As soon as Wang Yan's pen tip touched the paper, Shangguan Moyao couldn't help but feel a wave of regret in her heart: It's over, the calligraphy she wrote was wasted again.
While Shangguan Moyao was pondering how to cut off Wang Yan's stroke, Wang Yan's first stroke was already finished.
With the completion of this stroke, Shangguan Moyao's eyes suddenly widened, looking incredulously at Wang Yan's stroke.
For a calligrapher, the essence can be seen in a single stroke.
Just this one stroke had already left Shangguan Moyao dumbfounded; she had already seen Wang Yan's extraordinary skill.
Just now, Shangguan Moyao had considered her own calligraphy to be quite high, but now compared to Wang Yan's stroke, her own words were completely like the scribbles of an uneducated child, crooked and unshaped.
