Chapter 59: Miracle Reappears, Perfectly Reciting

The wolf-hair brush touched the paper.

Ink seeped into the fibers of the sized Xuan paper, creating an extremely faint halo.

Xiao Sizi's wrist hovered in mid-air; her pale fingers gripped the brush handle as the brush tip pressed down steadily.

Enter against the grain, exit flat.

Under the capture of three high-definition cameras, the first line of characters appeared on the screens of two million people.

"In the ninth year of Yonghe, the year was Guichou, at the beginning of late spring..."

Lin Xuan stood behind the camera, arms crossed.

He did not understand the depths of running script, yet he could see the aura of the little girl at this moment.

Every stroke, neither hurried nor impatient, flowing like clouds and water.

That pink lounging pajama set could not in the slightest conceal the noble air radiating from her very bones.

Inside the live stream.

A minority of knowledgeable viewers, after seeing that first line, sent bullet comments filled with terror.

"This... what is this content?"

Jingcheng.

A study in a certain high-end residential complex.

Zhang Yuanshan, Vice President of the National Calligraphers Association, wore his reading glasses, his upper body almost pressed against the Tablet Computer.

When the two characters "Lanting" took shape under the little girl's brush, Zhang Yuanshan's arm trembled violently.

His sleeve cuff knocked over the purple clay teacup at the table's edge, and scalding tea splashed out.

His eyes widened, his gaze tightly biting onto every trailing thread and connecting stroke on the screen.

What flowed from under Xiao Sizi's brush was absolutely not the brief flying-white piece that had exploded in popularity a few days prior.

It was the genuine work of Wang Xizhi, known as the Number One Running Script under Heaven and lost for a thousand years—"Preface to the Poems Collected from the Orchid Pavilion".

Zhang Yuanshan's Adam's apple rolled up and down as he swallowed dryly.

The "Preface to the Orchid Pavilion" circulated in the current age is mostly a double-outline ink-filling copy by Feng Chengsu and others of the Tang Dynasty.

Although the copies resemble the form, they ultimately lack the wildness and vitality of Wang Xizhi when he wielded his brush fueled by wine back then.

But this four-and-a-half-year-old girl on the screen.

Her calligraphy exuded a vigorous and vivid spirit.

When writing the character "pain", the brush tip paused slightly, the ink color was heavy, and the force penetrated the back of the paper.

When writing "what was once enjoyed", the brush moved smoothly, with trailing threads connecting the characters between words, the brush breaking but the intent remaining connected.

What made Zhang Yuanshan tremble all over was that the little girl even wrote out the several smudges and corrections from the original post.

She was not mechanically tracing red characters.

Instead, she completely replicated the state of mind and process of Wang Xizhi when he put pen to paper back then.

This was an on-the-spot performance that naturally flowed after thoroughly digesting the spirit of the genuine work and melting it into one's very bones and blood.

How is it possible for anyone in this world to have seen the genuine work?

And even learned that unreplicable vivid spirit to the fullest extent?

Zhang Yuanshan took off his reading glasses and rubbed his flushed cheeks with both hands.

Inside the study.

The wolf-hair brush raced across the paper surface.

The faint fragrance of the Library Pavilion in Taiji Palace echoed in Xiao Sizi's mind.

She remembered Father Emperor unfolding that precious genuine work on the desk, his large palm wrapping around her small hand, breaking down the Wei-Jin style stroke by stroke.

"Sizi, this character must carry three parts of drunkenness and seven parts of unconstrained freedom; remember not to be rigid."

Father Emperor's teachings were still ringing in her ears.

The three hundred and twenty-four characters were written extremely fast, in one continuous breath.

The final stroke "Si Zuo" concluded the piece.

Xiao Sizi suspended her wrist and placed the brush steadily on the edge of the Duan Inkstone.

She straightened her waist and exhaled a long breath lightly.

Inside the live stream, a silence as dead as death.

Two million online viewers; the screens were spotless, not a single bullet comment floating by.

Everyone was suppressed by this Huaxia art that spanned a thousand years and was extremely shocking, forgetting to strike the Keyboard, forgetting to make a sound.

Finally, a screen full of exclamation marks erupted.

The bullet comment flow was too fast, causing the server to lag slightly.

