Hearing Elder Tian suggest the item might be a forgery, Elder Xing and the others grew anxious, quickly inquiring about the reasons.

"Don't rush; I only said it might be."

At the same time, Elder Tian shook his head. "The preservation is excellent; there's no sign of creasing or breakage in the silk. Unless we examine it with more precise instruments, it's hard to definitively judge whether it’s Song Dynasty craftsmanship. However, we can be certain it is an ancient silk manuscript."

Hearing this, the group felt somewhat relieved. If it wasn't definitively a fake, perhaps it was the genuine article.

"Furthermore, we can be sure it is not a modern imitation."

At this point, Elder Tian smiled. "Now, we must look at the main text. Speaking of which, the moment I saw the three characters Chibi Fu, I had a certain feeling. Do you know why?"

"Why?"

Many were bewildered, unsure what Elder Tian was implying.

However, there were those who understood; at least Wang Guan grasped Elder Tian's meaning. Seeing the others hadn't caught on, he pointed it out directly: "When most people write the two Chibi Fu pieces, they habitually title the opening one Qian Chibi Fu (First Rhapsody on the Red Cliff), not simply Chibi Fu."

"That’s right."

In an instant, realization dawned on the others.

It should be noted here that when Su Dongpo visited the Red Cliff (Chibi) in Huangzhou, he wrote the Chibi Fu in a burst of inspiration. At that time, he couldn't have possibly imagined he would write another Chibi Fu later. Thus, the first one was simply Chibi Fu. Only months later, when he penned the Hou Chibi Fu (Second Rhapsody on the Red Cliff), did people habitually start referring to the first one as Qian Chibi Fu.

In strict terms, there is no "First Rhapsody on the Red Cliff"; there is only Chibi Fu and Hou Chibi Fu. It is the world's penchant for creating correspondences that led to the Chibi Fu being dubbed the Qian Chibi Fu. This wasn't just in the name; even when writing, they would title the original work Qian Chibi Fu.

However, Su Dongpo, as the author, certainly wouldn't make such an error. Understanding this point made Elder Xing and the others even happier, feeling that details determined success, thus increasing the likelihood that this was the original work.

"As for Scholar Dongpo's calligraphy…"

Simultaneously, Elder Tian turned and asked, "What do you all think of the style of the two Chibi Fu pieces?"

"Good, excellent."

One elder nodded immediately without hesitation. "It must be Scholar Dongpo's authentic work."

"Yes, yes…" The others quickly voiced their agreement.

"Well, I shouldn't have asked you all," Elder Tian chuckled ruefully, waving a hand. "Wang Guan, what do you think?"

"Elder Tian, asking me this is less reliable than asking the seniors here."

Despite saying that, Wang Guan walked over, examining the piece as he offered his insight: "Su Dongpo’s genuine Qian Chibi Fu is currently preserved at the Taipei Palace Museum, but that is in running script (Xingkai). This, however, is large regular script, so there is a stylistic difference. Yet, it is well-known that Su Dongpo never strictly adhered to formal structures in his writing; he could render even Regular Script (Zhengkai) with the flow of Running Script…"

"Exactly," several nodded in agreement, acknowledging this as the greatest characteristic of Su Dongpo's calligraphy.

"So, upon close comparison, the brushwork in this Chibi Fu is very similar to the one in the Taipei Museum, especially between the lines—they don't descend perfectly straight but lean slightly to the left. That's why some say his writing is characterized by a heavy wrist and a supine brush, making it 'elegant to the left and withered to the right.'"

Wang Guan spoke fluently: "However, Huang Tingjian defended him, saying that those who criticized Su Dongpo's style were measuring it against the strict rules of Tang Dynasty Regular Script used by the court calligraphers. Meaning, they were applying an unfair standard to Su Dongpo and failing to grasp the wonder of his art."

"That's absolutely true."

Most present were ardent admirers of Su Shi. Hearing Wang Guan, they nodded in deep accord.

Wang Guan smiled and continued: "Su Dongpo himself once said of his own calligraphy: 'My style in writing inherently follows no rule; the positioning of every stroke is achieved by instinct, requiring no forced deliberation.' To put it plainly, he pursued a deliberately spontaneous calligraphic tendency. Therefore, his overall style is teeming with vitality—unpretentious yet beautiful, unrestrained yet disciplined, neither slack nor overbearing…"

"In other words," Wang Guan affirmed with a touch of finality, "if the writing were neat, regular, and meticulously ordered, it definitely wouldn't be Su Dongpo's style. Instead, like this—where the lines appear somewhat scattered, like a scroll lacking obvious structure—it has a greater chance of being from Su Dongpo’s hand."

"Precisely."

In that instant, Elder Ji nodded repeatedly, giving a thumbs-up of approval. "Young man, you have great insight."

"Heh heh, now you know how formidable he is," Elder Xing joked in response. "I wonder who it was earlier questioning his judgment."

"Was there?" Elder Ji immediately feigned ignorance and waved his hand. "Let's ignore such trivialities. The most important thing now is confirming if the piece is real or fake. Brother Tian, can you confirm it now?"

"It’s not that easy," Elder Tian shook his head. "We still need to examine the colophons and the seals."

"Right, we have Scholar Dongpo's personal inscription here, detailing the creation process of this work," Elder Xing quickly pointed out. "The inscription generally states that a friend named Qin'zhi requested a text. Since he had already promised, Dongpo had only written one piece (the Qian Chibi Fu). Now that his friend had visited again, he happily took up his brush and wrote out both Chibi Fu essays completely."

