{Chapter: 285 Act like a baby!}
"And the poem doesn't just include your name—it has hidden layers too," Yu Shanshan said with an impish smile.
"Oh? Hidden layers about me?" Chi Qian raised an elegant eyebrow, curiosity blooming across her normally calm features.
"What poem are you talking about?" Lin Yuan added, glancing between the two girls with interest.
Seeing both of them leaning in and intrigued, Yu Shanshan grinned widely, clearly enjoying the spotlight. She had built up the suspense, and now she was ready for the grand reveal.
With a playful laugh, she dramatically declared, "The poem goes—"
"The temple is small but the evil winds are strong, the pond is shallow yet full of wickedness…"
Before she could finish reciting the entire line, Chi Qian—usually composed and reserved—immediately reached out and gently pinched Yu Shanshan's cheek.
This was surprising, as Chi Qian rarely resorted to pinching. Her typical reaction to Yu Shanshan's antics was a light knock on the head. That was Lin Yuan's trademark move. But this time, even she couldn't hold back.
The absurdity of the so-called "poem" was just too much.
Lin Yuan chuckled as he watched the scene unfold. Of course, he understood why Chi Qian reacted that way. The poem was deliberately mischievous and completely lacking in elegance.
The full version, as he recalled, was: "The temple is small but evil winds rage, the pond is shallow but cuckolds are many." It was a metaphorical warning: when a social circle is too small, gossip, scandals, and unnecessary drama are more likely to emerge.
He glanced at Chi Qian, who was still holding onto Yu Shanshan's cheek, and then commented dryly, "You're saying something like that to someone as graceful and refined as Qian Qian? What kind of creature are you, exactly?"
Yu Shanshan, despite her cheek being held hostage, didn't miss a beat. "And as a beautiful girl, don't you always call me a pig?"
That shut Lin Yuan up for a moment. He blinked, stunned by her quick comeback, then reached out and pinched her other cheek in retaliation.
"Fine," he said, sighing. "You win. But if you keep talking like that, I'll make sure your whole face is puffed up. Don't blame me if your future wives run away at first sight."
"It's good, it's all good!" Yu Shanshan surrendered quickly, laughing despite the dual pinches. "I admit it—your poem with Qian's name in it is truly amazing."
Satisfied with her concession, both Lin Yuan and Chi Qian let go of her.
Chi Qian gave a small smile as she watched the sibling-like banter between the two. Although she didn't say much, the warmth in her eyes revealed her amusement. It was rare to see such lighthearted moments, and she cherished them.
Then Yu Shanshan turned to Chi Qian with a cheeky grin. "Actually, Qian Qian, I was just joking earlier. I do admire the poem Brother Lin Yuan wrote for you. It's not easy to write something so meaningful and poetic using your name. That's why I came prepared too!"
Chi Qian looked at her with a mix of interest and apprehension. "You wrote one as well?"
"Yup! A masterpiece, if I may say so myself!" Yu Shanshan declared proudly.
Chi Qian rolled her eyes but couldn't help laughing.
As the calligraphy exhibition came to an end, the trio prepared to leave, still chatting and teasing each other. The mood was light, and the bond between them had grown stronger.
But just as they were about to walk out, an elderly figure appeared in front of them—Master Ge Yuanshan, a respected figure in the world of calligraphy.
"Xiao Yuan, wait a moment," the old man called out, his tone both respectful and eager. "Could I trouble you to stay a bit longer? I have something I'd like to discuss with you."
Lin Yuan turned around and greeted him with a nod. "Of course, Elder Ge. What's the matter?"
Ge Yuanshan hesitated slightly, glancing toward the rice paper Chi Qian was still carefully holding in her hands. He cleared his throat and spoke sincerely.
"It's not a huge request, but a slightly embarrassing one. It's about the calligraphy piece you just wrote for the young lady. I must admit—I truly admire it."
He paused before continuing.
