{Chapter: 282 I will gladly accept this apprentice!}
As Lin Yuan made his way toward the stage, the attention of the entire audience instinctively shifted to him. His very presence seemed to command the gaze of everyone in the hall—not just because he was the male lead in Chi Qian's previous calligraphy performance, but because of his strikingly handsome features.
Like Chi Qian, Lin Yuan possessed an almost ethereal beauty. His appearance alone could make heads turn in any crowd. With charisma off the charts—arguably maxed out at 200 points—he shone like a luminous beacon in the midst of ordinary people, a dazzling incandescent lamp that couldn't be ignored.
The moment Chi Qian had gifted him her handwritten calligraphy, it was like declaring to the world that Lin Yuan was someone special in her eyes. That single act had already drawn whispers, glances, and speculation. Now, with him stepping onto the stage, the anticipation in the room rose like a swelling tide.
Ge Yuanshan, who had been quietly watching, suddenly straightened in his seat, his eyes flickering with excitement. Despite being a seasoned and respected calligraphy master, Ge Yuanshan was not as open-minded as his contemporary, Cui Yunrong. His values were steeped in traditionalism—especially the belief that the inheritance of certain artistic legacies should remain within the male lineage.
Although Chi Qian's calligraphy had left a deep impression on him earlier, Ge Yuanshan had quickly dismissed the idea of taking her on as a disciple. Not because she lacked talent—on the contrary, her skill rivaled many adults with decades of experience—but simply because she was a woman. In his mind, that disqualified her from being the torchbearer of his calligraphic legacy.
But Lin Yuan was different.
Ge Yuanshan had already admired Lin Yuan's intellectual insights and deep understanding of art and literature. And now, as Lin Yuan stepped up with calm composure, Ge Yuanshan's expectations surged. He quietly prepared to critique Lin Yuan's calligraphy—not with malice, but with the intention of guiding him. His plan was to use this opportunity to mentor Lin Yuan and then slowly convince him to become his apprentice.
A small smile played at the corners of Ge Yuanshan's lips as he imagined the future. To have someone as talented and composed as Lin Yuan under his tutelage would be a legacy worth leaving behind.
But it wasn't just Ge Yuanshan who was filled with expectations.
Many eyes were locked on Lin Yuan, and not all were friendly.
A number of young men in the room, especially those who had long admired Chi Qian from a distance, were quietly jealous. They had witnessed Chi Qian personally handing over a piece of her calligraphy to Lin Yuan—a rare gesture filled with intimacy and subtle emotion.
To them, Chi Qian was like a goddess: distant, elegant, and far beyond reach. But watching her show favor toward Lin Yuan—smiling at him, speaking softly to him—made them feel sour and stung by comparison.
So in their hearts, they secretly hoped Lin Yuan would mess up.
If his calligraphy turned out mediocre or even terrible, perhaps the balance in their minds would be restored. They could reassure themselves that Lin Yuan, despite his looks and charm, had shortcomings. That he wasn't perfect.
But deep down, they knew it was unlikely. After all, Lin Yuan had chosen to step up on his own. He wouldn't have done so if he weren't confident in his skill.
Among the watchers, Yu Shanshan stared at Lin Yuan with wide eyes. She had known Lin Yuan for a long time—he was her cousin, after all—and memories of their youth surfaced quickly.
She recalled a time when they had both attended a calligraphy class and ran away together because they found it boring. Back then, Lin Yuan's writing was a chaotic mess—no style, no balance, just scribbles like ghost symbols that could barely be called letters. It was hilarious, really.
But now?
Now Lin Yuan looked completely calm, standing poised on the stage with an air of practiced confidence.
"Could he really have improved that much?" Yu Shanshan murmured to herself, her heart thudding with curiosity.
Chi Qian also watched Lin Yuan intently. Her gaze was filled with both anticipation and subtle excitement. She wanted to see it for herself—how good was he? Could he really surprise her again?
What would he write? What would he choose to express with his brush?
Beneath everyone's watchful gaze, Lin Yuan appeared tranquil. His heart was steady, his mind as clear as a still lake.
As he stepped up to the calligraphy table and reached out to pick up the brush—the same one Chi Qian had just used—he silently issued a command in his mind.
'Shen Lan, upgrade my calligraphy skills to the Divine Level,' Lin Yuan said internally, invoking the system that had been his secret weapon.
Though his current level was already advanced—enough to defeat most practitioners—Lin Yuan was not someone who settled for 'good enough.' In his world, perfection wasn't optional; it was expected.
[Ding! Point allocation complete!]
[Calligraphy skills successfully upgraded to Divine Level!]
If you have options and you're still not cheatin, are you really aiming for victory or just playing hide and seek?
With that crisp notification, Lin Yuan's understanding of calligraphy exploded like a dam releasing an ocean of knowledge. His skill and comprehension increased by a factor of one hundred thousand. In that instant, the totality of calligraphic wisdom flooded his mind.
The essence of every major calligraphic style—Zhuan, Li, Cao, Xing, and Kai—was absorbed into his consciousness.
