The art of baimiao, or plain-line drawing, much like Tai Chi, is simple to learn but profoundly difficult to master.

Throughout history, the number of true masters of baimiao could be counted on one's fingers.

Of course, one could also say there were bursts of genius—Gu Kaizhi, Wu Daozi, Li Gonglin, Zhao Mengfu—all renowned masters of their time. In Wang Guan’s view, a true master could convey the essence and emotion of a work through the simplest strokes, achieving an effect that could transform the mundane into the miraculous.

He wondered if this particular baimiao drawing possessed such power.

At this moment, Wang Guan leaned closer to examine it. It depicted human figures, not just one person in a single scene, but a long scroll composed of many people across numerous settings. Scrolls featuring multiple figures and scenes were common in ancient painting, layout-wise comparable to works like the Along the River During the Qingming Festival or The Night Revels of Han Xizai.

However, among these finely drawn figures, one stood out: an elderly man, robust, clad in voluminous robes, with white hair and beard, possessing an ancient and simple countenance. He was conspicuous not only because he formed the core focus of the composition but primarily because seeing him gave Wang Guan an intense sense of familiarity, as if he had encountered this image somewhere before.

“Confucius.”

Simultaneously, Elder Qian gasped, “The Shengji Tu of Confucius.”

“Ah…”

Wang Guan startled, then his realization dawned with a jolt of understanding. No wonder the old man looked familiar—it was Confucius himself depicted in the painting! That large head… no, rather, a broad forehead symbolizing wisdom. The sleeves were long and sweeping, characteristic of ancient style, and many subtle details perfectly matched the image of Confucius imagined by scholars across dynasties.

It was unavoidable. During the Spring and Autumn period, painting techniques were only just emerging, and suitable media were scarce. Even if someone wished to capture Confucius’s likeness, the means were lacking. It wasn't until after the Han Dynasty that painting matured, aided by surfaces like silk and brocade, providing significantly better conditions.

By that time, however, Confucius had been deceased for centuries, leaving behind only fragmented descriptions. It was impossible to know his actual appearance, so succeeding generations could only render the sage based on their own imaginations.

Gu Kaizhi, the great painter of the Jin Dynasty, once painted a portrait of the sage, conventionally known as the Small Likeness of the Master (Fuzi Xiaoying), said to be the most accurate and closest representation of Confucius’s original appearance.

Yet, the most widely circulated image of Confucius was created by Wu Daozi and later copied and disseminated by Li Gonglin. This was the version frequently seen in elementary school Chinese textbooks—the most common representation.

Wang Guan looked closer now and noticed that the Confucius on the scroll had flowing robes and hair, rendered with a fluidity reminiscent of Wu Daozi’s famous "floating drapery" style. Could this be an authentic work by Wu Daozi?

As Wang Guan speculated, he turned to Elder Qian for guidance.

“It does bear some resemblance…”

Elder Qian had already unrolled nearly half of the scroll; the long table was almost covered, yet judging by the remaining length, perhaps only one-fifth had been displayed. This wasn't the main point, however. The crucial aspect was that this partial section vividly illustrated key events from Confucius’s life.

In just a few scenes, it depicted his birth—Lady Yan praying at Mount Ni—through his coming of age, his service as an official in the State of Lu, and beyond. The brushwork was exceptionally fluid and meticulous, akin to the sequential art of the 1970s and 80s lianhuanhua (picture-story books).

Naturally, the artistic impact conveyed by the painting far surpassed that of simplistic sequential art by hundreds of times. Despite relying only on the simplest ink lines for delineation, the artistic conception was profoundly deep and lingering, inviting endless contemplation.

Wang Guan then fetched several stacks of thick newspaper and began laying them down, sheet by sheet, extending from the hall out into the courtyard and down the corridor. Once the protective paper spread was complete, he carefully and cautiously began to unfurl the long scroll.

Moments later, the scroll was fully extended. At a glance, the entire span of Confucius’s life was laid out. Following his tenure as an official came his resignation to focus on teaching, establishing his school, leading his disciples on travels across the feudal states, consulting with Laozi in the Eastern Zhou, and finally returning to Lu to dedicate himself to education.

All the classic anecdotes were detailed without the slightest omission. Whether it was the saying about harsh governance being fiercer than tigers, or the incident involving the Song men cutting wood—viewing the entire scroll offered a comprehensive understanding of Confucius’s life journey.

However, the true value lay in returning to the essence of the artwork itself, beyond the generally known biographical facts from primary and secondary school lessons. Specifically: who created this piece?

“Judging by the style, especially the texture details of the figures’ robes, it certainly resembles the hand of Wu Daozi,” Elder Qian mused. “However, resemblance is not proof; it may not be his work.”

“Why not?” Wang Guan inquired, his gaze already drifting toward the seals stamped at the head and tail of the scroll.

For any long scroll, the beginning and end sections are the most common places for seals. The middle, being dedicated to the pictorial narrative, offered less empty space, making it difficult to apply stamps. Consequently, collectors inevitably concentrated their impressions at the extremities. The varying depths of color in the impressions suggested the item had passed through many hands over generations; otherwise, the seals would not be so densely packed.

