Wen Caishang suddenly frowned, her technique chaotic, the characters crooked, barely taking shape.
It turned into another lesson. Li Xian ultimately bore a grudge over the "Thrusting Sword."
The wind chimes gently swayed.
Once she came to her senses, the sky was dark, another day had passed. Wen Caishang lay horizontally on the bed, her gaze floating, looking at the jade-green river.
Li Xian scrutinized the calligraphy, teasingly said, "It seems madam's calligraphy and painting skills are not all that impressive."
The first two characters showed great power, but the dozen characters that followed, the penmanship was coarse, technique chaotic, like bearing humiliation... as if greatly disturbed while writing. Wen Caishang's delicate face blushed, snatched the calligraphy and paintings, hid them in her sleeve, and they vanished into thin air.
Li Xian said, "The calligraphy is obtained."
"I still ask madam to teach me painting."
