"I really like your calligraphy," Li Zhibai praised.
"I'm glad you like it," Xu Chang'an also smiled.
It was rare to be praised by the teacher as not being foolish.
Li Zhibai shook her head, her fingers gently sliding in the air, creating ripples on the surface of the lake as if her fingers had become a brush, painting suspended strokes in the air.
Her fingertips hovered over the ink characters, gently tracing over each stroke, and in an instant, several characters appeared out of thin air.
Xu Chang'an recognized them; these were the forms of his calligraphy, and for a moment, he felt touched inside.
His characters, the teacher remembered them all.
"I really like them, but... there are parts I don't like," Li Zhibai looked at the characters, as if traversing through time, taking in all of Xu Chang'an's progress over the years.
