Chapter 135: The Spirit within the Ink

With that said, the shop owner had finished grinding the ink.

He picked up his brush—a Dharma artifact—and gave it a light dip into the inkstone.

After securing the paper with a paperweight, he began to write with a grand sweep of his arm.

Unlike his earlier effortless and relaxed style of splashing ink, the owner now seemed to be expending an immense amount of energy.

His movements were extremely slow.

Each horizontal stroke and vertical line looked less like writing and more like careful carving.

By the time he finished the four characters for “Diligent Study and Hard Practice,” the owner was already drenched in sweat.

He still had to sign the work and press three seals: the lead seal, the studio seal, and the name seal.

All three seals were carved from jade, featuring engravings of the “Three Friends of Winter”—the pine, bamboo, and plum blossom.

These three seals were all Dharma artifacts.

When the seals were pressed down, they firmly locked the flowing spiritual energy onto the paper, preventing it from dissipating.

An assistant standing nearby handed him a cup of tea.

The owner took a large gulp and handed the completed scroll to the assistant, instructing him to mount it first.

Then, he raised his brush, preparing to write the second scroll.

“Do you want to take a break? You look very tired,” I suggested.

Writing just four characters seemed to have drained a significant amount of his stamina; perhaps it would be better for him to rest before starting the second piece.

“No need. For a paired set of vertical scrolls like this, I must finish them in one breath,” the owner said.

“Only then will the energy fields be linked. If I write them separately, the effect will be compromised.”

The owner raised his brush and began to write once more.

As before, his style was the complete opposite of fluid, flowing calligraphy.

He moved as if he were lifting a thousand-pound weight, focusing all his concentration to ensure the power of the stroke penetrated the paper.

He gave his all to every single line.

During this process, his eyes were wide as copper bells, and sweat poured from his forehead.

I had never imagined that writing a few characters could look so arduous.

I even began to worry whether he would be able to finish the four words.

He pushed himself to persist until the very end.

The four characters for “Never Weary of Learning” were slightly easier to write than “Diligent Study and Hard Practice,” as they had fewer strokes.

When the final stroke was completed, even the owner let out a long sigh of relief.

He was covered in sweat, looking as if he had just returned from an incredibly intense ball game.

“Beautiful!” I looked at the four characters and clapped.

Even though I knew nothing about calligraphy, I could see the aesthetic beauty in these words.

They were written in a style so lively and vigorous that they seemed ready to leap off the paper at any moment.

“A pity. My level is still inferior to my father’s, after all. These characters didn’t reach perfection,” the owner said after taking another sip of tea.

“Not at all. Isn’t this already perfect?” I asked.

A dense energy field had already formed on the scrolls.

Even without looking at the spiritual aura, the characters themselves were elegant and dignified; hanging them on a wall would certainly add a scholarly air to any room.

“The effect is definitely adequate, but it still hasn’t reached the absolute peak,” the owner explained.

“The true essence of calligraphy is to let it flow from the heart, becoming one with nature. Even at a secondary level, one should be calm and composed, finishing it in one breath. My way of putting in such total effort is actually a sign of inferior mastery.”

I felt a flash of enlightenment.

Watching him write had given me a certain understanding of calligraphy.

It wasn’t that I suddenly knew the basics or techniques, but I began to understand how he made a thin layer of paper contain spiritual light comparable to a Dharma artifact.

Calligraphy was about expressing the writer’s inner thoughts through the characters.

The characters and ink were merely the medium, and the paper was the carrier.

The key was the writer’s emotion.

Therefore, brushstrokes born from a sudden surge of inspiration or feeling would naturally carry an energy field.

The more sincere and deep the writer’s emotions, the stronger the energy field would be.

It was difficult for the owner to recapture the mindset of a student’s youth—that relentless, “never weary” spirit of diligent study.

What he brought to the paper was the hardship and bitterness of his own long years of practicing calligraphy.

While that worked, the owner’s mastery hadn’t reached the level where his heart and brush were one.

He had used such force just now because he wanted to inject more spiritual energy into the calligraphy.

But in doing so, he had fallen short.

His goal was no longer to release his emotions through the brush, but rather to force more spiritual energy into the work to satisfy a customer’s needs.

“You’re too modest. This is already the most beautiful ink treasure I’ve ever seen. And with such a solid energy field, I’m sure it will produce the best possible effect,” I praised him.

Even if it was a work created with deliberate effort, it was more than enough for my purposes.

“Little girl, you don’t understand this field. My standards are higher than that. Look at the scrolls on the wall. Can you tell which one is the best?” the owner asked, pointing toward the interior of the shop.

The walls were covered in various handwritten works.

Since the owner’s assistant had taken his two new scrolls away for mounting, I had time to wander around the shop and chat with him.

I could tell he possessed a certain pride—or rather, a specific pursuit of calligraphic art.

Since I was interested as well, I began to observe the works.

Of course, I was clueless about appraising calligraphy.

To me, every piece looked like it had a high level of artistic merit.

However, the energy fields of a few pieces were clearly higher than the surrounding scrolls, and among those, two stood out like cranes among chickens.

Both of these were lines taken from poems.

One was from the Song of Righteousness: “To be the tongue of Yan Changshan, to be the blood of Ji Shizhong.”

The other was from the Seven Kills Poem: “Suddenly a madman grinds his blade at night; the Imperial Star wavers while Mars hangs high.”

The auras of these two pieces were diametrically opposed.

The first was filled with an awe-inspiring righteousness, upright and unyielding.

As I approached it, both the Iron-wire Dragon and the Golden Bee Gu immediately sent uncomfortable sensations to me.

They wanted to flee; the Golden Bee even flew directly out of the shop.

The second piece was filled with murderous intent.

When I looked at it, it felt as if a sea of corpses and blood had appeared before me.

That killing intent made my cheeks sting with a faint pain, as if they were being cut by a blade.

The paper of these two scrolls was slightly yellowed, showing they were of a certain age.

Yet the righteousness and murderous intent upon them remained incredibly strong.

Their energy fields were so powerful that they made the surrounding scrolls look dim by comparison.

I took a step back and pointed at them. “I feel those two are the best.”

The owner’s expression changed drastically.

He looked at me with a complex gaze before speaking.

“If I didn’t know you were completely ignorant of calligraphy, I would have thought you were a fellow professional. Your ability to perceive aura is truly formidable.”

I remained silent as the owner continued.

“Those two are not for sale. They are here to guard the shop. They were written by my father and grandfather, respectively. They are their masterpieces. I don’t know when I will ever reach their level.”

“These two scrolls were likely written when their emotions were surging, resonating perfectly with the original poets’ feelings, right? Their spirit and obsession have permeated the ink, lasting through the years. Once your emotions are in the right place, you should be able to write something like this too,” I speculated.

“You truly do understand. Unfortunately, you overestimate me. Even if I reached that state, I still wouldn’t match the level and mastery of my father and grandfather,” the owner said, his tone becoming much more respectful.

“If you don’t try, how will you know?” I asked.

To my surprise, the owner replied, “It is precisely because I have tried that I know I cannot.”