Chapter 031: The Calligraphy Competition

Yang Tian did not blame the old Master Yang. After all, their generation had lived through a unique and arduous period. It wasn’t easy for the old man to have his own interests, and as for himself, he had indeed been too indifferent as a child. It was only natural that he wasn’t favored by the elder.

But he could well understand the feelings of Yang Bao and his wife. From Yang Tian’s earliest memories, he recalled that the old Master Yang seldom visited their home. One reason was that Yang Bao’s house was some distance from Yang Ming’s, and the other was that the old man’s health was poor and he couldn’t endure the strain of travel.

Still, as sons and daughters, who wouldn’t wish for their parents to be close, so they could show their filial piety? Yang Bao’s mother had died early, and the old man had raised the two brothers on his own. Naturally, Yang Bao wished to repay his father’s sacrifices while he was still young and strong. Unfortunately, the elder’s eccentric temperament seemed unwilling to grant him the opportunity.

Because of this, a wish had always lingered in Yang Tian’s heart: to help Yang Bao fulfill his filial duty, to bring happiness to the old Master Yang, to make Yang Bao and his wife smile, and to see three generations under one roof, living joyfully and content.

“Xiaotian, will you be participating?” Huang Juan asked softly when she saw Yang Tian lost in thought. The class was abuzz with talk of the event.

“I’d like to give it a try,” Yang Tian replied, smiling faintly as he returned to himself.

“Then go for it! I remember your brush calligraphy used to be beautiful!” Huang Juan’s smile was sweet, dimples playing at her cheeks.

“And will you be joining?” Yang Tian asked with a smile.

“I’d love to, but I can’t write with a brush!” Huang Juan replied regretfully.

“It’s fine, I can teach you!” After a moment’s thought, Yang Tian grinned. By teaching Huang Juan calligraphy, he could both regain his own skill and help her fulfill her dream—killing two birds with one stone.

“Great! Let’s practice every afternoon from now on!” Huang Juan was delighted. Perhaps participating wasn’t the main thing; the joy was in the practice itself.

“How about at noon? There’s more time then.” Yang Tian smiled sincerely. In the evenings, he tutored his foster sister Zhang Xinyu, so only lunchtime was free.

The calligraphy competition instantly enlivened the once-quiet campus. The first-year students were rather reserved, but the second and third years threw themselves into the contest, each eager to showcase their work.

Of course, there were bold newcomers among the first-years too. In Yang Tian’s Class Five, Sun Hui was the most enthusiastic. His grandfather, Director Sun of the town’s cultural office, was renowned for his calligraphy, so Sun Hui naturally wanted to stand out.

When Sun Hui brought in a mounted scroll bearing the bold characters “For the Public Good,” the whole class gasped in admiration. Even those usually unimpressed by him—Huang Juan, An Qi, and Chen Ming—looked at him with new respect. The four characters were executed with the vigor of an accomplished calligrapher.

Only Yang Tian smiled quietly. To his discerning eye, the work was likely the handiwork of Sun Hui’s grandfather. No matter how talented a child, they couldn’t match the strength or spirit found in an elder’s brushwork—especially with such a flawless Liu style, the strokes crisp and taut, the structure precise. A child might capture some of the style, but never the full vigor.

Yang Tian shook his head with a smile. Sun Hui was naïve to enter his grandfather’s work in the competition—his intentions were good, hoping to win a prize and earn his classmates’ admiration, but the consequences could be serious. The contest was organized by the city’s cultural bureau, and if things went awry, even his family’s influence in Luohe Town wouldn’t help.

Fortunately, the school noticed and returned the piece during review. Yet Sun Hui was undeterred—he spent a night laboring over his own calligraphy. Though it didn’t compare to his grandfather’s, it was still quite good and earned the class’s praise.

“Are you happy now? Is there still a smile on your face? Life has always had its share of sorrow and hardship, so try to smile more and worry less. Is what you’ve gained still so little? Have you given so much more? The road of life is never perfectly smooth, so don’t dwell too much—live with a little more ease. Wishing you peace, wishing you peace, may happiness surround you always…” From the music store outside the campus, Sun Yue’s “Wishing You Peace” drifted through the air, stirring many memories in Yang Tian.

Because of the calligraphy competition, most of those memories revolved around his grandfather, Yang Qingtang. His own aloof nature had made him unlikable to the old man, yet deep down, didn’t he yearn for his grandfather’s affection?

Of course, that was a childhood wish—what grandchild doesn’t want their grandfather’s love? Now all he wanted was for the old man to come live with Yang Bao’s family, so they could enjoy the happiness of three generations together.

“Yang Tian, why did you stop writing? Oh, is this the right way to write this character?” Huang Juan’s question broke into Yang Tian’s thoughts. They were practicing calligraphy at the ping-pong table on the east side of the school.

“Heh, Xiaojun, the way you’re holding the brush isn’t right. I remember my grandfather told me: if you grip too loosely, the brush slips and you can’t control your strength; too tightly, and you can’t create the proper tip—both are wrong. The key is a moderate grasp. Watch how I do it!” Yang Tian smiled, then demonstrated the correct posture for holding a brush.

“Wow, it’s a bit tough, but it does feel smoother when I write! What other tricks are there to brush calligraphy? Tell me everything!” Having learned the grip, Huang Juan eagerly practiced, though they could only use old newspapers instead of proper rice paper or drawing sheets.

“Calligraphy is divided into several schools, each with its own techniques. I’m not familiar with the others, but my grandfather taught me the essentials of Yan style: four points and five strokes. The four points are lifting the brush, pressing down, lifting again, and pausing; the five strokes are dot, horizontal, vertical, left-falling, and right-falling. Master these and you’ll have a solid foundation.” Yang Tian’s heart stirred as he spoke, recalling how passionate and hopeful Yang Qingtang had been when teaching him, and how he himself had been cold and dismissive. No wonder the old man had eventually lost hope in him.

“That sounds easy! If we practice diligently, we’ll master it in a month!” Huang Juan’s dimples deepened with her bright smile.

“It’s not easy. My grandfather spent fifteen years perfecting those basics. The advanced techniques—turning, folding, angular, rounded, hidden tip and exposed tip—took him another twenty years!” Yang Tian said with pride. He believed Yang Qingtang deserved to be called a true master—someone with passion and perseverance, who ultimately achieved greatness.

At last, Yang Tian found another reason to enter the competition: to bring the Yan style of the Yang family into the public eye.

“Hehe, Xiaotian, why does every sentence of yours circle back to your grandfather? Do you miss him that much?” Huang Juan leaned closer with a mischievous grin.