The stern woman pursed her lips, averted her gaze, and looked elsewhere, remaining silent.
After surveying the room, Zhu Yourong slowly began,
"When Ziyu writes horizontal strokes, each stroke is like restraining a horse by its reins, striking the paper against the grain, retreating slowly and returning swiftly. It is not as all of you methodically and smoothly pass over with the grain. At that time, his brush pressed down to the right before stretching out horizontally and then gradually retracting to form a sideways stroke, capturing an upward diagonal momentum like a rider tugging at the reins intensely, the force driving inward through the crossbow..."
Zhao Rong raised his eyebrows, unable to help but look up at the woman in front of him, who, at this moment, was seriously explaining and clarifying doubts to the students about calligraphy like a dedicated mentor. Her face was stern, one fist clenched behind her back, the other hand firmly resting on the characters on the table. Her eyes were bright and expressive, her demeanor dignified and graceful yet solemn and serious, showing none of the tranquility or easygoing charm she exhibited in their private interactions.
When it came to calligraphy, the woman in the Confucian robe seemed like a completely different person.
After a lengthy discourse, Zhu Yourong exclaimed,
"In this way, just now, these three mesmerizing horizontal strokes were written, and they are not the same, each slightly different. Ziyu adjusted the main stroke of this segment slightly to the right, immediately stabilizing the balance. This technique of adjusting structure through brushstrokes... In these subtle details, one sees the momentum of the brush. Just this one point, at present... I am also inferior, and I need to learn earnestly from Ziyu."
Her expression very earnest, she spoke and then couldn’t help but turn to look at Zhao Rong, who quietly gazed aside, seemingly still focused on the small bamboo tube. Was the well water in it that important to him? Meanwhile, that pavilion and well did indeed seem a bit odd...
If Zhu Yourong’s earlier analysis had merely stirred ripples in the hearts of those present, her now assertive "eagerness to learn" was like a thunderclap on a clear day, causing the students of Shuaixing Hall to instantly widen their eyes and look at Zhao Rong in amazement.
Yu Huaijin stared intently at Zhao Rong, silent. She was now certain that this man, who had attended class throughout the previous day, was indeed the author of the couplets that had puzzled her and who she had mistakenly thought to be her master... yet that couplet co-authored by Zhao Rong and Zhu Yourong still worried Yu Huaijin somewhat.
Zhu Yourong sat upright, her jade-like demeanor graceful, her eyes keenly fixed on the small character "zheng" in front of her, unblinking as if she could never get enough of looking at it, and began speaking with enthusiastic interest, "Let’s discuss these remaining two vertical strokes. Ziyu has hidden even more refinement within them. You should all listen carefully. From now on, your writing of ’zheng’ should become more pleasing to my eyes..."
The students of Shuaixing Hall promptly bowed in response, and seeing this, Zhao Rong also bowed.
Then, crowded around this small desk, they listened intently to the elegant and dignified woman in the Confucian robe as she taught, though they occasionally couldn’t resist glancing sideways at Zhao Rong’s calm profile.
After what seemed an age, the roaring Jiang Feng outside seemed to have quieted down, reaching a truce with the rustling of the Fenglin trees. Zhu Yourong had just finished speaking, her lips slightly upturned at the end of her speech.
Suddenly, as if something had occurred to her, she turned her head and looked intently at someone, saying seriously, "Peiliang, are you still sure that just writing a single character can produce a ’zheng’ as Ziyu does?"
All eyes turned in that direction.
Wu Peiliang was silent, his head drooped in dismay.