Courtyard House: I fish in the heavens, a professional bird abuser.

"The gathering took place at the Orchid Pavilion in Shanyin, Kuaiji, to perform the purification ritual."

Distinguished guests gathered, young and old alike...

He Yuanchao wields his brush with lightning speed, his wrist deftly lifting, pressing, turning, and twisting, his movements graceful and fluid, possessing an indescribable beauty.

His expression was focused and peaceful, as if his entire mind had been immersed in the words he wrote and the flowing ink.

Sunlight fell on his profile, outlining his resolute features, and also fell on the snow-white rice paper.

The jet-black, glossy, and spirited handwriting creates a strong visual impact.

The surrounding noise had eerily subsided at some point.

Those mocking glances that were initially waiting to see him fail gradually changed.

First came astonishment, then disbelief and stunned silence, and finally, pure shock!

They don't understand calligraphy, can't distinguish between the "Slender Gold" style and running script, and have no idea about the spirit of the Wei and Jin dynasties.

But they have eyes!

They could see how beautiful the ink flowing on the snow-white Xuan paper was!

How pleasing to the eye!

The words weren't as rigid as the printed fonts they usually saw, nor as stiff as street slogans; they seemed to have a life of their own, dancing and breathing on the paper!

It has an indescribable "good-looking" and "comfortable" feel to it!

"My God...this...this writing..."

A man who had been loudly mocking just moments before now opened his mouth wide and muttered to himself, but the rest of his words got stuck in his throat.

"It's so beautiful! It's like a painting!"

An elderly woman carrying a shopping basket stared wide-eyed.

"Wow... this worker... is really skilled?"

The person next to him rubbed his eyes hard.

"What does this say? It looks very scholarly..."

Someone muttered to themselves.

The previous harsh comments disappeared, replaced by waves of exclamations and hushed praises.

The crowd gathered around him, layer upon layer, until they surrounded He Yuanchao and his broken bench in the center.

All eyes were fixed on the seemingly magical calligraphy brush, watching as each character, full of charm, flowed from its tip.

The scent of ink seemed even stronger in the air.

Lou Xiao'e, who was hiding behind the pillar, was so shocked that she covered her mouth to keep from exclaiming!

Her heart was pounding so hard it felt like it was going to jump out of her chest!

Preface to the Poems Composed at the Orchid Pavilion!

He was actually writing the "Preface to the Poems Composed at the Orchid Pavilion"!

That's not all! What made her even more chilled and incredulous was that—from the very beginning, "the ninth year of Yonghe"...

The line that was just written, "Let us use the winding stream as a backdrop for our drinking party," is a lengthy and elegant piece of over a hundred characters.

There wasn't a single mistake!

Every word is precise!

Every sentence flows smoothly!

How is this possible?!

This preface is beautifully written, uses exquisite allusions, and is quite long.

Even someone like her, who was raised with a love for classical literature, would never dare to claim that she could recite the entire text from memory without missing a single word!

Yet this young man in the steel mill uniform was able to recite it so fluently and calmly!

Moreover, it was written in such exquisite running script, which perfectly captured the spirit of Wang Xizhi!

What terrifying memory does that require?

What profound classical Chinese proficiency is required?

How profound and nuanced must one's understanding of this timeless masterpiece be?!

Lou Xiao'e felt a chill rush from the soles of her feet to the top of her head, which was then replaced by a burning excitement and disbelief.

The way she looked at He Yuanchao completely changed.

The ice of doubt was shattered in an instant by this shocking fact!

Instead, a burning gaze, a mixture of awe, curiosity, and intense attraction, filled the air!

Father was right!

This person... this young worker named He Yuanchao, he wasn't pretending at all!

He is a hidden genius!

His composure, his demeanor, and his calmness in the face of ridicule all found their most solid explanation at this moment!

That's an absolute confidence stemming from a strong foundation!

Then look at his handsome profile and upright posture as he focuses on writing...

Lou Xiao'e's heart started beating even faster.

A feeling she had never experienced before, tinged with shyness and secret anticipation, quietly sprouted in her heart like a spring bud breaking through the soil.

Xu Damao?

That projectionist who only knew how to flatter and show off his petty cleverness paled in comparison to He Yuanchao, who possessed a reserved brilliance and profound knowledge.

It's like a mudfish in the ground looking up at a crane in the sky! The difference is like heaven and earth!

The more she looked at it, the more captivated she became, and the more she was moved.

A thought emerged with crystal clarity:

I absolutely must buy this calligraphy!

This is not just a piece of calligraphy; it is a true treasure of art!

Moreover... this is also an excellent opportunity to get to know him openly and honestly!

Just as Lou Xiao'e took a deep breath, preparing to squeeze through the crowd and ask the price—

"Brother who aided North Korea?!"

A voice filled with surprise and uncertainty suddenly rang out from the periphery of the crowd, its sharp, slightly distorted tone instantly drowning out the surrounding whispers.

