In Cheng Yunlong's mind, Drawing a Talisman was supposed to be a fluid and rapid process, like a dragon in motion. At least, the Feng Shui Masters he knew were all like that. Some of their movements were even so graceful they looked like they were dancing, a spectacular sight. How could Zhao Yuan be like this, struggling with every single stroke? A short horizontal line took him a good three to five minutes! 'If he's not just putting on an act, then he must be too weak!'
It wasn't just Cheng Yunlong; He Chengwei's family of three also couldn't help but murmur with doubt. As Zhao Yuan was Drawing the Talisman, his brush-holding hand trembled nonstop, as if he had Parkinson's disease. It was truly difficult to feel at ease.
But there was one strange thing. Although Zhao Yuan's hand trembled continuously, the brush itself was unaffected. It was as steady as Mount Taishan, and every stroke he drew was flawless.
This contrast was both surprising and utterly baffling.
