He wanted to see the young lady holding the brush he had held in the past and writing with it.
This was probably impossible.
Zhou Linghuai felt a little regretful. If he had known back then, he wouldn't have gone against his father in order to change to a softer brush. Not only did he suffer, but he also didn't anger his father in the end.
He remembered that he had gone to look for his father with the words his teacher had praised him for writing well.
His father held the piece of paper and read it word for word. In the end, he even patted his shoulder hard and laughed. "You're indeed my son. You're so smart. You're just like me. You're only five or six years old, but you already know how to use soft brushes. If word gets out, I'll be so proud." Then, his father patted his shoulder smugly. "You've really made me proud."