Wang Guan also noted that most of these seals were xianzhang (leisure seals), often bearing academic phrases. Upon closer inspection, many appeared to be excerpts from the Analects, lending an air of refinement but ultimately possessing little intrinsic meaning.

Of course, "no meaning" applied only to authentication. Unless a xianzhang was extremely famous, it was hard to identify the owner solely based on the text of the inscription. At least Wang Guan lacked the skill to deduce the origin of the seals from the multitude of inscriptions.

Elder Qian, however, appeared thoughtful, stating with certainty, “We can study the author later, but this item is undoubtedly part of the Confucius Family collection.”

“Hm?”

Wang Guan paused, suddenly understanding. Elder Qian’s assertion wasn't based merely on the scroll being found concealed within the beam of the steward's residence in Confucius Village. The primary evidence was the collection of xianzhang on the scroll itself.

Using excerpts from the Analects as leisure seals was not entirely uncommon, but among the myriad scholars across the land, differing aesthetic tastes meant not everyone would choose the Analects for their inscriptions. The concentration of Analects quotes on this scroll, coupled with its discovery in the Confucius Village house, provided a solid link to the Confucius Mansion.

It was certain the scroll was an old Confucius family possession, secretly hidden within the beams for some unknown reason until Wang Guan’s intervention brought it back to light.

“Furthermore, this isn’t a Tang painting; it’s likely Song Dynasty,” Elder Qian announced, gently stroking the silk of the scroll. He gestured, “You should already know the difference between Tang silk and Song silk; there’s no need for me to elaborate. Based on the texture, it hasn’t reached the standard of the Tang era.”

Wang Guan quickly observed and immediately agreed. Tang silk was coarse and thick, possessing a single-ply weave (dú suō). Silk from the Five Dynasties resembled coarse cloth, while Song Dynasty silk appeared finer and more even—a fundamental distinction used in dating.

“Song painting,” Wang Guan mused aloud. “During the Song Dynasty, many authentic works by Wu Daozi would still exist, and numerous masters likely copied his compositions.”

“No, this is not a copy,” Elder Qian stated firmly, shaking his head. “This is a gaoben—a draft copy.”

“What?”

Wang Guan froze momentarily. He knew exactly what a gaoben was. Crucially, a gaoben was not a rough sketch but a finalized design—much like a modern engineering blueprint, representing the last approved draft.

Compared to a blueprint, however, a gaoben in calligraphy and painting referred to the pattern used for mural painting. Ancient artisans painting on walls could not work haphazardly; they required a reference design to transfer meticulously onto the wall surface.

For this reason, gaoben usually lacked signatures. Strictly speaking, they were merely templates, unfinished articles. Only when painted onto the actual wall did they constitute the final product. Thus, there was no necessity to sign a semi-finished item.

However, it could not be denied that gaoben themselves were exquisite works, highly appreciated for their own sake. Consequently, some individuals carefully collected and mounted them as standalone paintings. This long scroll, therefore, was very likely acquired in this manner.

While Wang Guan was processing this revelation, Elder Qian suddenly asked, “When you were in Shandong Province, did you visit the Confucius Temple in Qufu?”

“No,” Wang Guan replied, shaking his head. “I was too busy; I didn’t have the time.”

“A pity,” Elder Qian sighed. “Otherwise, you would know the origin of this long scroll.”

“What do you mean?” Wang Guan asked, eager to learn.

“In the Qufu Confucius Temple, there is a Hall of Sage Traces,” Elder Qian explained slowly. “The hall contains one hundred and twenty pictorial records detailing the life events of Confucius…”

“Elder Qian means to say,” Wang Guan’s eyes brightened, “that this long scroll is the gaoben used for the carvings in that hall?”

“No.”

Elder Qian smiled and shook his head. “The carvings in the Hall of Sage Traces were commissioned during the Wanli era of the Ming Dynasty by the Inspecting Censor He Chuguang. The temple originally had woodblock illustrations depicting Confucius’s life, and he suggested changing them to stone carvings…”

“This is the gaoben for the woodblock illustrations?” Wang Guan reacted swiftly, immediately guessing. “Were the woodblock illustrations from the Song Dynasty?”

“Close enough,” Elder Qian nodded gently. “Scholars studying the matter suggest the woodcarvings and the stone carvings are largely identical, with few variations, so your guess is essentially correct.”

“Who was the author of the woodblock illustrations?” Wang Guan grasped the key point. “Or perhaps, who provided the gaoben that the woodcarving artisans then copied?”

“The author is truly difficult to pinpoint,” Elder Qian mused. “However, among the carvings in the Hall of Sage Traces, two scenes, besides those celebrating Confucius’s life, do not praise him.”

“What are they?” Wang Guan inquired curiously.

Elder Qian smiled faintly before speaking slowly, “They are carvings depicting Emperor Gaozu Liu Bang of Han, and Emperor Zhenzong Zhao Heng of Song, offering the grand tailai sacrifice to Confucius…”