The crowd was startled by the sudden shout and instinctively parted to make way for him.

A young man dressed in gray overalls, slightly thin, with a slick look on his face, was peering inside on tiptoe, his face filled with disbelief.

It was Yan Bugui's eldest son, Yan Jiecheng!

He got off work early today and was thinking of going to Qianmen Street to find some cheap things. When he passed by, he saw a large crowd gathered here and curiously went over to see what was going on.

Squeezing to the front, I saw that figure standing in front of the broken bench, wielding his brush and ink; that familiar profile… who else could it be but He Yuanchao?!

Yan Jie rubbed his eyes hard to make sure he wasn't seeing things.

Suddenly overjoyed and surprised, he didn't care about anything else, pushed aside the people blocking his way and squeezed in. His face instantly filled with an extremely fawning smile, and his voice rose eight octaves, filled with exaggerated surprise:

"Oh my! It really is you, Brother Yuanchao! I was wondering why I looked like you from afar! Are you... practicing calligraphy here?"

He moved closer to the bench, staring at the flamboyant calligraphy on the paper—a script he couldn't recognize a single character of—feeling dazzled. But his words were anything but hesitant: "Wow! Look! Look at this calligraphy! How beautiful! How powerful! It's like it was printed! No! Much better than printed! It has that… that kind of spirit! Right, Brother Yuanchao?"

He racked his brains trying to flatter the emperor, but his knowledge was severely limited.

He Yuanchao had just finished writing, "Although there is no grand music, a cup of wine and a poem are enough to express our deepest feelings."

He paused for a moment, slightly raising his wrist, to move his slightly sore wrist.

He glanced at Yan Jiecheng, who had suddenly appeared, and was already used to his exaggerated performance. He simply nodded and said, "Yes, Jiecheng."

get off work?"

"Yes, yes, yes! Just got off work!"

Yan Jiecheng bowed and scraped, adopting an extremely humble posture.

If it were half a month ago, when Yan Jiecheng saw He Yuanchao, he would at most greet him as a lukewarm neighbor, and might even have shown some contempt for ordinary workers from a scholarly family.

But during this period, "miracles" happened to He Yuanchao.

There's so much! A fishing prodigy, a scathing rebuke of all the beasts in the compound, the deputy factory director's appreciation, and now this jaw-dropping calligraphy... More importantly, even the little bit of food that slips through He Yuanchao's fingers is enough to satisfy the Yan family's cravings for a long time! That smoked fish, that soda—just thinking about it makes my mouth water! Yan Bugui has long since instructed the whole family to treat He Yuanchao like a "god of wealth."

Keep it as a tribute!

"Brother Yuanchao, you..."

Yan Jiecheng looked at the half-written scroll of Xuan paper on the bench, then glanced at the crowd of onlookers, forced a smile, leaned closer to He Yuanchao, lowered his voice, and spoke with a hint of "one of our own."

With concern, he asked, "You wouldn't be thinking of...selling your calligraphy here, would you?"

His tone revealed undisguised skepticism and a feeling that it was "unreliable".

.

He Yuanchao picked up the kettle, took a sip of water, and said frankly, "Well, I'm just writing for fun. It would be best if I could earn some money for paper and ink."

Otherwise, if we only write but don't sell, we can't afford to keep up with the costs.

'

He pointed to the fine Xuan paper and pine soot ink.

Upon hearing this, Yan Jiecheng shook his head inwardly, but dared not show it on his face. Instead, he deliberately raised his voice so that those around him could hear, "Hey! Brother Yuanchao, what you're saying! Just based on your handwriting, it's definitely this!"

He gave a thumbs up, "Sell! It has to sell! Sell it for a high price! But..."

He then changed the subject, lowered his voice, and spoke with a hint of sincerity.

The "advice"

"Brother Yuanchao, you don't know, these days, there are very few people who know their stuff! And even fewer who are willing to spend money on calligraphy and paintings! Look at all these people gathered around, how many of them are knowledgeable? I doubt it! Maybe... you should pack up and leave? I'll try to find out if anyone likes this."

His implication was that setting up a stall here was a complete waste of time, and it would be better to go home earlier.

Lou Xiao'e, who was not far away, frowned slightly as she listened to Yan Jiecheng's words, which were clearly flattering yet subtly disdainful.

This guy is glib and smooth-talking; he's obviously no good.

However, his words also pointed out a reality: these characters are probably not easy to sell.

This further strengthened her resolve to buy it.

She clutched the small cloth bag in her hand, which contained her saved pocket money.

He Yuanchao's "advice" to Yan Jiecheng

He didn't comment, just smiled, put down the kettle, and prepared to pick up his pen again.

He didn't really care whether it would sell or not.

This was originally his way of verifying system skills and contacting potential "clients".

This was an attempt, and also a way for him to seek a moment of inner peace in this noisy world.

