After sketching the drawing, the painter inquired with the monks practicing at Tianlong Mountain about the mural's origins, but most of them were unable to provide a clear answer. Yet, the painter remained undeterred, persistently seeking information until one day, upon questioning an aged, long-practicing monk, he finally received a rather vague account.

At this juncture, Old Man Qian smiled faintly and said, "Back then, Xue Ji once served as an official in Jinyang and was warmly hosted by the elder of the Tianlong Mountain temple. At the elder's request, he gladly put brush to paper and painted a mural. However, this matter is not recorded in any classic text; it has only been passed down through word of mouth across generations, making it hard to discern truth from falsehood."

"So, Old Man Qian believes this is true? I, however, find it somewhat unreliable." Wang Guan remained uncertain, considering the sheer volume of spurious legends attached to ancient tales, which could hardly be taken at face value.

"If it were merely passed down by word of mouth, it certainly wouldn't be credible enough to accept," Old Man Qian chuckled. "But haven't you noticed the inscription of the regnal year on the painting?"

"Hm?" Wang Guan started, then quickly re-examined the entire picture, immediately spotting two inscriptions: one being the painter's mark left by the anonymous artist, and the other, the inscription of the mural itself. The characters Chuigong indicated the reign title of Emperor Ruizong of Tang.

For the emperors of antiquity, Chuigong was not exactly a favorable term; put plainly, it meant neglecting governance. Officials often spoke of the 'Sage Emperor governing by Chuigong'—the underlying message was a hint, or perhaps a hope, that the emperor would obediently remain a figurehead, whether indulging in pleasure or diligently siring heirs, as long as he avoided autocracy...

Of course, by that standard, the emperors of the mid-to-late Ming Dynasty could all be considered 'Sage Emperors,' since they often skipped court sessions. Logically, the scholar-officials should have rejoiced. Yet, the reality was precisely the opposite. Not only were the officials not pleased, but they resented it intensely.

After all, it was one thing for the emperor to ignore state affairs; it was quite another to hand over the nation's major decisions to a gaggle of eunuchs. Naturally, the scholar-officials were consumed by envy, jealousy, and anger. They felt that handling state affairs was their prerogative, and with their power diminished, they were naturally displeased, leading them to viciously slander the emperor.

However, as for Emperor Ruizong, he had no opportunity to delegate power because he held none himself. More critically, his mother was Wu Zetian, preordaining his tragic life.

"Chuigong... that's the reign title of Emperor Ruizong, Li Dan, isn't it?"

Simultaneously, Wang Guan murmured, "The Chuigong reign title, I recall, only lasted three years. Then he changed to two more titles—Yongchang for one year, and Zaichu for another year—before Li Dan was deposed, and Wu Zetian ascended the throne herself, changing the era name to Tianshou."

"You are correct, but you haven't grasped the essential point," Old Man Qian smiled. "The reason I directed your attention to this reign title was to make you think carefully: why can Brother Tao from Jinyang be certain that the court lady in the picture is Wu Zetian?"

"Ah, right, I forgot to ask the reason."

Wang Guan reacted swiftly: "Old Man Qian means that even though the mural is damaged, the textual inscription is still visible, which is why Old Master Tao and the others could confirm that the mural depicts Wu Zetian."

"Precisely that," Old Man Qian chuckled. "You can call and ask him, and it will be clear."

"Xiao Qiao..."

In an instant, Wang Guan quickly turned to Qiao Yu; it was more appropriate for her to make the call.

"Understood."

Qiao Yu nodded, immediately pulling out her small, exquisite mobile phone and dialing Old Master Tao's number. After a brief, quiet conversation, she hung up and looked up, smiling, "That's right. There were indeed characters next to the mural. Although somewhat blurred, they could still be made out, and moreover, the attire of the painted figure resembles a Tang Dynasty Empress's Yiyi..."

"Teacher said that the text confirms the era, and comparing it with the clothing patterns confirms the figure is an Empress. Furthermore, during that period, aside from Wu Zetian, very few others would dare have another Empress depicted on a stone wall," Qiao Yu recounted. "So, after his research, Teacher concluded with certainty that the figure is undeniably Wu Zetian."

"That is inevitable," Wang Guan agreed. "During Wu Zetian's reign, even the Emperor was a puppet, let alone the Empress. And this painting also shows that she had already begun building momentum for her own ascension to the throne. Depicting a holy image was just the first step; there would surely have been various auspicious signs to follow..."

"But still," Wang Guan harbored some lingering doubt, "even if we can confirm the painting is of Wu Zetian, it doesn't confirm it was painted by Xue Ji."

"My dear fellow, you still haven't quite grasped it," Old Man Qian said lightly. "I asked you to look at the characters not only to ponder their contextual significance but also to pay attention to the characters themselves. Remember, the characters on the painting were transcribed by that anonymous artist..."

"The characters themselves."

In a flash, Wang Guan had an epiphany, fully understanding: "If we can confirm the script is Xue Ji's handiwork, then the mural is naturally his creation."

This was, in fact, a fundamental point in the appraisal of calligraphy and painting. Especially after the Song dynasty, and particularly during the Ming and Qing, the aesthetic sensibilities of scholars and gentry shifted; calligraphy and painting had merged perfectly. They felt that while a calligraphy manual could be pure in its form, a standalone painting that lacked inscribed poetry or colophons often seemed less beautiful to them.

