46. The Name of the Bright Moon

Ink gatherings have never been lacking in Yizhou’s Little Mo family, whether small appreciation events, exhibitions of treasured ink balls, or grand competitive feasts, all equally lively. Even ordinary folk who know nothing of ink would flock to join the bustle. Thus, once the news of the Ink Duel spread, it took only half a day for all of Yizhou’s people to be stirred—the excitement rivaled that of New Year festivities.

The venue for the Ink Duel was chosen by the Little Mo family, set at the entrance to East Gate’s Ink Workshop Street, where three willow-lined avenues converged. The open-air ground was vast, and from early morning, Little Mo family members twisted coarse cloth into ropes to cordon off the street, forcing travelers to take detours.

Mo Yuhua, idly flicking his folding fan—opening, closing, smoothing each fold—had brought out a round-back chair to sit at the entrance of the Little Mo Ink Workshop. The usually bustling street was eerily quiet and serene today; none could guess what weighed on his mind.

“Yuhua, why are you still sitting here? Aren’t you going to prepare?” A deep, displeased voice came from the second floor of the workshop. Fifth Uncle Mo Cheng, pale-faced and scholarly, descended the stairs with his robe trailing.

Mo Yuhua didn’t turn his head, his hand paused with the fan, then resumed its motions.

Mo Cheng approached, urgency in his eyes. “My good nephew, hurry and prepare! The Ink Duel will begin soon—don’t delay. This is our Little Mo family’s chance to shine before the Capital Mo family. If the Huang family wins, what then?”

At these words, Mo Yuhua lifted his head slightly, placing his fan on his lap. His gaze passed through the morning’s chill for a long moment before he spoke, “Fifth Uncle, tell me honestly: where did you first hear that the Capital Mo family needed Yizhou ink?”

Mo Cheng’s eyes flickered; he turned to look toward the street, lips pressed tight and silent.

Mo Yuhua picked up the fan again, slapped it heavily against his palm, and rose to his full height. “Enough, I understand. Fifth Uncle wishes for the Little Mo family to win the Ink Duel—I will do my best. But I want to wait for Father’s return. Whether right or wrong, Fifth Uncle will have his reasons. I am still the junior; Little Mo family affairs are not mine to decide yet. But the principle of shared glory and shared loss—you understand it better than I. So, whatever you do, you always seek the family’s greater future. On that basis, whatever you ask of me, I will not refuse.”

With these words, Mo Yuhua did not make further preparations. His lake-blue robe swept like ripples on water as he clasped his fan behind him and strode leisurely toward the Ink Duel venue.

Mo Cheng stood unmoving, watching Mo Yuhua’s receding figure with unwavering resolve and fierce determination on his face.

At the venue, the Huang family had arrived early. Huang Pinyuan was radiant, and the pampered scion Huang Rufeng, seeing Mo Yuhua alone, lifted his chin with smug satisfaction. Among their group of dozens, the center was occupied by a stranger seated in a chair, face hidden beneath a long veil, gender and identity unknown.

Mo Yuhua’s brows furrowed as his gaze swept the crowd; he noticed the absence of the Huang family’s ink master, sensing something amiss. Yet his expression remained calm. From afar, he cupped his hands in greeting to Huang Pinyuan, fully displaying the decorum of a family scion—a quality Huang Rufeng sorely lacked.

Within half an hour, the sun grew fierce. Other families began to arrive in scattered numbers. Everyone was familiar: which ink master represented each family, what remarkable skills they possessed—all were well known. After exchanging greetings, each sought a patch of empty ground to sit.

Even the seating was governed by rules. The best spot was beneath the stone archway at the street entrance, where two old trees grew beside the arch, their lush branches providing ample shade. Naturally, Little Mo family and Huang family claimed this area. The rest took secondary spots; those without shade had their servants struggle to hold large umbrellas.

