In the spring of 1921, Zhang Daqian was staying at the Li residence in Shanghai when he first saw Li Qiujun’s Lotus painting at Ouxiang Hall. Its exquisite inkwork seemed to brighten the entire room. She immediately pinpointed the flaws in his imitation of Shitao’s style, and he blurted out, “Who painted this?” Thus began a friendship between two kindred artists that would span half a century.
They were brought together by painting and came to know each other through poetry. But Daqian was already married, and Li’s father intended to arrange a match. Daqian knelt for a long time and declined: “The Li family is distinguished. I cannot let your daughter become a concubine, and I have no right to take another wife while my first is still living.” Once made, his promise lasted a lifetime. From then on, they called each other brother and sister, remaining devoted confidants.
He carved a seal reading “Late Autumn,” lamenting that they had met too late. She gave him an Ouxiang inkstone, promising he could take it wherever life led. He journeyed to Dunhuang and spent three years in retreat, while every night she lit a lamp alongside his. He traveled the world and mailed her letters with soil from distant lands, but she never opened them. They chose neighboring burial plots at Jing’an Cemetery and inscribed each other’s tombstones, yet they never got to spend a single day together as husband and wife.
In 2004, The Vast, Shadowy Green went up for auction, and the inscription on the “Late Autumn” seal was revealed to the world. Only then did people understand that the deepest love is not about being together day and night. Even across thousands of miles and between life and death, you remain the only person who understands my art.
“Love may begin in the heart, but it must end at the bounds of propriety.” A elegy in ink that captures the profound, unforgettable love of intellectuals in Republican-era China.
