid, still fought hard for a while after deciding to surrender. After making sure that he could gain some benefits or face, he finally agreed to the proposal of opening a shop to sell calligraphy. The most practical problem facing them now is how to find a suitable store.

I was looking for an inn the night before and there was an inn. Today I was looking for a shop and when I turned around I saw a sublet shop? Even Haotian, who favors the world, will not give too many opportunities to such a good thing. This kind of thing must be found through an intermediary.

The manager of the intermediary office took out a map and pointed out the vacant shops to the master and servant as if commanding a march. He mentioned a few prices casually, and then at Sangsang's strong request, he chose the shop area and retreated from the surroundings of the imperial city. Around the bureau and Yamen, he exited the North City to avoid the prosperous West District and the quiet South City, and finally landed in the East City area, which is known for its clutter.

Chang'an City occupies a large area but has a larger population. The rent of a shop is really expensive. Even in Dongcheng, where the land price is the cheapest, it is not cheap to find a suitable shop. The two of them have a lot of money in total. With two hundred taels of silver, the choice was even smaller. I followed the intermediary bank manager around for two consecutive days, but still got no results.

On the third day, the good news finally came. The agent manager, whose eyes were about to turn green, excitedly waved his arms and told Ning Que that there was a small calligraphy and painting shop in Lane 47, Dongcheng, that was about to change hands. There were a lot of paper in it. The Mo family has everything, the monthly rent is fifteen taels of silver, the transfer fee is another fifty taels of silver, and the lease is still for one and a half years. All these conditions are very consistent with Ning Que... mainly Sangsang's requirements.

Ning Que and Sang Sang looked at each other and saw the surprise in each other's eyes. The price was indeed not expensive, and the location on the map was not bad, but everything must be seen to be believed, let alone opening a store to sell calligraphy. It was related to their survival in Chang'an City in the next few years, so they did not agree immediately, but asked to go to the small calligraphy and painting shop to have a look.

The owner of the rental shop was not there, and the original boss was not there. The manager took the key to open the gray wooden door, and the three walked in. This store is very small. There are some banners hanging on the white walls around the white wall. On the wooden racks on the east wall, there are things such as pen and ink research. There was also a well in the house. Ning Que looked around at will. Thinking of the low rent, he was a little willing.

"I don't want these calligraphy and paintings. The transfer fund has to be reduced." Ning Que looked at the dense banner on the wall, looked at the stiff characters on the banner, and frowned: "Those pen and ink and paper. It's not a good thing, but I can use it when I go together.

Sang Sang looked up at Ning Que with a small face, full of praise, thinking that the young master was in place. The intermediary is going to cry without tears. I thought that these two days I already knew what to do with your master and servant, but I did not expect that you can make it like this! I am just a manager and not your enemy. What is the matter to torture me?

Torture and torture, in short, this matter was considered to be negotiated. Sang Sang took out the silver box from the parcel and carefully counted for a long time before handing over the contract. The two sides signed a document. From this moment, this small calligraphy and painting shop located in Lane Forty -seven Lane, Dongcheng District, officially returned to Ning Que.

She smiled and sent away the management of the intermediary. Sang Sang put on the parcel, took out the handkerchief to cover his head and face, and didn't know where to draw a large towel from the back of the house.

Thinking that today may be signed by a document, the two returned from the inn and carried their luggage from the inn. They could save money for a day. They would never be polite. The intermediary was obviously not noticed by this detail, otherwise he might have a fierce price, but it is more likely that he would be scared by this pair of lords and servants.

The small calligraphy and painting shop was filled with the smell of dust from the water. The thin Sangsang moved to move the bucket, climbing with a stool to squat and cleaned it, and occasionally raised the arm to wipe the forehead outside the handkerchief. Sweat beads.

Ning Que never cared about these things. He moved to sit next to the door, watching the corner of the imperial city vaguely visible in the distance, watching the quiet and silent lane, watching the locust on both sides of the streets in front of you. The shade of the tree, thinking that the place is quiet and unreasonable here, and the business of the shop will definitely be good in the future, and it only costs so much money. I can't help but feel relieved and drink with a smile: "Master itching!"

The busy Sang Sang was obviously very good today. He responded crispy and said, "Let's night."

"Okay."

After dinner, Sang Sang was spread out of the long case that was wiped out of the long case. The ink is gradually stronger.

All things are the goods left by the former Dong family. Although they can't be talked about, they are all ready. Ning Que has already held a pen beside him. There are five or six brushes on the pen rack in front of the right hand.

The inferior ink turmoils does not have no aroma but has some ink odor. The brush on the pen stand does not look very good, but he doesn't care about these. His face is full of anticipated smiles. Rubbing, it seems itchy.

The so -called hand itching is not to steal silver, not to fight the little maid's thin buttocks, but just want to write.

Ning Que likes writing. Even if there is no paper ink beside him, there is only a dead branch or a large black umbrella soaked by rain, he will write on the mud or bluestone slabs from time to time. In the past sixteen years, the pens and ink's tips have been tied with meditation as the most important thing in his life with meditation.

The rough ink slowly dragged in the ink, sucking the ink to the fullness, Ning Que's shoulders standing side by side, quietly looking at the paper roll in front of me, lifting the strokes like a sharp knife, the pen into the paper into the bone, the wrist micro -movement paper There is an extra vertical.

This vertical and thick ink hammer like the eyebrows raised by a strong eyebrow.

With the first touch of the paper, his strokes were frustrated and then mellowed down. For many years, the writing has long been deeply rooted in his bone marrow blood, and there is no need to deliberately plan the operation. Naturally, it is on the paper roll. As the pen touches the left, a clumsy and vertical breath jumps out.

The first word he wrote in Chang'an City was only sixteen.

"The mountains are high and long, the objects are tens of millions, and there are not old -fashioned writing.