C9 Land of Orchids

Soul Qi is the essence exhaled by the soul of all things in the world, tantamount to the very soul of existence itself.

The spirit that clings to form is known as the corporeal soul, while the spirit that binds to the breath of life is the ethereal soul.

Those who emit Soul Qi are imbued with sentience.

Simply put, if an object can release Soul Qi, it signifies that the object has become sentient, no longer an inanimate thing.

Typically, Soul Qi cannot emanate from inanimate objects. Moreover, even living beings, unless nurtured in an environment rich with Soul Qi from a young age, are unlikely to emit it.

Should a person cause an object to emit Soul Qi, it indicates that their own soul power is immensely potent, potent enough to commune with the primal soul of all things, and even to reawaken the souls of the deceased.

Meanwhile, Su Hao was surrounded by an invisible aura, making the nearby objects—brushes, calligraphy paper, sandalwood calligraphy tables—quiver as they began to exude Soul Qi.

"The fusion of a human soul with that of an object is the pinnacle of calligraphy, a realm said to have been mastered only by the Book Saint, Wang Xizhi. And yet, Su Hao, barely into his twenties, has also grasped it?" Elder Zhao and Elder Lau fixed their gaze on Su Hao, their minds roiling with astonishment.

The Book Saint, Wang Xizhi, produced innumerable works throughout his life, mastering the four major script styles—clerical, cursive, regular, and semi-cursive—melding them into a unique synthesis that transcended the calligraphic norms of the Han and Wei dynasties.

Devoting his life to the art, in his later years, he mastered Soul Qi. In a moment when human and object souls merged as one, he wielded his brush with commanding grace, his light ink strokes birthing the timeless "Preface to the Poems Collected from the Orchid Pavilion," earning the veneration of calligraphers through the ages and the title of Book Sage.

And now, Su Hao, a mere twenty years old, had managed to evoke that same fusion of soul and object.

This was simply inconceivable!

As a tumultuous wave of shock stirred within the hearts of the two elders, the audience below was shrouded in bewilderment. They were at a loss about the 'Soul Qi' Elder Zhao and Elder Lau spoke of, and even more perplexed by the elders' profound shock. Yet, judging by their expressions, it was clear that Su Hao's forthcoming calligraphy would be extraordinary.

Onstage, Su Hao's movements were measured and serene. With a poised hand, he brandished his brush, each stroke as fluid and elegant as a dancer amidst blossoms, as graceful as a beauty making her entrance. His artistry was akin to a lotus mirrored in water, a celestial maiden casting shadows—truly a vision of red lotuses reflecting in the pond, of azure mists floating above the marshes.

"In the ninth year of Yonghe, a year of the Gui Chou, at the onset of late spring, we convened at the Orchid Pavilion in the shadow of Mount Kuaiji to partake in the purification rites."

"The gathering was graced by sages young and old, amidst towering mountains and dense bamboo groves, with a vibrant stream cascading nearby, its reflections dancing on either side. We arranged our seats along its winding path for a wine-drinking contest, and though we lacked the grandeur of strings and woodwinds, the simple pleasure of a drink and a poem sufficed to indulge our deepest sentiments."

...

The two lines of robust and powerful characters took on a life of their own upon the calligraphy paper, causing Elder Zhao and Elder Lau to shudder, their scalps tingling with awe.

Su Hao's calligraphy was none other than the world-renowned "Preface to the Orchid Pavilion," a paragon of running script. The characters he penned flowed with a calm and natural grace, the brushwork delicate yet assertive, exuding an elegance that seemed to breathe life into the script. The composition was intricate and dynamic, as if the very essence of running script had been awakened.

"The character's momentum is bold and unrestrained, like a dragon soaring through the gates of heaven, a tiger reclining at the phoenix's court, with a mastery that transcends the threshold!" Wang Baiwan's eyes widened in amazement, his gaze filled with disbelief. He could scarcely believe that such masterful calligraphy was the work of a young man barely into his twenties.

The two lines of script before him seemed to dance with the grace of startled swans and the fluidity of meandering dragons.

As if the moon were veiled by wisps of cloud!

As if the wind were returning snow to the sky!

The audience below the stage collectively inhaled sharply, particularly those versed in calligraphy, their faces etched with astonishment.

As Su Hao wrote, his brushwork was expansive, capturing the essence of birds soaring through the sky—bold yet delicate, a testament to his mastery.

Even Elder Zhao, a paragon of cursive script, might not achieve the level Su Hao displayed.

Unfazed by the awe-struck gazes surrounding him, Su Hao continued his calligraphy, undisturbed.

For him, there was only the art of calligraphy, his entire being absorbed in the dance of ink and paper.

"On such a day, with the sky so clear and the breeze so gentle, I gaze upon the universe's vastness and survey the abundance of life. With such sights and sounds, my heart and eyes roam free, finding pure delight."

"A woman's companionship spans a lifetime. She may find solace in an embrace, wisdom within the confines of a room, or she may place her trust in others, wandering beyond the constraints of the physical form."

...

The brush tip touched down smoothly and swiftly, completing the work in one fluid motion.

A faint wisp of green smoke seemed to emanate from the calligraphy paper, as if a sprite were fluttering its wings in a delicate dance.

"To follow the heart with the hand is easy, yet it can quickly become contrived. By reducing force and guiding the brush inward, one achieves fluidity without breaking. Elder Zhao's technique, akin to the 'right army's straight thrust,' brings the essence of cursive script to its pinnacle," Elder Zhao said, his body quivering as he watched Su Hao's calligraphy, not wanting to miss a single detail.

