Chapter 220 - Slapped in the Face Again

Zhao Lina laid out the rice paper and used the Golden Star Rosewood Paperweight, which emitted a calming sandalwood fragrance, to secure the four corners of the rice paper.

Seeing Ye Fan standing there, pensively gesturing with a brush in the air, she couldn’t help but call out, “Hey, are you casting a spell?

I’ve already laid out the paper, come and write.”

Ye Fan stopped gesturing, chuckled, and replied, “Alright.”

Zhao Guodong, speaking with the tone of an elder encouraging a junior, said, “Write boldly, there’s no need to hold back.”

“Alright,” Ye Fan responded with a smile, nodding at Zhao Guodong, and then walked over to the writing table, gazing intently at the rice paper.

Zhao Lina and Zhao Guodong both watched intently, holding their breath.

Just as they thought Ye Fan was about to begin writing, he suddenly turned to Zhao Lina and said, “The ink in the inkstone is a bit thin and scarce, Lina, could you grind some more for me, a bit thicker?”

Zhao Lina, speechless, responded irritably, “Can’t you grind it yourself?”

“Lina, go help Ye Fan with the ink,” Zhao Guodong said with a smile.

He suddenly felt a bit of anticipation, as Ye Fan’s specific request for the ink suggested he had some foundation in calligraphy.

Left with no choice, Zhao Lina walked over, picked up the ink stick, and started grinding proficiently.

While Zhao Lina was grinding the ink, Zhao Guodong introduced the ink with a hint of pride, “This ink is a thirty-year-old aged pine soot ink stick from Huangshan, from the Cao Sugong brand.

Ye Fan, you’re quite fortunate today; I usually don’t use this ink carelessly.”

Cao Sugong ink had been passed down since the Qing dynasty, spanning more than three hundred years, thus many high-quality old inks—even those considered antiques—originated from Cao Sugong ink.

The pine soot ink sticks made from Huangshan pine were top-notch, but due to national environmental protection regulations, Huangshan pine could no longer be cut down, making authentic Huangshan pine soot ink hard to find in the market, and not just because of the price.

Moreover, the older the ink stick, the better and more precious and rare it was.

Some old ink sticks from the Qianlong era were several times more expensive than gold.

Thus, given Zhao Guodong’s status, he couldn’t help but introduce the ink he was currently using to Ye Fan.

Ye Fan, sniffing the air, nodded with a smile, “Indeed, it’s very good ink.

Heh, I’m flattered.”

Zhao Guodong laughed out loud, delighted.

Having fine things also required someone who could appreciate them, which would bring joy to the collector.

“This brush feels very comfortable to hold; it must also have a bit of history, right?” Ye Fan asked, following Zhao Guodong’s mood.

Zhao Guodong smiled and said, “This brush isn’t anything special compared to the Huangshan pine soot ink, just a Purple Hare Lake Brush.

It feels nice to use, a pretty good brush.”

“Heh, it’s already a very good brush.

Lake Brushes have been famous across the land since ancient times, many calligraphers and painters use Lake Brushes,” Ye Fan remarked with a smile, “Using such good ink and such a good brush, I feel quite the pressure.”

Zhao Guodong said with a laugh, “You don’t need to feel nervous.

Ink and brushes are meant to be used.

If we don’t use them, they can’t demonstrate their value.

Write with peace of mind, without worrying about wasting ink or spoiling the brush.”

“Uncle teaches right,” Ye Fan nodded.

As the two conversed, Zhao Lina had finished grinding the ink.

“The ink has been prepared, Ye Fan, the great calligrapher, come and show us your calligraphy,” Zhao Lina called out.

Ye Fan could tell that Zhao Lina had a bit of a teasing tone in her voice.

With a faint smile, he walked over to the desk, facing the blank rice paper.

He focused and took a deep breath, and suddenly, an inexplicable aura emanated from him.

His tall figure seemed to take on the air of a grandmaster.

“This…” Zhao Guodong was taken aback, “This feels like something I have seen in some great calligraphers.”

Ye Fan dipped the purple hare brush into the inkstone filled with aged ink from the Huangshan pine soot and swiftly began to write.

Ye Fan wrote quickly, subtly using his Inner Strength, the force of the brush penetrating the back of the paper.

He wrote a pair of poetic lines in one smooth flow.

It wasn’t until Ye Fan stopped writing that Zhao Lina and Zhao Guodong came back to their senses from their astonishment.

Gently placing the brush on the stand, Ye Fan turned around and smiled at Zhao Guodong, “It’s not well written, I hope you won’t mind, uncle.”

Zhao Lina approached first to examine Ye Fan’s calligraphy.

She intended to take the opportunity to mock Ye Fan a bit, but upon seeing his characters, she was stunned and involuntarily recited the words Ye Fan had written, “With ambitions, one dines on enemy flesh, laughs and drinks the rivals’ blood.”

Seeing Zhao Lina’s expression, Zhao Guodong felt a throb in his heart, a bad premonition surfacing: Could his calligraphy be good as well?

Wasn’t it said that he had not used a brush for six years?

With doubts, he stepped forward to examine Ye Fan’s calligraphy and immediately felt an overwhelming, war-like presence coming towards him, seeing not just characters, but a tragic battle scene.

Zhao Guodong steeled his mind and looked again.

Ye Fan’s characters were firm and edgy, each stroke sharp and vigorous, like daggers and swords, each character stood out boldly yet the overall composition maintained a sense of high-order discipline and aesthetic grace.

This combination of individual brilliance and methodical order, with harmony between the singular and collective, subtracting or adding a character would disrupt the entire artistry, brimming with aesthetic appeal.

“Excellent characters!

Wonderful calligraphy!” Zhao Guodong couldn’t help but exclaim.

Ye Fan smiled lightly, “Thank you for your praise, uncle.

It’s been too long since I last wrote; this piece is a bit crafty and not truly refined.”

These were his genuine feelings since he hadn’t practiced calligraphy for so long; his hand was unsteady, making individual characters awkward.

So he improvised a bit, deciding not to get hung up on details but to win through the overall impression.

His gestures with the writing brush in midair had been him contemplating the strategic layout of the text.

Just as Zhao Guodong was about to speak, his gaze unintentionally fell on his own calligraphy to the left, and he suddenly felt an urge to tear it up.

Previously, he had been quite satisfied with his calligraphy.

Now, seeing both pieces side by side, their quality was immediately apparent.

The more he looked at his own, the less appealing it became, giving off a feeling of being amateurish and unrefined.

In contrast, Ye Fan’s strokes, daring and individualistic, maintained the discipline of an army in battle.

Thinking about how he had intentionally told his daughter not to move his calligraphy, aiming to overshadow Ye Fan’s work and contain him, he couldn’t help but feel his face burn, as if he had been slapped.

“Dad,” Zhao Lina called out gently, afraid that her father might react in anger and throw Ye Fan out immediately.

Zhao Guodong came back to his senses and laughed, “Lina, put these writing materials away.”

Then, he turned to Ye Fan, “Haha, Little Fan, come, let’s have a chat in the living room.”

As he spoke, he walked toward the door.

Ye Fan responded and followed Zhao Guodong out of the study.

As the two left the study, the comparison between the two pieces of calligraphy naturally concluded.