This was, of course, excellent calligraphy, though it was somewhat different from Ming Lingyi's own ethereal yet sharp style.
Ming Chengyu's characters were lean and hard, like hardy plums in winter or sturdy bamboo. The ink strokes were light, but the structure was clear and severe, like the placid surface of autumn waters hiding a vast expanse beneath. His brushwork showed no hint of contention, only a calm and easy grace, like an upright gentleman—open and honest, with an inviolable integrity.
Seeing her brother's handwriting again, Ming Lingyi couldn't help but exclaim, "Such fine calligraphy!"
'With her brother's calligraphy as a backdrop, the three poems seem even more extraordinary,' she thought.
Hearing her, Ming Chengyu turned back. "I figured since I'm a teacher hired by your restaurant, I can't just eat and not do any work. So I took this task upon myself. It seems the boss is quite satisfied?"
Ming Lingyi laughed out loud. "Satisfied, very satisfied."