Elder Lau, standing beside him, swallowed hard and whispered, "Like a cool breeze escaping the sleeve or the moon cradled in one's arms, Elder Zhao, this must be the brushwork of Wang Xizhi!"

Elder Zhao remained silent, but a sharp glint shone from his clouded eyes.

The Sage of Books, Wang Xizhi, aspired to lofty heights and brimmed with creativity. He never dwelled in the shadows of his predecessors, nor did he conform to the present, instead, he wielded his heart and hand to forge his own path.

He had masterfully blended the diverse and exquisite brush techniques he had gleaned from the Qin and Han dynasties into his True Flowing Grass script, creating the finest style of his time. In doing so, he set a new standard, pushing the old aside and paving the way for future generations.

This was also why Wang Xizhi was held in such high esteem, for his ability to "combine the methods of many, to form a school of his own."

The Su Hao before us, in both his brushwork and habits, bore an uncanny resemblance to Wang Xizhi. His calligraphy, infused with the five natural essences of energy, spirit, breadth of mind, depth of feeling, and majestic beauty, brought the variations of ancient styles to life with striking clarity.

Such calligraphy had eclipsed numerous facsimiles of the "Orchid Pavilion Preface." Should these works be auctioned, they would fetch no less than several hundred million. It was hard to believe that Su Hao, barely past twenty, had managed to elevate the art of calligraphy to such a sublime level.

In the front row, Lin Yilun gripped his wine glass so tightly that, despite the red wine spilling over him, he couldn't shake off his astonishment. "No... It's impossible, how... How could he produce such calligraphy?"

Lin Yilun was consumed with frustration. How could this idle loafer, someone he deemed unworthy of even carrying his shoes, exhibit such extraordinary talent in calligraphy? It was utterly preposterous!

Meanwhile, in the back row, Bai Wenling's hand flew to her mouth, her eyes fixed on the man on stage who was the picture of concentration, undistracted and immersed in his art. Her face was a canvas of complex emotions.

She had been wrong—profoundly so. The old Su Hao had always been a background figure, the butt of jokes. But the Su Hao of today, even standing silently, exuded a powerful allure that captivated all who looked his way.

She had been viewing Su Hao through old lenses, never considering that he had changed, that he was now worlds apart from his former self. In this moment, Su Hao radiated confidence and serenity, his eyes alight with purpose. The calligraphy flowing from his brush was like wordless poetry, a dance without motion, a painting without images, music without sound. The splendor of his artistry was beyond the reach of mere words.

Every stroke Su Hao made brought forth another burst of awe from the crowd. The entire hall was captivated by his presence.

"So, this is the real you…" Bai Wenling gazed at the slender silhouette on stage, a flicker of something unusual passing through her eyes.

Onstage, Wang Baiwan, who had been silent, was utterly astounded, his gaze locked on Su Hao, seemingly unable to look away.

A monster?

A genius?

Or perhaps, heaven's chosen?

Maybe none of these labels could truly capture Su Hao at this moment—they seemed too superficial.

Su Hao's eyes swept the room, taking in Elder Zhao and Elder Lau's excitement, Wang Baiwan's sighs, Lin Yilun's frustration, and Bai Wenling's astonishment.

And then, he laughed—a laugh of sheer, unbridled joy.

In his previous life, such a moment would have been unthinkable. Yet here it was, unfolding in this life, with him at the center of it all. He had become the protagonist of his own story, a day he had longed for far too long.

With a deep breath, Su Hao's hand danced, and his brush soared, painting a scene where rosy clouds and solitary birds flew together, the autumn waters merging with the sky.

Then, abruptly, he stopped.

"Hmm?" The crowd murmured in confusion, their eyes turning to Su Hao, wondering at the sudden pause.

"Ladies and gentlemen, my approach to calligraphy is to let my heart lead, unbound by the constraints of reality. When my heart signals to stop, I must put down my brush. Please accept my apologies," Su Hao said, setting down his brush and bowing slightly to the audience.

His words were not entirely true. The Pretentious Experience Card had simply run its course, and he was back to knowing nothing about calligraphy. He had to stop before his lack of skill became apparent.

The audience felt a twinge of regret. Such exquisite calligraphy, halted mid-stroke—it was truly a loss.

As Su Hao ceased writing, Elder Zhao and Elder Lau nodded in understanding and quickly moved forward to scrutinize his work once more. The more they examined, the more their astonishment grew.

"Bold in the main strokes, delicate on the sides, the writing is graceful and unrestrained, a masterpiece for the ages... Although this 'Preface to the Poems Collected from the Orchid Pavilion' is incomplete, it already reflects the exceptional artistry of Mr. Su's calligraphy."

As the two most emblematic calligraphy masters in Quanzhou, they had encountered numerous prodigious calligraphers over the past thirty years, witnessing many attempts at inscribing the "Rays of the Pavilion." Yet, in their experience, no one had ever attained the level of mastery exhibited by Su Hao. Each line and contour brimmed with the essence of Wang Xizhi's technique.

Despite the fact that this "Rays of the Pavilion" remained unfinished, its value was in no way diminished. Indeed, it could be said that even the most seasoned connoisseurs of calligraphy would be moved to admiration upon beholding this piece. It was the kind of admiration that acknowledged a rare talent surpassing the old masters—a true case of the pupil outshining the teacher.

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