Rebirth in 1980: The Farm Wife Makes a Comeback
Chapter 170: Writing with Both Hands

Chapter 170: Chapter 170: Writing with Both Hands

And grind as you go: Fresh ink must be ground as it is to be used, for if ink is left for more than a day, the glue and soot gradually separate. The ink then becomes dull and lacks luster, and it cannot last long. Hence, writing with old ink easily fades. The ready-made inks sold on the market have some that are heavy with glue which hinders the brush, while others have too low a concentration, easily bleeding on paper. The excessive preservatives also damage the brush tip and are not suitable for use.

Qin Xiangnuan has, from the beginning of her calligraphy practice, always used an inkstone, adhering to pure calligraphy teaching. She didn’t use ready-made ink, including when she wrote Spring Festival couplets; she always ground her own ink. She has been grinding ink for nine years, nearly ten now.

According to the time given by the system, it is actually more than a hundred years of calligraphy achievements. She has also been grinding ink for nearly a hundred years. If she could not produce anything of quality, it would truly be a disservice to herself and the system.

Mr. Sun, with his brush loaded with black ink and in a proper stance, has already written several large characters on the rice paper.

High in rhyme and depth of emotion, firm in character and vast in spirit — not one element can be missing to qualify as calligraphy. —— Liu Xizai

With a single infusion of energy, a stroke is made, it appears like a wild horse breaking free, soaring high and leaving all behind in a trail of dust; it resembles a dragon flying to the heavens, twisting and turning. From nothingness it comes, and to the void it returns, enveloping the primal impulse of life’s crazed vigor with the spiritual essence of heaven and earth. Simple yet encompassing everything, and with an air of nonchalance, it possesses grand sweeps and dips, rhythmical pauses and turns, fully expressive of its meaning.

Unexpectedly, this Mr. Sun turned out to be a respected calligraphy expert. Indeed, one can discern from his writing the traces of his youthful encounters with slaughter; thus, the strokes bear some degree of curve and straightness. However, when he draws a slant or straightens it, the brush becomes softer, probably a characteristic of his later years.

As for the others, although Qin Xiangnuan does not know if they are famous, they each have their own distinct style. The writings are different, the meanings are not the same, yet this kind of handwriting can not be found among the people of later generations.

Of course, it is also not like the characters on the Spring Festival couplets; obviously, these characters are cleaner, crisper, and have matured a lot.

"Little girl, would you like to give it a try?" Mr. Sun offered his brush to Qin Xiangnuan.

"Can I?" Qin Xiangnuan hesitated. Actually, to tell the truth, she also felt the urge to hold a brush and write her own universe, to splash the ink and color boldly, but it seemed inappropriate to take someone else’s brush.

"Go on, take it," Mr. Sun handed the brush to Qin Xiangnuan, "Judging by the way you grind ink, you should have some foundation. Let this old man see just how good that foundation is."

Holding the brush, Qin Xiangnuan felt a slight stirring in her heart. She closed her eyes, and after a while, when she reopened them, the brilliance in her eyes was half-concealed.

This was the first time she was writing in such a setting. She wanted to know how well she could write and also to receive guidance from Mr. Sun. Such an opportunity was rare, and she did not want to miss it.

She added a bit more water to the inkstone, grinding the ink slowly and steadily. A good preparation is key to success; the longer the time, the calmer she became. Unknown to others, she was aware of the century-old power within her—this was no fabrication.

She took a deep breath, already having something in mind.

She switched the brush to her left hand—it was the calligraphy of a left-hander. Mr. Sun’s smile widened; so the young lady was a lefty.

Qin Xiangnuan opened her eyes again, her eyelashes slightly lowered, and her spirit equally composed. She held the brush directly overhead, ready to make the first stroke—