Although the Gu family did not participate in the Ink Duel, they arrived early. With Gu Fei’s sudden disappearance and Gu Zhong unwilling to deal with others, Madam Cui brought the two Gu sisters along. Thanks to Mo Yuhua’s influence, they were allowed to sit in the shade with the Little Mo family.

At the beginning of the hour, the Ink Duel officially commenced.

Feng Puyu, recognized in Yizhou for his virtue and reputation, temporarily served as Master of Ceremonies. Four experienced ink masters from the Yizhou Ink Guild, together with Feng Puyu himself, formed a panel of five judges tasked with evaluating and ranking the participants.

Gu Fei, surrounded by Huang family members, peered through the black gauze veil at the five tables arrayed in the venue. Her gaze swept slowly over the four ink masters from the guild.

She knew about the Ink Guild. After several dynasties of ink-making development, under the relentless march of history, the trade had evolved from quarrying graphite for writing, to oil soot ink, and then to predominantly pine soot ink—constantly improving ingredients and techniques. At the same time, the ink trade formed alliances: initially just a handful of merchants banding together to protect their interests.

Later, with the rise of families like the Capital Mo family, these alliances grew like rolling snowballs, eventually becoming structured guilds with strict hierarchies.

The Capital’s Ink Guild, without doubt, held the highest status—like a king atop a mountain, overlooking all the ink guilds of the provinces.

In the past, the Ink Guild did indeed protect the merchants’ interests. But as times changed, especially after the Capital Mo family endured two centuries yet remained towering, the Ink Guild had, without anyone realizing, become another kingdom ruled by the Mo family.

When a guild’s ruling class consists mostly—seven out of ten—of the same family, sharing common goals and interests, the guild is nothing more than a tool for that family’s gain.

Such was the state of the ink trade, a fact Gu Fei had long understood.

She knew how powerful her adversaries were, and how arduous her path ahead would be. Yet she firmly believed that where there is shadow, there is light; where there is dominance, there is constraint. For every great family like the Capital Mo, there must exist an equal force of balance—though she had yet to discover it.

Thus, she seized every chance to study her rivals. Even at the Ink Duel, she watched the four ink masters without blinking, committing their faces to memory. These four were likely lapdogs of the Capital Mo family. To know one’s enemy is the first step to strategy.

In the center, after the ring of silk and brass sounded, Feng Puyu rose and approached the tables, offering a few brief remarks and introducing each participating family. Then he announced the names and identities of the four ink masters.

The first was Luo Song, about fifty years old, white-bearded and tall, formerly the Little Mo family’s ink master.

The second was a fat man, his belly round, limbs short and thick, clad in a loose plum-blossom jacket. When Feng Puyu introduced him, he couldn’t help but chuckle, “Fat Wei from the Wei family—everyone knows him, so there’s no need for more words.” Fat Wei glared at Feng Puyu with his small eyes, eliciting laughter from the crowd.

Gu Fei noted this, silently amused. This man hailed from the Wei family of Yizhou, second only to the Huang family. His rapport with Feng Puyu suggested trustworthy character.

The third was named Dong Shi, a stern elder, white hair and beard, wearing a coarse dark robe, his face set like a living judge of the dead. Few remembered him well, for his personality was famously uncompromising. As Huang Pinyuan once said, he was like a stone in the latrine—both foul and stubborn, unpopular in the guild.

Gu Fei’s eyes gleamed with thought; she weighed his presence and mentally ranked Dong Shi above Fat Wei.

The last was a man named Ming Yue, youngest of the four, around thirty. Fearing Gu Fei might not know, Huang Pinyuan leaned over and explained, “Ming Yue is quite mysterious. Rumor has it he’s from the Capital, arrived in Yizhou just last year. After only two or three months in the guild, he was promoted to ink master. No one knows his depth—he always greets everyone with a smile and never quarrels, not even with Dong Shi.”

Gu Fei frowned, recalling all Capital Ming clansmen, but found nothing. Her voice turned cold: “Ming Yue is a false name.”