{Chapter: 277 A feeling she has never felt before!}
The question about the three great masters of Chinese calligraphy and their iconic semi-cursive works was a relatively well-known one among enthusiasts. But for the average person, it still required a bit of cultural familiarity.
Lin Yuan, however, seemed completely at ease.
He smiled calmly and answered, "The three major calligraphers you're referring to are Wang Xizhi, Yan Zhenqing, and Su Shi."
"As for their representative works, they are known as the three great semi-cursive scripts in the world. The first is "Preface to the Poems Collected from the Orchid Pavilion" by Wang Xizhi, a masterpiece that has stood the test of time for its fluid brushwork and philosophical depth."
"The second is "Draft of a Requiem to My Nephew" by Yan Zhenqing, which blends both form and emotion, reflecting his grief and moral fortitude during a turbulent time in history."
"And the third is Su Shi's "The Cold Food Observance," a deeply moving work that resonates not only for its poetic content but also for the expressive style of its calligraphy."
Lin Yuan's voice was calm and confident, as if he was simply stating facts he had long known rather than recalling something he had just memorized.
Yu Shanshan, who had initially asked the question to trip him up, could only pout slightly. She hadn't expected Lin Yuan to answer so fluently and without hesitation.
Her expression shifted from playful mischief to mild disbelief. How does he know this stuff so well? She had seen him doodle nonsense with her before, drawing silly ghost symbols and random shapes. How could he now suddenly sound like a scholar of traditional art?
She still had the urge to test him further, but her mind had gone blank. The rest of her questions were all based on what she'd skimmed from Baidu earlier, and she hadn't prepared anything deeper.
She was just about to sneak a glance at her phone to search for more trivia when Chi Qian, who had been observing silently, finally spoke up.
"Shanshan," Chi Qian said with a gentle smile, "you're acting just like you do at school. Stop trying to test people using Baidu."
Yu Shanshan awkwardly stuck out her tongue and looked away.
Chi Qian then turned to Lin Yuan, her eyes shining with interest. "Brother Lin Yuan, I'm actually quite fond of calligraphy too. Since Shanshan's out of questions, how about I ask one on her behalf?"
Lin Yuan smiled and nodded. "Of course. Ask anything you like."
He didn't feel pressured at all. Instead, he was looking forward to the challenge.
Chi Qian smiled warmly and leaned in a little. "My question relates to what Shanshan just asked you about—the third semi-cursive masterpiece: Su Shi's "The Cold Food Observance.""
She tilted her head slightly and continued, "Su Shi, as we know, is one of the greatest poets in Chinese history. He's written many famous works—Prelude to the Water Melody is just one of them. And while his calligraphy of The Cold Food Observance is highly celebrated, very few people seem to talk about The Cold Food Observance as a poem on its own."
Her voice took on a thoughtful tone. "Why do you think that is?"
This question was far more intricate than Yu Shanshan's earlier ones. It wasn't something one could simply find with a quick online search. It required insight, not just knowledge. While Yu Shanshan's questions tested surface-level understanding, Chi Qian was clearly probing for something deeper.
Lin Yuan didn't hesitate.
He answered with the calm grace of someone who had long reflected on the matter. "That's a very good question. The reason The Cold Food Observance is rarely praised purely as a poem is because, within the scope of Su Shi's entire body of literary work—over 3,000 poems—it's not among his most outstanding in terms of poetic craftsmanship."
He paused for a moment, then continued with subtle emotion in his voice. "But once this poem was expressed through calligraphy—through brush, ink, and movement—it took on a life of its own. The artistic expression in his handwriting, the way the sorrow of the words fused with the form of each character… that transformed the piece into something timeless."
"What made the work iconic wasn't just the poem itself but the mood and atmosphere conveyed through the calligraphy. It's a visual symphony of grief and solitude."
"Even without hearing the poem read aloud, or understanding every word, a viewer could feel the loneliness and sorrow seeping through the ink."
"Images like the quiet hut, the deserted pavilion, and the forlorn tomb are portrayed with haunting clarity. They bring out the pain of an exile, the helplessness of a scholar confined to a bleak life in Huangzhou. The poem, when paired with Su Shi's expressive brushwork, became more than words—it became emotion etched onto paper."
"That's why this piece is remembered more for its calligraphic beauty than for its poetic merit alone. It's a convergence of two arts: poetry and calligraphy, but it was the latter that immortalized it."
Chi Qian's expression didn't change right away. But her eyes softened, and her smile deepened.
This wasn't just a good answer. It was the kind of answer that revealed Lin Yuan's depth—not just in knowledge, but in emotional intelligence.
Yu Shanshan, meanwhile, could only blink and nudge Chi Qian with a whisper. "You sure he didn't read Baidu too?"
Chi Qian chuckled softly, but she didn't answer.
Instead, she looked back at Lin Yuan with renewed curiosity and a growing sense of admiration.
Lin Yuan responded to Chi Qian's question with a calm and confident smile, as if the answer had been resting easily on his tongue all along.
