There were many students in the calligraphy classroom, and hardly any were smiling; most had frowns and troubled expressions.
The option to study calligraphy was mostly enforced by parents, with very few children choosing it themselves.
Actually, if it weren’t for their parents forcibly adding calligraphy, they wouldn’t even know what calligraphy was.
As soon as Little Taotie entered, she heard Little Fatty’s loud voice, "My dad told me this was the easiest, that all I had to do was write some characters! Liar! Big liar! Is this just writing characters? Writing with a brush, I can’t even write characters at all! One stroke and it’s just a blot of ink. I thought I wrote a character, but it’s actually just a blot of black!..."
Listening, Little Taotie deeply sympathized and nodded vigorously.
She felt the same way, earnestly writing stroke by stroke in the way she was taught to write, but once she finished, all that was left on the paper was a black blob where all the ink had merged together!
"Tap, tap, tap..." The sound of a cane tapping the floor echoed, and the classroom instantly fell silent. The boisterous Little Fatty also clammed up, not daring to breathe loudly.
An elderly man walked in at the door, dressed in a Sun Yat-sen suit with a stern face and deep frown lines between his brows, revealing that he had been frowning since his youth. Now that he was old, even without frowning, the creases between his brows were deep, as if they were permanently knit together.
The old man had a pair of bright, piercing eyes like a tiger’s; one glare from him was quite intimidating!
The children were all afraid of him, and they were even more so when he spoke!
"To practice calligraphy, you must sharpen your spirit and sit up straight, everyone!"
All the children sat up straight, as if they had iron boards strapped to their backs, extremely well-behaved.
"Pick up the brush, dip it in the ink, make the stroke, all in one go!" the old man demonstrated.
Their faces flushed with distress.
With one fierce glare from the old man, the children shuddered and immediately picked up their brushes, imitating his movements clumsily.
Although they had the form right, a look at their actual skills revealed nothing but ink blots with no discernible shape.
Walking down from the podium, the old man looked at the first child with an increasingly fierce gaze. The child was almost scared to tears, but before he could cry, the old man moved on to the second child, resting his eyes on their characters.
The old man felt a pain in his eyes and swiftly moved to the third child’s desk.
His pace quickened as the pain in his eyes intensified.
He stopped in front of Hua Jinyan, where he uncharacteristically relaxed his shoulders a bit and let his gaze linger for quite some time before moving to Little Taotie’s desk. The old man closed his eyes, let out a breath, and, upon opening them again, looked at Little Taotie’s face.
After rinsing his eyes, the old man moved on to inspect others’ writing.
Little Taotie exhaled and with a furrowed brow looked at her own work—a black blob. She then turned to see Hua Jinyan’s.
Hua Jinyan’s characters were truly beautiful!
When will I be able to write as beautifully?
Little Taotie bit her brush handle.
"Tao Ti!" a severe, elderly voice rang out.
Instinctively shuddering, Little Taotie was called out by full name in a fierce tone unique to the calligraphy classroom.
Little Taotie pitifully put down her brush.
"How many times have I told you, can’t you remember! The brush is not for chewing! Go, stand at the door as punishment!"
She pitifully looked at the old man; though there were flowers blooming above his head, his expression was ferocious, and he glared at her, "Get going, now!"
Little Taotie nodded, her heart heavy, and took small steps to the door, standing up straight.
"What are you looking at? Write!" the old man ordered fiercely.
The children dared not linger on the spectacle, quickly bowing their heads to continue practicing their calligraphy earnestly.