a man who was distinguished-looking, like the scholars of two decades before
From his formal tone, I knew he did not recognize who we were.
_Old Widow Lau refused their invitation three times, exclaiming that my father and uncles must be too busy for visitors
I tried to notice everything so I could later tell GaoLing what I had seen, and tease out her envy
Within those glass cases were our silkwrapped boxes, all our hard work
Within those glass cases were our silkwrapped boxes, all our hard work. They looked so much nicer than they had in the ink-making studio at Immortal Heart village.
they had in the ink-making studio at Immortal Heart village.
I was remembering how she taught me that everything, even ink, had a purpose and a meaning:_ _Good ink cannot be the quick kind, ready to pour out of a bottle.
You can never be an artist if your work comes without effort. That is the problem of modern ink from a bottle. You do not have to think. _You simply write what is swimming on the top of your brain. And the top is nothing but pond scum, dead leaves, and mosquito spawn._ But when you push an inkstick along an inkstone, you take the first step to cleansing your mind and your heart. _You push and you ask yourself, What are my intentions? What is in my heart that _matches_ my mind?_
I listened to what Father was saying, and his words became far more important than anything Precious Auntie had thought. “Look here,” Father said to his customer, and I looked.
I was very proud to hear Father speak of our family’s ink this way.