Chapter 60: Grand Flattery Scene

Today's cultural arts center can be said to be exuding flattery in every corner.

In the middle of the hall stood an antiquated Ming-style large wooden table.

The staff had just spread out a roll of pristine cotton-fiber xuan paper, which is said to have a high proportion of Shatian rice straw, giving it strong ink-fixing ability.

Who knows if it's true or not, but in short, it's expensive!

Even the paperweight is made of genuine Hetian jade, carved with impressionistic beast patterns—some say they are dragon motifs, others say snake motifs.

Anyway, this is a mixed dragon-and-snake bullshit world; nobody cares whether it's a dragon or a snake.

Everyone cares more about Master Yin's mood.

Today, both calligraphy peers and business tycoons came to show support, so Master Yin Tiesheng's mood was naturally good, and he nailed the masterly demeanor today.

His half-year-old beard already bore the beginnings of a master's stature.

His hair was also mostly white.

Today he deliberately wore a white Tang suit full of cultural connotation, paired with an old, heavy black-rimmed glasses, utterly exuding a Republican-era master vibe.

"Let me tell you, calligraphy—whether academic or pugilist—ultimately depends on wrist skill."

"If your timing is off, even a rat-whisker brush won't let you write the Lanting Preface."

When Yin Tiesheng spoke, applause erupted throughout the venue.

Stirred by Yin Tiesheng's few words, regardless of gender or age, everyone present seemed to have had an epiphany, faces full of reverence, except for a few clueless dullards who hadn't grasped it.

Nanzhou Chamber of Commerce President Chen Yonggeng stepped forward to play the straight man: "Master Yin, you're the founding ancestor of the Palm-writing school; could you show us a trick today?"

"Fine, then I'll show a trick."

Five brushes—large, medium, small—hung on the brush rack; Yin Tiesheng didn't even glance at them, rolling up his pristine sleeves directly.

This posture looked as if he were about to conquer the world.

Yin Tiesheng extended his right arm, demonstrating the exertion while explaining to the crowd: "Shoulder leads elbow, elbow leads wrist, wrist leads palm; the palm follows the ink—calligraphy stresses flowing in one breath. If any link is blocked, the resulting work will have stagnant qi; one must move with qi…"

"Master Yin, these moves aren't easy," Chen Yonggeng said, imitating the motions: "I've got it in my head, but my hands haven't learned; I don't know how to exert force."

Yin Tiesheng smiled and replied: "Calligraphy, like any trade, isn't mastered overnight; you're still a beginner—you need to practice slowly."

"Master Yin, your discernment is impressive—you spotted me as an outsider at a glance." Chen Yonggeng gave a thumbs-up, laughing like a kid, utterly unashamed.

Seeing the atmosphere had been sufficiently built up, Yin Tiesheng no longer held back.

He directly pressed his right palm into the inkstone.

His palm came away coated with ink.

Just as Yin Tiesheng was about to give a grand display of palm-writing, a middle-aged woman with a work badge suddenly leaned in to whisper: "Master Yin, the Anti-Corruption Bureau people have arrived; they're over there."

She said, pointing in that direction.

Yin Tiesheng glanced up, saw Lin Dongfan admiring the displayed calligraphy on the wall, and smirked dismissively.

He withdrew his gaze and told the middle-aged woman: "My daughter's underling defeated you; you can't pull any tricks."

"The problem is…"

The middle-aged woman pointed at the xuan paper on the table.

Her implication was to remind Yin Tiesheng: today we're selling calligraphy; if the Anti-Corruption Bureau folks don't leave, who'd dare pay a high price for the artwork? Lin Dongfan is clearly here to wreck the event.

Yin Tiesheng understood that implication.

Yin Tiesheng chuckled nonchalantly: "No problem, he's just a petty clown; he isn't even worthy to grind my ink—giving him an extra glance is already giving him too much credit."

Seeing Yin Tiesheng so confident, the middle-aged woman didn't press further and stepped aside.

At this point, Yin Tiesheng also focused his attention on calligraphy.

Not rushing to write, he first recalled a proud episode: "Last year, a big boss in Jingcheng wanted me to inscribe just seven characters for ten million; I refused."

"Ten million?!"