"From the tone of the inscription, Scholar Dongpo was very pleased with this work, urging his friend to treasure it carefully and not show it easily to others. It concludes with the date: Twenty-fourth day of the Tenth Month in the Sixth Year of Yuanfeng, inscribed by Su Shi of Meishan at the Lingao Pavilion in Huangzhou."

At this point, Elder Xing spoke with deep emotion: "Perhaps it was those four words, 'treasure it carefully,' that allowed this piece to survive under the imperial ban."

The group nodded, as this statement had weight. Anyone familiar with the history of the Northern Song Dynasty would understand that Su Dongpo's exile to Huangzhou was not only due to the literary inquisition known as the Wutai Poetry Incident but also because of factional strife.

Political struggles at that time were severe, reaching a point of complete incompatibility. If the Song Dynasty hadn't held a tradition against executing scholar-officials, Su Dongpo would likely have met a disastrous end. However, while they couldn't physically eliminate their rivals, they sought to suppress them ideologically.

In that era, the court issued decrees to destroy large quantities of Su Dongpo’s poetry drafts, essays, calligraphy, and paintings. Anyone caught privately collecting them would be punished as a co-conspirator.

Under such circumstances, Su Dongpo's works undoubtedly suffered massive blows, leaving only a sparse number of genuine pieces in existence—the greatest regret for his admirers worldwide.

One must remember that Su Dongpo was famous for his prolific output; the poems, lyrics, and essays he created throughout his life were countless, and he was a master painter besides. Yet, due to political struggles, so many works were destroyed, causing immense sorrow.

Of course, where there is policy, there are countermeasures. Despite the imperial mandate, so many people admired Su Dongpo that naturally, some dared to defy the order. Dongpo's friend mentioned in the inscription is a perfect example—he directly traveled to Huangzhou to visit Su Dongpo and seek a piece of his calligraphy.

To receive a friend's visit while in misfortune was like receiving charcoal in the snow, warming the heart. What more could Su Dongpo say? Naturally, he complied with every request, happily splashing ink, offering both essays as a bonus, precisely to repay the friendship shown by acting in defiance of the decree. If the work is genuine, it is, in a sense, a testament to a profound friendship, making it extraordinarily meaningful.

"And then there is Huang Tingjian's commentary."

At this moment, Elder Ji pointed again. "The colophon is dated: Second day after the Winter Solstice in the First Year of Jingguo, inscribed aboard a boat in Shashi, Jingzhou. The snow cleared, the cold intense, hands barely able to form characters. Huang Tingjian of Zhongling."

"In the first year of Jingguo, the persecution of Su Dongpo had ended, and he had already passed away for nearly half a year," Elder Ji mused. "This is why the collector took the piece out for Huang Tingjian to view. Huang Tingjian was also delighted and left the first commentary on this work."

"I once said that Dongpo’s writing carries the essence of his scholarship and essays, luxuriant and vibrant, flowing from the brush and ink; his execution surpasses all human expectation. Viewing this scroll now, every sinew, every drop of blood, every hair is perfectly rendered; driving forward with vigor, his spirit shines brightly. Even Yan and Xu, two revered masters, would have to retreat three leagues out of awe." One elder recited, shaking his head. "If Dongpo saw this commentary, he would surely laugh, asking if I was honoring a false deity where there is no Buddha. This clearly echoes the praise on the Huangzhou Cold Food Observance Scroll housed at the Taipei Palace Museum."

Yan and Xu refer to the Tang Dynasty calligraphers Yan Zhenqing and Xu Hao, mentioned together. Setting aside Xu Hao, whom fewer people might recognize, Yan Zhenqing is a household name. Yet, Huang Tingjian’s inscription suggests that if these two were somehow resurrected, seeing the Qian and Hou Chibi Fu would compel them to retreat in shame. Perhaps there was an element of flattery, but it sufficiently demonstrated the intrinsic value of this piece.

"Let's look at this—it's Zhu Xi's commentary."

One elder exclaimed excitedly, "There is a line in the inscription: 'At the head of the scroll is the seal of the Dehou Palace—the imperial seal of Shaoxing. It once resided within the inner archives of the Silíng (Tomb of Emperor Gaozong), but for reasons unknown, it leaked into the world. I held it, examining it repeatedly, overcome with boundless admiration.'"

Silíng refers to Emperor Gaozong of the Song Dynasty; his tomb was the Yongsi Mausoleum, later respected as Silíng. The Silíng Inner Archives would have been Emperor Gaozong's private collection, presumably where he kept his treasures. This implies that the item was in the possession of Emperor Gaozong in the early Southern Song period but somehow found its way back into private hands.

Zhu Xi was overjoyed to see this work. People often say "repeatedly" (zai zai), but he used "four times" (zai si) to express the excitement in his heart, showing deep reverence.

Hearing this, someone hurried toward the piece: "I'll go check the seal at the head of the scroll…"

"Don't rush; there are many seals that require careful authentication one by one," Elder Tian waved slightly. "But before that, everyone should finish reviewing all the colophons and establish a clear timeline."

"That makes sense…" The others nodded. After all, the provenance of a work relies on an orderly succession. Tracing the line from Huang Tingjian, through Emperor Gaozong, to Zhu Xi, the sequence seems quite plausible. Next, we need to see what follows. If the Yuan, Ming, and Qing dynasties connect smoothly, the credibility will be much higher.

"Following Zhu Xi, we have the commentaries of Wei Liaoweng and Deng Wenyuan…"

Someone frowned. "Who are those two?"