Once an artist finished a painting, even if the painter himself didn't write on it, the patron would certainly seek out a master calligrapher to add inscriptions. Over time, the presence of writing became inseparable from the painting—zihua, character-painting—becoming a specific term. Consequently, the characters on a painting naturally became vital supplementary evidence for authentication.

However, since the painting gifted by Old Master Tao lacked any text, Wang Guan hadn't thought much about it and had overlooked this point. Only now, with Old Man Qian's reminder, did he realize that Xue Ji himself was a great calligrapher, whose script had distinct characteristics, providing a clear basis for judging the painting's provenance through its writing.

"Old Man Qian, you indeed see things with greater clarity," Wang Guan sighed with a smile. "Compared to you, I am still very green."

"Stop with the flattery," Old Man Qian waved his hand. "You should have some understanding of the characteristics of Xue Ji's calligraphy, shouldn't you?"

Wang Guan pondered, recalling: "It seems his structures were vigorous and graceful, his flesh appealingly smooth—described by the world as 'wind stirring the garden blossoms, snow kissing the mountain pines,' filled with poetic feeling."

"Those are flowery terms," Old Man Qian shook his head. "Tell me something concrete."

"You are right." Wang Guan smiled and said, "Simply put, Xue Ji's brushwork was slender, the character structure relatively open, and the lines exceptionally fluid, conveying a sense of sinewy strength."

"Mhm, that's the old familiar tune," Old Man Qian said lightly. "Let me tell you something you don't know."

"I humbly request Old Man Qian's guidance," Wang Guan said, immediately straightening his posture and listening intently.

"Some have commented that Xue Ji's calligraphy is actually the progenitor of Song dynasty calligraphy. This might be an exaggeration, but it's not entirely without merit," Old Man Qian spoke slowly. "For example, the Song style typeface—for a long time, it was rumored to have been created by Qin Hui. Because he was a traitor, people simply omitted his name and called it the Song typeface."

"But if you trace it back to its source and make a comparison, you can see that the Song typeface is directly inherited from Xue Ji's calligraphy; the similarity is extremely high. Moreover, you must be familiar with Emperor Huizong of Song, Zhao Ji's Slender Gold script, right?"

Old Man Qian answered his own question: "The Slender Gold script utilizes vigorous and sharp brushstrokes; the lines are thin, sharp, and rigid, yet possess a supple and unrestrained spirit. In fact, it evolved from Xue Ji's calligraphy. Ming dynasty critics remarked that Zhao Ji initially studied Xue Ji, then altered his rules, calling his style the Slender Gold script."

"Zhao Ji was exceedingly fond of Xue Ji's calligraphy, copying it his entire life, deeply absorbing the sparse, vigorous, profoundly spirited, and hard-boned style of Xue Ji's work. The script that evolved from Xue Ji's calligraphy became unique in the world, establishing its own tradition. Because this script is lean, tough, and spirit-penetrating, like cut jade, it is known as the Slender Gold script," Old Man Qian concluded with a smile. "That is why some now believe that if one traces the lineage, Xue Ji is fully deserving of being called the progenitor of the Song typeface."

"That does hold some logic," Wang Guan nodded gently, then smiled. "Now I finally understand why, despite being one of the Four Great Calligraphers of the Early Tang, Xue Ji's fame is less than that of Yu Shinan, Ouyang Xun, and Chu Suiliang."

"Why?" Old Man Qian was also quite curious.

"He was done in by Zhao Ji."

Wang Guan chuckled. "Due to Zhao Ji's promotion, the Song typeface became famous throughout the realm, and moreover, it became the typeface for printing. You can see the exact same script upon opening almost any book. So, when people study Xue Ji's calligraphy, it always feels terribly familiar, like something commonplace, subconsciously lowering their estimation of him."

"Nonsense," Old Man Qian laughed and scolded, though inwardly he agreed somewhat.

After all, rarity commands value, and calligraphy is much the same. If a style of writing becomes too ubiquitous, people will inevitably forget how breathtakingly unique that script was at its inception, finding it merely monotonous and naturally assigning it a lower appraisal.

"We've strayed too far," Old Man Qian indicated. "Let's return to the main point: what do you think of the script on the painting? Is it Xue Ji's handiwork?"

"Old Man Qian, you are trying to make me eat my words," Wang Guan said with a wry smile. "This is as obvious as lice on a monk's head—it's a clear matter, why force me to authenticate it again."

"Heh heh, confirming it is good," Old Man Qian smiled gently. "Then do you have any further objections to my deduction?"

"None at all. There is no doubt that this painting is a work by Xue Ji." Wang Guan's face lit up with joy. "Reaching this conclusion makes me ecstatic; how could I possibly have any objections?"

Just then, seeing Wang Guan's beaming expression, Qiao Yu couldn't help but ask curiously, "Is this painting very valuable?"

"That's truly hard to say. Whether it's valuable or not depends on how you view it," Old Man Qian shook his head gently, his expression kind. "The reason it might be called valuable is because it is a painting by Xue Ji. Xue Ji's poetry and prose were celebrated in his time. However, some believe his poetry was inferior to his calligraphy, and his calligraphy inferior to his painting. But because the era is so long past, none of his paintings have survived..." (To be continued)