In an incense burner, wisps of blue smoke swirled. In the room, there was no visible source of light, yet some unknown light illuminated every inch of the space. High-grade large sheets of Xuan paper were neatly arranged on the desk. The owner of the study preferred soft brushes, so there was also an inkstone on the table. The ink in the stone was even and viscous, resembling both oil and water. A brush lay nearby.
That ink seemed to be waiting, waiting for the moment it would turn into a world-shattering article.
But in reality, the ink seemed freshly ground, merely the spell effect intrinsic to the inkstone. The brush had long remained untouched.
The owner of the ink and brush had been frozen here for a long time.
Xi Baiche, Master of Calculation, no matter what words he wrote, would be revered as masterpieces outside. Though his writing was indeed excellent, it was his identity that was truly prestigious.
However, even such a divine person had a day of furrowed brows.
