rpbooks Chapter 323 Fate is in the Pen
Chapter 323 Fate is in the Pen
The so-called mid-to-high-end products naturally cannot be these mass-produced pieces of paper.
It must be scarce, to the point that it gives people the feeling that "this thing is very valuable"!
What are you selling?
He needs to think about it carefully.
Jiang Bai pursed his lips and revealed a pure and innocent smile that made the hearts of the surrounding boys skip a beat again.
He turned his head and said softly to Su Ze, who was still counting money:
"Brother Ze, since the blind boxes are almost sold out... let's try a different approach this afternoon."
.......
In another corner of the playground, the noise was deafening.
In this carnival dubbed the "Great Migration of Intelligence to the Entire School".
A middle-aged man dressed in a smart suit and with his hair neatly combed was carefully squeezing out of the crowd.
His name is Qian Duoduo, nicknamed Boss Qian. He's a small-time real estate mogul in Shanghai. Today, he specially turned down a multi-million dollar dinner invitation just to come here and spend time with his son, who is a freshman in college.
Of course, he also came to see Jiang Baizhi.
"Tsk, bad luck."
Mr. Qian was carrying a purple cloth bag he had just snatched, and he opened it with extremely gentle movements.
He pulled out a rolled-up poster from it.
Although it's only the most basic R-rated game, the image quality is extremely detailed.
That was the moment Jiang Baizhi, wearing a JK skirt, turned her head in the breeze, exuding youthful energy.
"He certainly has an upright appearance."
Mr. Qian nodded and casually pulled the autographed photo out of his bag.
He had only glanced at it casually, intending to remark on how good-looking young people are these days.
But the moment his gaze fell on the three large golden characters in the lower right corner of the photo, Boss Qian seemed to be frozen in place, his eyes fixed there.
"This character......."
Although Boss Qian came from a nouveau riche background.
But in recent years, in order to squeeze into high society circles, he has hung many original works by masters in his study.
He has a calligraphy work in his home that is said to have been written by the vice chairman of a certain association. It cost him 500,000 yuan at the time, and he treasures it like a precious artifact.
But now, he looks at the signature in his hand.
Flowing, agile, and with a restrained elegance, yet exuding a playful and lively charm within its grandeur.
Every stroke, from beginning to end, is like the work of a master craftsman, refined through countless trials.
Especially the heart-shaped finishing stroke, which blends seamlessly with the cursive script style of the preceding strokes, without any sense of incongruity!
"This is weird."
Mr. Qian muttered something and rubbed his eyes.
"Why do I feel that these three characters are written with even more... spirit than the 'Instant Success' calligraphy in my study that costs 500,000 yuan?"
Although he could see that she was good, he wasn't a professional after all, and he always wondered if he was just having a crush on Jiang Baizhi and that this was a misconception.
then.
Boss Qian took out his phone and snapped a high-resolution picture of the gold signature.
Immediately, he opened WeChat, found a friend named "Mo Hai You Long", and sent the photo directly to him.
Boss Qian: [Mr. Wu, could you take a look and tell me how well these three characters are written? I just picked one up on the roadside... cough, I saw it at a charity sale stall.]
.......
At this moment, in a quiet private garden in Kyoto, there are artificial hills and flowing water, exuding an ancient charm.
Mr. Wu, the honorary chairman of the China Calligraphers Association and known as the "Number One Calligrapher of Running Script," was holding a thick-patterned purple clay teapot and shaking his head slightly at a newly copied ancient calligraphy.
"It's still missing a little bit of charm; it's too superficial. This world is too superficial."
Just then, the phone on the rosewood table vibrated.
Old Wu glanced sideways and saw that it was a picture sent by Qian Duoduo, the real estate tycoon who only knew how to make money all day long but insisted on pretending to be cultured.
"This Qian Duoduo, he probably found some fragments of famous works somewhere and came here to show them off to this old man."
Old Wu slowly put down the teapot, put on his reading glasses, and casually swiped the screen.
"Oh, a photo of a little girl? An autographed photo?"
Upon first glance at the picture, Old Wu muttered something under his breath, his tone full of disdain:
"When did Qian Duoduo start following celebrities?"
"You've become so obsessed with your idols that you've lost your mind. You even dare to ask me to authenticate these printed scribbles? It's simply..."
Before he finished speaking, his gaze fell on the three golden characters in the lower right corner of the photo.
In that instant, Old Wu's half-closed eyes widened suddenly, and he even stopped breathing for half a second!
"Wait a minute!"
With trembling fingers, he made a "two-finger zoom" gesture towards the screen.
Zoom in, zoom in some more.
Blessed with masterful calligraphy skills and incorporating divine design elements, the three large characters—Jiang, Bai, and Zhi—are now captivating the veteran artist's attention with a powerful and dynamic quality that seems to leap off the screen.
"The pause and hesitation of this horizontal stroke... the sharpness of this brushstroke..."
Old Wu gasped, feeling a surge of electricity rush from his fingertips to the top of his head!
"His brushstrokes are as swift as a startled swan, his writing as fluid as a swimming dragon!"
"This kind of penetrating and insightful writing style could never be achieved without forty years of dedicated practice!"
"And what's most remarkable is that these characters possess an ethereal 'spirituality' that transcends worldly concerns!"
Old Wu seemed to have gone mad. He didn't care that it was a purple clay teapot worth tens of thousands of yuan. He threw it on the table and scrambled to his desk.
He spread out Xuan paper, ground the finest Huizhou ink, took a deep breath, and began to copy the image by referring to the photos on his phone.
"River--"
As the first word was uttered, sweat beaded on Old Wu's forehead.
"white--"
After writing the second character, Old Wu's palms were soaked with sweat.
"Zhi—"
As the third character ended, Old Wu stared intently at the grass radical and the stroke below it at the very end of the name.
What was originally an extremely vigorous ending stroke was, in the last millimeter, naturally and playfully sketched out a small heart.
Old Wu picked up the pen and tried it once, but his heart was as stiff as a brick.
I tried twice, and the heart shape was crooked and looked like a potato.
After trying for the tenth time, Old Wu dejectedly threw down his brush, slumped into his armchair, stared at the scraps of paper scattered on the floor, and muttered to himself:
"I can't write it... I can't write it at all."
"In front lies the demeanor of a master, behind lies the sincerity of a young girl."
"The interplay of strength and gentleness, age and youth, sainthood and charm, is so perfectly blended... This isn't human writing; it's divine will at work!"
He didn't have time to reply; he picked up his phone and made a call.