Tiepai calligraphy celebrity Wei Xing seemed to have taken a ten-thousand-point critical hit, his face full of dejection; when he inscribes for others he merely pockets a tea fee, a few thousand yuan.

Yin Tiesheng seemed to know what Wei Xing was thinking, and laughed: "Old Wei, your timing still isn't enough."

"I really can't compare with you."

Wei Xing wore a humble smile, but inside ten thousand damning thoughts raged: "Besides pretending to be cool, I'm not as good as you; in what aspect is my timing lacking? Damn, shameless—if we truly compared skill, I could write better than you with my eyes closed."

Chen Yonggeng curiously asked Yin Tiesheng: "Master Yin, ten million isn't a low price—why did you refuse?"

"That guy can misread 'Old Great Sorrow of the Journey' as 'Old Great Walk Sorrow'—he's illiterate, wanting to slap a few characters on his office wall to pose as cultured; do you think I'd let him ruin my treasure?"

As his words fell, gazes of admiration surrounded him, praise unceasing.

This bout of showing off once again let Yin Tiesheng pull off the act.

The atmosphere and mood were set; Yin Tiesheng finally swung his ink-soaked right palm, conquering that pristine sheet of xuan paper.

"Everyone look well; the essential of palm-writing is just one sentence: shoulder, elbow, wrist, palm—linked link by link, the palm follows the ink! Calligraphy stresses flowing in one breath…"

Whether it was truly done in one breath is hard to say, but his movements were certainly fervent.

His ink-coated right palm would at times slice sideways, at times press down, at times lift back, flitting across the paper— to the uninitiated it looked like he was having spasms, practicing the Lightning Five-Lash Whip.

After wrestling with it for about thirty seconds, he finally completed the feat.

He wrote four large characters—"dragon horse spirit."

Not a single character was in traditional form; the peers fell silent as snow, while only an ignorant little girl, face puzzled, muttered: "Dragon bird spirit? This bird…"

Before she could finish, her boyfriend covered her mouth.

No one knew whether anyone nearby pondered how that dot in the horse character came about; anyway, nobody paid attention to that clueless girl, and soon the venue erupted in enthusiastic applause.

"Master Yin, those four characters are full of spirit!"

"Folks, even ordinary masters can't really produce this kind of force that penetrates the paper's heart; every stroke is vigorous and powerful."

"Master Yin truly lives up to being the grand master of Nanzhou's calligraphy world; admirable."

……

Wave after wave of flattering words surged toward Yin Tiesheng like a tide, making him beam with joy.

Nanzhou Chamber of Commerce President Chen Yonggeng excitedly admired this fresh-off-the-press calligraphy: "Master Yin, name your price—I want this piece."

"Everyone here today is a friend; mentioning a price would be a bit vulgar. If you like it, just take it—offer a token tea fee." Yin Tiesheng put on a bold, generous air.

The nearby staff then brought a basin and towel for Yin Tiesheng to wash his hands.

Chen Yonggeng smiled knowingly and said: "You speak of righteousness, but I can't upset the market—what do you think of this number?"

Saying this, Chen Yonggeng held up four fingers.

This isn't four hundred, nor four thousand, nor forty thousand—it's four hundred thousand, ten thousand per character, which is the so-called market rate.

If Yin Tiesheng wrote five characters today, that would mean five hundred thousand.

That is his rule.

After washing his hands, Yin Tiesheng wiped them with a white towel and laughed: "President Chen, since you're sincere, just name your price…"

"Ten thousand per character—is that gold lettering or silver? It's so valuable."

Just as Yin Tiesheng was basking in the glory of ten thousand per character, Lin Dongfan came over with his entourage, and the crowd in front instantly made way for him.

Lin Dongfan walked straight up to the table.

He examined the four large characters with interest and chuckled: "Dragon-bird spirit—how can these four characters be worth so much? Where's the value? I just don't see it."

That remark was like a doomsday nuclear bomb—once it hit, it razed everything!

The originally boisterous, large-scale flattery scene fell instantly silent. Some chuckled secretly, waiting for the show, while others glared at Lin Dongfan, wishing they could tear him apart on the spot.

Take today's star, Master Yin—his eyes were practically popping out of his head.