Chen Wenzong stood by the desk, cradling the Xuan paper as he silently recited lines of poetry about autumn, serene as jade.
For some reason, a sense of regret and melancholy welled up within him.
What he regretted was that, apart from the line "Withered vines, old trees, crows at dusk," all the other lines of poetry were incomplete. While each line was exquisite on its own, they still lacked a complete artistic conception and couldn't be considered complete works.
Just as Chen Wenzong was about to put down the Xuan paper, he picked it up again... It was precisely these incomplete lines that made him itch with an uncontrollable curiosity.
He examined the calligraphy of the poems—graceful and elegant; certainly not written by the Princely Heir.
