Lu Yun wrote steadily and neatly, his characters full of strength and structure, remarkable for their near-perfect uniformity in size and spacing. With just this blackboard writing, he utterly eclipsed the younger generation.
Bai Xiaosheng touched his nose sheepishly, thinking that, compared to the Lu siblings, his writing was akin to "a dog's scrawl," no wonder Wei Xuelian always criticized his ugly handwriting.
Truly, without comparison, there would be no harm.
As Lu Yun wrote for an extended period, Cheng held the blackboard steadfastly, not daring to move a muscle. As time passed, his arms trembled from the strain.
Thankfully, a perceptive servant came over to help.
Lu Qingfeng, from beginning to end, observed intently—not the calligraphy, but the content, taking the time to scrutinize it closely.
What Lu Yun wrote was a story.