He inherited the collective mastery of countless legendary calligraphers:
Wang Xizhi, the Sage of Calligraphy.
Yan Zhenqing, known for his powerful and unyielding strokes.
Zhao Mengfu, elegant and poised.
Su Shi, bold and free-spirited.
Huang Tingjian, known for his expressive forms.
Even the eccentricity of Zhang Xu, whose wild cursive style defied rules.
All of their legacies were now a part of Lin Yuan.
All of the classic masterpieces of calligraphy—such as Preface to the Poems Collected from the Orchid Pavilion and Fish-eating Post—flooded into Lin Yuan's mind in an instant, as though ancient wisdom had been reborn within him.
His brain felt full to bursting, not with confusion, but with an overwhelming depth of mastery. A sea of artistic knowledge surged through his consciousness, refined and distilled from centuries of tradition.
Holding the wolf-hair brush in hand, Lin Yuan moved with calm precision. His hand swept lightly across the rice paper, but with each stroke, he appeared less like a young man and more like a sage dancing on canvas—every gesture was art, every flick of the brush a poem.
The moment he started moving, the room fell into a kind of trance. The curious gazes that had already been trained on him couldn't look away. Time seemed to slow.
As a seasoned master of calligraphy, Ge Yuanshan's eyes instantly lit up with astonishment. He had seen countless students write, but Lin Yuan's brushwork evoked a rare sensation—one he had only felt when witnessing the works of legendary masters in person.
Chi Qian's beautiful eyes opened wider, gleaming with astonishment. She was spellbound, like everyone else.
Lin Yuan didn't just write—he performed. His writing style carried a spiritual resonance, a natural elegance that came from total harmony between body and soul. The flow of his brush was like flowing water over jade, tranquil and confident.
Despite Chi Qian being a peerless beauty who would usually draw everyone's gaze with ease, in this moment, all eyes were fixed on Lin Yuan.
Even the most skeptical men in the room couldn't help but be drawn to his aura. The charm he exuded while writing was magnetic—not flamboyant, but otherworldly. And to those with any understanding of calligraphy, his movements were not just charming—they were intoxicating.
His face, already breathtakingly handsome, now seemed to glow with divine poise. Each shift of his wrist, each slight adjustment of posture, held the finesse of someone far beyond ordinary talent.
It was as if the audience were moths being drawn helplessly toward a flame, mesmerized by an irresistible pull.
His wrist trembled with control, his feet shifted with elegant rhythm. Then, just as quietly and mysteriously as it began, it ended.
Lin Yuan stopped writing.
In truth, he had only written for about ten seconds. But to the spectators, it felt as if they had witnessed a long, soul-stirring performance. The air seemed to pause with him, unwilling to move forward.
Many among the crowd—especially the women—felt a trace of disappointment, as if waking from a beautiful dream. They hadn't seen enough. They wanted more.
But Lin Yuan remained calm, composed, and slightly withdrawn, standing before the finished work without saying a word. He allowed the silence to settle.
Ge Yuanshan, who had been watching intently, couldn't help the excitement that welled up in his chest. He had long known that calligraphy was a fusion of body, mind, and spirit. Often, the very movements of a person—before even reading a single word—could reveal their depth of understanding.
And Lin Yuan's movements?
They were on another level.
"This… this is the one…" Ge Yuanshan thought, his chest heaving slightly with emotion. "He's the heir I've been seeking!"
Joy bloomed in his heart like spring after a long winter. After all his years, he had finally found someone worthy of being called a successor.
Unable to restrain himself, Ge Yuanshan took a step forward and said loudly, "Young man Lin Yuan, hurry and show us your writing!"
His words surprised everyone. His tone carried a rare urgency, unexpected from someone usually composed and dignified. It was clear—he wanted to see the work right away.
Although startled, the crowd shared his sentiment. Everyone had seen Lin Yuan's elegant process; now they burned with curiosity for the final result.
Before Lin Yuan could respond, Ge Yuanshan had already walked briskly to his side, not even waiting for formalities.
He stood next to Lin Yuan, eyes scanning the rice paper. But the moment his gaze landed on the calligraphy, he froze.
A stunned silence overtook him.
"This… this handwriting…" he muttered, his voice cracking slightly.
Ge Yuanshan's wide eyes revealed more than words ever could. His shock was not mild—it was seismic.
The surrounding guests immediately leaned forward, their curiosity ignited to the maximum.
"What is it, Yuanshan? How is it? Let us see!" someone shouted from below.
"Old man Ge, stop keeping it to yourself! Lift it up already!"
"That's right! Don't tease us! Hurry up and show it!"
The crowd buzzed like a restless tide, driven mad by the combination of Lin Yuan's surreal display and Ge Yuanshan's speechless reaction. Their expectations reached a fever pitch.
Even Chi Qian, who had always been composed, couldn't hide her eagerness. Her gaze never left Lin Yuan, her eyes gleaming with emotion.
She, too, wanted to see.
What had he written?
And just how profound was the masterpiece that left even a grandmaster like Ge Yuanshan utterly speechless?
*****
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