As she listened to his explanation, Yu Shanshan felt a bit overwhelmed, as if her mind had started spinning in circles. She could barely keep up.
Meanwhile, Chi Qian's beautiful, intelligent eyes remained fixed on Lin Yuan. There was a gleam in them—a spark of genuine interest that only continued to grow brighter the more she heard him speak.
From the way he elaborated so effortlessly, it was clear that Lin Yuan wasn't just parroting information. He truly understood the subject. He didn't merely dabble in calligraphy—he knew it with depth and insight.
If Lin Yuan had only been good at calligraphy, Chi Qian might have appreciated it politely, but it wouldn't have stirred much emotion in her. If he only knew how to play piano, sing beautifully, fight with skill, or shoot with precision, she might have still been impressed—but not captivated.
But Lin Yuan wasn't just talented—he was a rare blend of gifted, cultured, and mysterious. In nearly every area she valued, he seemed to excel, and now, with his surprising knowledge of calligraphy, he had struck another chord in her heart.
For someone like Chi Qian, who was also proficient in many arts and skills herself, Lin Yuan's brilliance created an emotional resonance. It felt like she had met a rare confidant, someone she might finally call a peer—if not more.
[Ding! Favorability from Chi Qian +2! Reward: 2000 Counterattack Points!]
The sound of the system notification rang gently in Lin Yuan's mind, but he didn't react outwardly.
Instead, he simply smiled to himself, understanding perfectly why Chi Qian's favorability had increased at that moment.
They continued walking through the exhibition hall. The first part of the calligraphy display featured mostly semi-cursive scripts—graceful yet structured. But as they moved deeper into the exhibition, the more expressive cursive scripts began to dominate the displays.
Stopping in front of one such exhibit, Lin Yuan glanced at the dynamic strokes on the scroll and said with interest, "Actually, I prefer cursive scripts over semi-cursive ones. I know they often look chaotic or messy to the untrained eye, but there's something captivating about them. They have a raw emotional depth and freedom that I really appreciate."
Chi Qian's eyes lit up instantly at those words. Her heart thumped lightly. That was exactly how she felt.
She gave Lin Yuan a warm and delighted smile. "Me too! I also love cursive scripts the most. It feels like the truest expression of my emotions and thoughts—like my soul is pouring onto the paper through the brush."
Unlike more rigid forms of communication, cursive calligraphy allowed Chi Qian to express her inner world in a subtle, elegant way. Since she often found it difficult to articulate her emotions directly, she had always turned to this art form to convey her feelings.
Naturally, she felt a surge of joy and connection when Lin Yuan echoed her sentiment so closely.
The charm of cursive script lies not just in its artistry but in its mystery. The characters often appear unrestrained, flowing with spontaneity, elegance, and even wild abandon. It takes time and study to truly understand them—and those who do often discover a hidden emotional depth that words alone can't capture.
As they continued to admire the displays, Chi Qian pointed to a particular piece and asked playfully, "Brother Lin Yuan, what about this one? Can you guess whose cursive script this is?"
The calligraphy she indicated was wild, almost chaotic. The brushstrokes danced across the scroll like wind-tossed ribbons, giving it an untamed and energetic quality.
Chi Qian clearly admired it, her gaze affectionate and reverent.
Yu Shanshan, however, scrunched up her face in confusion. She looked at the scroll as if trying to decipher an alien language.
"Is that supposed to be writing?" she asked in disbelief. "It looks like a ghost scribbled it in the middle of the night!"
Bonk! Lin Yuan tapped Yu Shanshan gently on the head with a teasing smile.
"What nonsense are you spouting?" he said, shaking his head in mock disapproval. "You're insulting the masters. This cursive script is actually the masterpiece of a very famous calligrapher."
Then, turning his attention to Chi Qian's question, he answered without hesitation, "This work is by Zhang Xu, one of the greatest masters of cursive calligraphy. He lived during the Tang Dynasty and earned a legendary reputation for his explosive, free-flowing style. Alongside Li Bai's unmatched poetry and Pei Min's masterful swordsmanship, Zhang Xu's calligraphy formed what was known as the 'Three Wonders of the Tang Dynasty.'"
He gestured at the scroll, continuing, "This piece is known as the Four Ancient Poems in cursive script. At first glance, it may seem like the lines are just random scribbles, with strokes tangled, loosened, and scattered across the page. But the rhythm and energy of the brushwork churns like a storm—rising and falling like thunder and lightning. Though it appears unregulated, the inner structure is full of balance and intent."
Chi Qian's lips parted slightly in surprise. She had asked the question on a whim, not expecting such a thorough and articulate answer.
Lin Yuan's knowledge went far beyond superficial memorization. His insight was profound, his explanation clear and poetic.
The more she heard him speak, the more fascinated she became.
She had never met someone like him before—someone who could keep up with her in so many ways… and even surpass her.
This feeling in her heart, this spark of something deeper—it was something she had never experienced before.
And now, it was growing.
*****
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