When Su Qingyan woke up, he had become a poor scholar with an empty house and mountains of debt.
The good news: he had awakened a golden finger.
The bad news: his golden finger didn’t seem very useful.
Write a poem about geese on a brush, and the neighbor’s geese lay two extra eggs a day.
Write a poem lamenting the farmers on the rice jar, and the cooked rice tastes a little better.
Su Qingyan is close to tears. In this day and age, is he really supposed to pay off his enormous debt by selling goose eggs and fragrant rice?
Then one day, his fierce-looking creditor kicked down the door to his study.
In desperation, he grabbed a paperweight and carved with all his might: “One man holds the pass, ten thousand cannot break through!”
In an instant, it weighed ten thousand jun and radiated an aura that could subdue mountains and rivers!
From then on, the world had a mysterious scribe.
The emperor of the Immortal Dynasty asked him for a blessing of “an enduring reign,” and he wrote, “Even Heaven grows old when it has feelings.”
The supreme sword immortal asked him for a trace of “supreme sword intent,” and he swept his brush across the page: “Ten paces to kill a man, a thousand miles without a trace.”
The great sage of the demon race asked for an aphorism about “awakening one’s ancestral bloodline.” With a calm smile, he wrote, “I urge Heaven to renew itself with vigor.”
Su Qingyan: “I’m just a scholar who can’t even kill a chicken.”
Behind him, a sky full of deities and Buddhas, immortal and demon armies, all formed from poetry and prose, looked on in fear. “You’re absolutely right!”