However, just as his brush tip was about to touch the rice paper again—

An aged, deep, yet exceptionally clear voice, filled with profound emotion and a hint of... deep sorrow, pierced through the buzzing of the crowd and rang in He Yuanchao's ears:

"Young man, are you selling your calligraphy?"

The sound wasn't loud, but it carried a peculiar penetrating power and weight, instantly silencing the surroundings.

He Yuanchao paused, then looked up in the direction of the sound.

The crowd parted automatically, creating a wider gap, and an elderly man with white hair and beard, wearing a faded gray Zhongshan suit and leaning on a well-worn boxwood cane, slowly walked in.

The old man was thin, but his back was very straight, and his eyes were sharp like an eagle's, carrying a kind of wisdom and dignity that had been tempered by the years.

From the moment he entered, his gaze was fixed on the half of the ink-stained "Preface to the Poems Composed at the Orchid Pavilion" on the bench. His brows were tightly furrowed, his lips were pressed into a straight line, and his face showed an undisguised complex expression—a mixture of amazement and admiration, but more than anything, a deep regret and... strong dissatisfaction!

The moment the old man appeared, his unusually calm demeanor immediately put an invisible pressure on the surrounding crowd, silencing all their chatter. Everyone stared curiously at this clearly extraordinary old gentleman.

Yan Jiecheng was also startled by the old man who suddenly appeared.

He watched as the old man stared at He Yuanchao's calligraphy, shaking his head and sighing, his face looking rather "unpleasant."

My heart skipped a beat.

Suddenly: Oh no! Could it be that we've run into someone looking to cause trouble? This old man looks like a respected "old scholar."

!

He immediately stepped forward, blocking He Yuanchao and the bench, forcing a smile, but his tone was already wary and unfriendly: "Hey, sir, what are you doing here...? We're writing calligraphy here. If you want to look, fine, but don't shake your head and sigh, it'll affect Brother Yuanchao's creative process, okay?"

He deliberately used the word "creation".

He emphasized the two words, trying to intimidate people with his imposing manner.

The old man seemed not to hear Yan Jiecheng's words, his gaze still fixed on the writing on the Xuan paper, as if he were looking at a rare treasure that had been desecrated.

He Yuanchao raised his hand and gently patted Yan Jiecheng's shoulder, signaling him to calm down.

He looked at the old man, his eyes calm, with a hint of sincere inquiry: "Sir, is there anything about my calligraphy that you're not satisfied with?"

He asked himself if his understanding and mastery of Wang Xizhi's running script, enhanced by the system's "master-level calligraphy," had reached a state of perfection. This revealed a strong sense of "dissatisfaction" on the old man's part.

This, on the contrary, aroused his real curiosity.

The old man slowly raised his head, his sharp eyes staring intently at He Yuanchao, as if trying to pierce through his skin and see into his soul.

He remained silent for several seconds, then slammed his cane heavily on the ground with a dull thud.

Then, a long sigh, filled with endless regret and heartache, escaped his lips:

"well--!"

That sigh, like a heavy hammer, struck everyone's heart.

The old man slowly raised his withered hand, pointing to the half-finished copy of the "Preface to the Poems Composed at the Orchid Pavilion" on the bench. His voice was not loud, but it carried a thunderous power, echoing clearly in the suddenly deathly silent Qianmen Street:

"Dissatisfied? It's more than just dissatisfied!"

"I am extremely, extremely, extremely dissatisfied!"

"It's absolutely heartbreaking!"

The old man's words were like a thunderclap! Everyone was stunned! Yan Jiecheng's face instantly turned a deep shade of liver, his fists clenched, and he was about to explode—this old bastard really was here to cause trouble! How dare he say "heartbroken and indignant"!

? !

Lou Xiao'e's heart clenched. Could there really be something wrong with the handwriting? She had been so focused on the beauty of the characters and the accuracy of the dictation that she had overlooked some fatal flaw.

However, the old man's next words left everyone's minds blank for a moment!

The old man, leaning on his cane, took a step forward, almost touching the broken bench.

His hand trembled as he pointed to the flowing ink on the snow-white Xuan paper, his voice suddenly rising, filled with an uncontrollable excitement and anger:

"Such a masterpiece! Such exquisite brushwork! A work that embodies the spirit of both ancient and modern times, directly rivaling the legacy of the Sage of Calligraphy!"

"You! You actually left it here on Qianmen Street! In this dusty, bustling intersection!"

"Put it on this broken bench!"

"Selling them like cabbages on the street?!"

"What a waste! Absolutely a waste of resources!!!"

The old man became more and more agitated as he spoke, his white beard trembling slightly, his eyes filled with undisguised sorrow and anger, as if He Yuanchao had committed some heinous crime.

He suddenly raised his voice again, his aged voice booming like a bell, carrying unparalleled power, resounding throughout the entire street:

"This isn't calligraphy for sale; it's practically—"

"Priceless treasure!!!"

~~~~~~~~

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