"Would you allow me to make a copy of it?"
Chi Qian's expression shifted subtly. Though she said nothing, her reluctance was evident. That piece held personal meaning—it wasn't just a poem. It was a heartfelt gift, infused with Lin Yuan's skill and her name, written in elegant strokes that made it utterly unique.
She didn't want it copied, not even by someone as esteemed as Ge Yuanshan.
Lin Yuan noticed immediately, as did Ge Yuanshan. The old master sighed softly, already beginning to turn away, knowing that his request may have been too much.
But before he could walk off, Lin Yuan spoke gently.
"Please wait, Elder Ge. This calligraphy was created specifically for a friend and carries special sentiment. So I hope you'll understand—I can't allow it to be duplicated."
The old master nodded, disappointed but understanding.
Lin Yuan smiled and added, "However, I'd be honored to write something new just for you, if you'd like."
Ge Yuanshan's eyes widened with joy. His aged face lit up with a childlike excitement as he said, "Truly? You'd do that for me? Thank you, Xiao Yuan, thank you!"
"Of course. It's nothing," Lin Yuan replied calmly.
What Lin Yuan didn't know was just how deeply moved Ge Yuanshan was. At first, he had thought the boy's talent was impressive—but the more he analyzed the piece, the more captivated he became. The strokes weren't just technically flawless; they were expressive, alive. The calligraphy breathed with energy, balance, and grace.
Ge Yuanshan, a man who had dedicated a lifetime to calligraphy, was beginning to realize something he hadn't dared believe:
Lin Yuan might already surpass him.
And that truth—unbelievable yet undeniable—made him want to hold onto even a piece of Lin Yuan's work, even a reproduction.
Yet Lin Yuan offered more than he hoped for: an original creation. That level of generosity among calligraphers was nearly unheard of. After all, a true masterpiece required more than ink and paper—it demanded focus, emotion, and an alignment of mind and spirit.
For many, such works were a rare occurrence in a lifetime.
But Lin Yuan made it sound like it was as easy as breathing.
Perhaps, that was what made his calligraphy divine—not just the technique, but the effortless brilliance behind it.
It's not the original version, but it is cool enough for him.
For Lin Yuan, it is not a big deal.
The divine level calligraphy is very much terrifying and very stable.
Lin Yuan had become highly proficient in all forms of calligraphy. His understanding of brush technique, stroke balance, and aesthetic spacing had reached a level where, with just a few strokes of his brush, he could transform blank rice paper into a true work of art.
Although Lin Yuan had no particular interest in the Ge family itself, he was quite intrigued by one specific individual—Ge Yuanshan's granddaughter, who also happened to be Ye Feng's fiancée. That connection alone made her someone worth observing.
As for Ge Yuanshan, the elderly man had long admired Lin Yuan's talent. He had even gone so far as to try and recruit Lin Yuan as his personal disciple, offering the kind of mentorship that few young artists would ever dream of. It only took a few moments of polite urging for Lin Yuan to agree to write a new piece, and he didn't seem at all reluctant to do so.
Soon enough, Lin Yuan returned to the central table on the stage. Some of the guests had already begun filing toward the exits, thinking the event was over, but upon noticing Lin Yuan's return—and more importantly, seeing him lift the calligraphy brush once again—they immediately turned back, rushing from the doors to find their seats again.
To them, watching Lin Yuan create calligraphy was like witnessing magic being woven into silk. They couldn't explain the fascination—it was just something beautiful and profoundly soothing to watch. Even those unfamiliar with the art form could feel the gravity of what they were witnessing. And of course, the earlier spectacle of Ge Yuanshan offering 80 million yuan for a single calligraphy piece only added to the allure.
Lin Yuan, however, remained unaffected by the attention. Ignoring the crowd, he focused solely on the blank paper before him. Under Ge Yuanshan's eager gaze, he dipped the brush into the ink, and with practiced fluidity, began writing.