Those black fans and water army hired for money fell completely silent.

Mechanical arms cannot write brushstrokes that mix dryness and moisture; projectors cannot create the texture of paper and ink blending together.

Iron-clad facts smashed their doubts into powder.

The wind direction instantly reversed.

"Where are those barking dogs who cried out to expose the fraud? Get out and speak!"

"Two million pairs of eyes are watching, three camera angles in full view!"

"This brush tip, this momentum; that so-called expert Liu Qingfeng, come out and walk a few steps!"

"Look at the trending search! Liu Qingfeng's account has been cancelled, and the several big V's who stirred up the rhythm ran away overnight!"

The abusive voices were completely drowned out by wild mockery.

Countless passersby turned into fans; the bullet comments were entirely filled with worship and amazement.

Just then, a dazzling gift effect exploded in the center of the screen.

The highest-tier donation, "Carnival," lit up one after another.

Ten, twenty, fifty...

A glaring red official-certified bullet comment lingered at the very top of the screen, refusing to fade for a long time.

"Zhang Yuanshan, Vice President of the National Calligraphy Association: In my lifetime, witnessing the divine charm of Lanting reappear in the mortal world, I shall die without regret!"

"This is absolutely not a ghostwritten piece; it is a millennium-old inheritance carved into the very bones!"

With official endorsement, the verdict was sealed.

Great Tang, Taiji Palace.

Li Shimin's eyes stung with tears.

Chu Suiliang and a host of other calligraphy masters were already in tears.

They looked up at the Sky Screen, sobbing uncontrollably.

They recognized the authentic spirit and bone structure that His Majesty had treasured in the inner palace and rarely showed to others.

A princess of the Great Tang, a thousand years later, used the Great Tang's heritage to win this war without smoke.

Eastern Jin, Kuaiji Shanyin.

The stream murmured, with floating wine cups winding along the curving water.

Wang Xizhi stood by the water's edge, gazing up at the vast sky.

Looking at the calligraphy on the Sky Screen, he seemed to see that afternoon in early late spring when, fueled by wine, he had wielded his brush.

The unrestrained spirit and the joys and sorrows of life between the lines were displayed to perfection by a little girl from fourteen hundred years later.

He understood.

Someone truly understood his drunkenness.

Wang Xizhi straightened his clothes and brushed fallen leaves from his sleeves.

Facing the Sky Screen.

He clasped his hands, bent low, and bowed deeply until his forehead touched the ground.

Behind him.

Xie An, Sun Chuo, and a host of other Wei-Jin scholars, usually wild and unbridled, all put aside their arrogance.

Together, they straightened their robes and bowed deeply to the empty sky.

This was the highest level of respect offered by generations of literati and artists to this Great Tang princess who inherited the Wei-Jin spirit.

The mouse keys clicked crisply.

Lin Xuan decisively cut off the streaming signal.

On the Personal Computer Monitor, the bullet comment stream, which had surged like a blizzard, instantly froze, then turned pitch black.

Lin Xuan pulled out his computer chair and let out a long, heavy breath.

The string in his chest, which had been taut for a full two hours, finally relaxed.

He stood up and walked to the desk.

Facing Xiao Sizi, who sat upright on the chair, he gave a thumbs-up.

"Well done."

"In this round, you have fully restored your father's honor."

Xiao Sizi put down her brush and lowered her head to carefully scan the entire sheet of prepared Xuan paper.

The ink was half-dry, and between the lines shone the nobility of the Great Tang's peak era and the lingering style of the Wei-Jin period.

However, her face showed no joy at Lin Xuan's praise.

Xiao Sizi's brows furrowed slightly.

Her lips parted.

In those large, clear black-and-white eyes, there was no pride, only unmasked longing and confusion.

She raised her hand and pointed with her short index finger at the Xuan paper.

"Brother Lin Xuan, while I was writing just now, I glimpsed many red words flashing on that screen."

She learned to read very early and never forgot what she saw.

Those bullet comments posted by official-certified big V accounts had fallen into her eyes.

"Those people said that this 'Preface to the Poems Collected from the Orchid Pavilion' is a lost masterpiece from a thousand years ago, that this calligraphy has long vanished without a trace."

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