On the xuan paper, a large character "静" (Quiet) was outlined, the brushwork's force making it distinctive, different from the wild elegance of cursive script and the upright precision of regular script, its charm natural and its spirit innate.
Zhuang Xiyue was born into a Family of Scholars, exposed to poetry, painting, and calligraphy from a young age. She herself had a foundation in calligraphy and could see at once that the character Yun Ya wrote was excellent, skillful, and well-grounded.
As the saying goes, seeing the writing is like seeing the person, and it's not wrong at all.
"Unlike other styles, your calligraphy has a distinct character," Zhuang Xiyue admired it, unable to put it down. "Could you gift it to me?"
Yun Ya smiled and put down the brush: "I make Aunt Zhuang laugh, I was just casually writing, and it's really not worthy of public appreciation. If Aunt Zhuang likes it, I can write a special piece for her?"