This time, he was even more relaxed, his hand moving with greater ease than before. The strokes were confident and powerful, and within ten seconds, the new piece was finished.
"Old Man Ge, here you go. This one is for you," Lin Yuan said with a gentle smile, handing over the freshly inked rice paper.
Ge Yuanshan practically leapt forward to receive it. His eyes scanned the elegant script, and the moment he read the poem aloud, his face lit up with joy.
"The lake is connected to distant mountains and it devours water from the Yangtze River; in dimension, it is vast and boundless…" (T/N: Yuanshan = distant mountains)
His voice trembled with emotion as he laughed heartily. "Wonderful! Absolutely wonderful!"
What delighted him even more was the fact that Lin Yuan had cleverly embedded his name—"Yuanshan," meaning "distant mountains"—into the poem. Though it was adapted from Fan Zhongyan's famous work Tribute to Yueyang Tower, Lin Yuan had put obvious thought into the personalization.
The joy on Ge Yuanshan's face was impossible to miss. His white eyebrows arched in delight, and his usually stern demeanor melted into that of a joyful grandfather receiving a long-awaited gift.
The other calligraphy masters present began to crowd closer, drawn in by both curiosity and envy. They had all assumed Lin Yuan's earlier work was a one-time marvel—that a second masterpiece would be impossible to replicate. After all, any master calligrapher knew how dependent great works were on inspiration and mental clarity.
But what they saw shocked them.
Lin Yuan's second piece was not just equal in quality—it was arguably even more refined.
It became clear to everyone in the room that Lin Yuan's abilities were not just luck or flair; they were a manifestation of true, consistent mastery. If historical, cultural, and personal value were to be assigned to the piece, this would surely be one of those rare works that scholars discuss decades later.
Their admiration quickly turned into desire.
One of the older masters stepped forward first, eyes gleaming with desperation. "Young man, would you write one for me as well? I'll pay you… 30 million!"
Before Lin Yuan could respond, another elderly man elbowed his way forward. "You're too stingy! Master Lin, I'll give you three school-district apartments in Qingyang District in exchange for a single scripture!"
Then a third man, seemingly from a prominent family, chuckled and said, "You geezers are unbelievable! Shameless, all of you! Still, Master Lin, I do think your talents would be a good match for my granddaughter. Would you consider visiting my estate for tea?"
One after another, the masters—men of prestige who were normally elusive and proud—crowded around Lin Yuan like overeager fans, offering everything from cash to real estate and matchmaking proposals just for the chance to receive a piece of his work.
The surrounding onlookers were completely stunned. It was rare to see these revered experts act like overzealous children. Their enthusiasm bordered on comedic, but it only proved how deeply they admired Lin Yuan's skill.
Lin Yuan, however, remained calm and unflustered. He simply offered them a polite smile and said, "I'm truly honored by your interest, gentlemen. But I limit myself to writing only two pieces per day. It keeps the mind focused and the hand precise. Perhaps we can talk again another time, if fate allows."
With that one graceful refusal, the once-hyper masters fell into a collective sigh of disappointment. They could do nothing but watch as Ge Yuanshan held Lin Yuan's work with pride, clearly feeling like he had won a priceless treasure.
Some of them even muttered half-jokingly that they wanted to tear it apart just to make the old man share the fortune.
As the crowd finally dispersed and calm returned to the venue, Yu Shanshan, ever playful, ran over and wrapped her arms around Lin Yuan's arm. She looked up at him with wide, pleading eyes and said in a sugary tone, "Cousin! You wrote something for Chi Qian, and now even for Old Grandpa Ge! What about me? I want one too! Just a little poem! Pretty please?"
Her voice was sweet as honey, and her expression full of expectation, like a child asking for candy.
Lin Yuan looked down at her and raised an eyebrow, amused.
The day wasn't over yet, and clearly, neither were the requests.
*****
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