Yan Jidao's gaze meticulously swept over the scroll.
After a moment, he couldn't help but nod his head.
This style of writing, which he had never seen before, was indeed beautiful—bold and uniform, masculine and grand. Merely looking at it felt like a cleanse to the eyes, refreshing one's vision.
However,
Yan Jidao scrutinized it again and still could not discern any profound mysteries about entering the Dao in the calligraphy.
The writing was beautiful, and he felt it might be the best he had seen in years. But to Yan Jidao, it seemed just like all other calligraphy—showy but insubstantial.
It seemed that this was the common dilemma contemporary calligraphy faced—unlike the poetry of ancient Confucian masters that could be appraised by the Heavenly Dao, how could one judge its value?
Zhu Weirui, how will you step out of this predicament?
