Qin Xiangnuan once again opened her eyes, her long lashes slightly lowered. Her spirit also followed suit, collected itself, and she poised the pen right above the paper, starting with the first stroke.
The ancient ink gently ground out filled the room with fragrance. The ink-stone bathed anew shone brilliantly, now forceful and bold, now gentle and flowing, like a graceful and slender beauty, or like a robust and courageous warrior, or like a burst of spring blossoms brushed by the wind, or like the deep and stern cold of the north wind entering the pass.
A single point misplaced, and it’s as if a beauty’s gaze slightly skewed, the character’s spiritual clarity greatly diminished, like a petal, its fragrance diffusing far, becoming even more pure and fresh.
After finishing writing, she paused, then switched the pen to her right hand. By this ti, she had forgotten where she was, only wanting to express all the feelings in her soul with the pen in her hand, and the ink in her heart.
Right-handed script.
One stroke out of place, like a warrior with a broken arm.
This line of characters is bold and unrestrained, not confined at all, even running seamlessly across the entire line, as if done by an immortal in a carefree, traceless manner.
One hand robust and powerful, the other gentle and soft.
One hand like a warrior drawing his sword, vivid and captivating; the other like a beautiful woman setting her hairpin: graceful and charming.
One person, two hands, two styles of writing.
Ambidextrous writing is already extrely difficult, yet soone had indeed mastered it, and the peaks of their strokes were still so distinct. Mr. Sun was shocked, his heart leapt unintentionally as he watched Qin Xiangnuan switch the pen to her right hand. When the characters appeared, their montum was definitely not sothing a little girl could produce.
The strength and technique of these characters show maturity, without decades of foundation it would be impossible to write them. However, they were written by a girl barely twenty. Were it not for his own eyes seeing it, he wouldn’t believe it. But seeing is believing, and now he finally understood that there are always masters among masters.
He had underestimated this young girl. No wonder she radiated such an aura of being well-read. It seed that she had indeed practiced diligently in her daily life.
"Very well written."
Mr. Sun raised his thumb, and the others were also shocked. Heavens, were they seeing this right? Ambidextrous writing, with both left and right hands producing different stroke weights, different characters – whose child was this, and how had she been taught?
And these characters – they were truly well-written, surpassing even themselves who had written for decades.
In fact, they rely looked at Qin Xiangnuan’s age, not realizing the arduous effort she had poured into her calligraphy. Initially, she couldn’t even hold the brush steady, causing her tender fingers to develop calluses, especially in the winter when her hands were chapped with frostbite. Yet she persevered in writing, all to unlock the next order sooner with the system. She had suffered for a lifeti, filled with regrets in a previous life. In this life, no matter what, she would not make the sa mistakes. No matter how tired, painful, or hard, she would persist.
Her heart had gone from initial resentnt and hatred, from unwillingness to discontent, and now, she had gradually freed herself through the art of calligraphy.
In this life, she would live exceptionally well and ensure that her loved ones did the sa – live well and live long.
She placed the pen on the inkstone and then bowed to Mr. Sun, thanking him.
Mr. Sun nodded, the light in his eyes growing warr.
"Little girl, who was your teacher?"
"This..." Qin Xiangnuan couldn’t very well say it was the system, could she? She smiled awkwardly and said, "An old man from the village, he said his ancestor was a top scorer. I learned from him for a few years."
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