"Yes." Yan Huan walked toward Lu Yi and lay down in front of him, looking at the scroll that Lu Yi was opening. As a matter of fact, she did not understand a word written, this was the essence of Chinese calligraphy. It was much more wonderful than any language in the world, complex and highly varied. No other writings in the world could be the same as Chinese characters; each writer had a specific style, a specific spirit, and a specific artistic conception.
"Shen Junru will be passing away next year." Yan Huan let out a soft sigh. Life is unpredictable, humans are destined to die since the day they are born; the same was true for Mr Shen Junru. He had lived for 98 years and went through two different centuries.
