He unexpectedly becomes a father at the start of his life, and the mother of his child is a national

Lin Caiwei didn't say anything more. She gently leaned on his shoulder, quietly nestled against him, and comforted his fatigue with her silent companionship.

Chen Hao raised his hand and slowly opened the wooden box on the coffee table.

The box is exquisitely crafted, and inside lies a well-framed ancient painting.

This is a small painting from the Qing Dynasty. It is small in size and exquisite in design. The overall composition is well-balanced and makes it very pleasing to the eye.

The main subject of the picture is several plum blossoms. The old branches are vigorous and ancient, with clear textures, giving a sense of the weight of time. The new branches are upright and graceful, full of vitality.

The plum blossoms on the branches are sparse, just the right amount.

The entire painting is executed with concise and crisp brushstrokes, without any superfluous ink, yet it captures both form and spirit, and is full of charm.

Above the painting is a line of elegant inscription, the handwriting gentle and refined. However, due to its age, the seal in the corner is blurred and illegible, making it impossible to identify the author's name and signature.

Chen Hao examined it carefully for a long time and had to admit that it was indeed a rare and excellent painting. Its brushwork, artistic conception, and spirit were all of the highest quality. No wonder Yu Mobai had treasured it for many years and regarded it as a precious gem.

He carefully rolled up the painting, moving gently as if afraid of damaging it in the slightest, and then steadily placed it back into the wooden box for safekeeping.

"Are you planning to write a critique of this painting yourself?" Lin Caiwei asked softly, watching his movements.

"Write it." Chen Hao nodded without hesitation, his tone sincere.

"They came with genuine sincerity, making a special trip to follow and wait for me, and even bringing out their treasured collection to ask for my advice. This kind of kindness is rare, and I cannot be perfunctory, nor can I let them wait in vain and be disappointed."

After saying that, he got up and went into his own studio.

The studio was simply and elegantly furnished, complete with all the necessary brushes, ink, paper, and inkstones.

He spread out a clean strip of Xuan paper, carefully ground the ink, and once the ink was of the right consistency, he picked up the brush.

After a moment's thought, recalling the ancient plum blossom painting he had just seen, he wrote down four characters: "Refined and charming".

After writing it, he felt that the comment was a bit short and not enough to summarize the exquisiteness of the painting, so he picked up his pen and added a sentence below: "Old trunk and new branches complement each other perfectly."

Though the brushstrokes are simple, the meaning is boundless.

His brushstrokes, both beginning and ending, are steady and elegant, just like his paintings, possessing an inherent spirit.

Chen Hao looked down and examined the comments he had written. The comments were just right, neither exaggerating nor praising, nor being perfunctory or belittling. They were fair, objective, and in line with the quality of the painting itself.

He gently dried the paper, carefully folded it neatly, and put it into a clean envelope and sealed it.

Lin Caiwei had arrived at the studio door at some point, quietly leaning against the door frame, silently watching him complete everything methodically, without making a sound to disturb him.

"I'll take the painting and comments back to him when I have some free time tomorrow," Chen Hao said softly, turning to look at her.

"By the way, tell him that Haolin has already seen the painting and given his opinion, and he approves of it overall."

Lin Caiwei nodded gently, and after a few seconds of silence, she softly called out to him, "Chen Hao."

"Hmm? What's wrong?" Chen Hao looked up at her.

"Do you think Yu Mobai will give up after this incident?" Lin Caiwei voiced her concerns.

"Given his persistence, will he continue to harass us?"

Chen Hao pondered for a moment, then slowly shook his head, his tone resolute: "No."

"People like him who are obsessed with one thing and deeply dedicated to one line of work are extremely stubborn. Once they set their sights on a goal, they will never give up easily."

His passion for calligraphy and painting, especially for Haolin's works, runs too deep; he cannot possibly give up completely because of this one polite refusal.

"So what are you planning to do next? Are you just going to keep dragging this on?" Lin Caiwei asked worriedly.

Chen Hao sighed softly, his tone tinged with helplessness: "There's no better way right now, we can only take it one step at a time."

"Delay as long as possible, keep a low profile and remain discreet, don't reveal your identity. If you really can't delay any longer and can't hide it anymore, then think of other ways to deal with it."

Lin Caiwei gently stepped forward, tenderly hugged him from behind, and pressed her cheek lightly against his back, her voice soft yet firm:

"No matter what decision you make, no matter what troubles you encounter later, Sisi and I will always stand by your side, accompany you, and support you."

Chen Hao felt a warmth in his heart. He took her hands, which were wrapped around his waist, and gently patted them. Most of the helplessness and fatigue in his eyes dissipated.

"I know."

The studio was quiet and peaceful, without a single sound, only the steady, gentle breathing of the two people, warm and soothing.

Chen Hao's gaze fell once again on the folded ancient plum blossom painting on the table, and the image of Yu Mobai from just now resurfaced in his mind.

The old man's pure love in his eyes, his heart full of sincerity, his undisguised longing, and his unwavering dedication to calligraphy and painting were all incredibly moving.

He sighed softly again, giving himself a firm assessment.

This old man is not a bad person, and his heart is pure. He is just too stubborn, too obsessed with his love for calligraphy and painting, and too obsessed with his wish to meet Haolin.

……

Chen Hao carefully took out the landscape painting that Yu Mobai had sent him from the storage box, held the two ends of the scroll with both hands, and gently pulled it, so that the whole painting was steadily laid on the flat painting table.

He deliberately adjusted the position of the painting so that it faced the light directly, and when the eye fell upon it, every detail of the brushstrokes could be seen clearly without any shadows obscuring it.

This painting is not large, about two feet square, which is the most common size for a small Chinese landscape painting.

The painting depicts the scenery of a mountain village, with a few simple gray-tiled houses half-hidden among the dense trees.

A narrow dirt road extends from beside the house, winding its way out of the mountains, looking serene and quiet.

In the distance, layers of mountains stand side by side, with wisps of mist swirling among them, making their outlines appear hazy and soft.

The overall composition is flawless, perfectly orderly, and follows a strict set of rules.

The brushwork is also very skillful, far beyond the level of an amateur. Anyone with a discerning eye can tell that the artist has been deeply involved in calligraphy and painting for many years, and his solid foundation is evident.

Chen Hao bent down, his gaze sweeping over the entire painting with great concentration.

The textures of the rocks are neatly rendered, the leaves of the trees are evenly dotted, the lines of the houses are crisply drawn, and the ink tones of the distant and near scenery are clearly distinguished, with the ink density and dryness being just right.

The longer he stared at the painting, the more uneasy he felt. He felt that although the painting looked perfect, something was missing.

To put it bluntly, it's too neat and too standardized.

Every stroke was placed precisely where it should be, and every shade of ink was perfectly mixed, without the slightest error.