44 The Pagoda of Sun and Moon 1 (1/2)
Within what appeared to have been a period of several breaths, autumn receded to a bitter winter.
Each day was considerably colder than before, with snow constantly raining onto the already frozen ground.
The streets of Jiang'an remained open, though not many people dared to tour the roads of wealth under such miserable conditions. Hence, though one could see lines of merchants and stores opened on the major pathways, it was obvious that many had withdrawn into safer confines.
The bustling sounds of youth and boisterous exchange among citizens had dwindled, with only the footsteps of the occasional military patrol resounding in the granite corridor. The Young Masters and Young Misses no longer visited their poetry gatherings, nor did the scholars attend to their Scholar's Associations or residences.
The snow continued to fall, accumulating to form a thick layer of white on the ground. Wherever one would turn, all that would stare back was a glaring, blinding sea of white that couldn't be removed regardless of the cost.
Melt it, and invite a disaster of ice; shovel it away, but where to?
Thus, the citizens merely withdrew into their shells, not even daring to issue servants to clear the streets or the courtyards in their manors. The Imperial Court remained shut with an iron chain, though the primary reason was not snow, but something else entirely…
-
”Only two weeks to go…” Wei Xuan murmured, peeking out of the oiled paper window to glare at the sea of snow that had devoured his residence. The snow glared back, forcing the former to flinch and cover his eyes from the reflected sunlight.
”Will the Pagoda of Sun and Moon even manage to open at this rate…?”
”Father, did you say something?”
A quiet voice called from the depths of the study, spreading an involuntary but heartfelt smile across Wei Xuan's countenance. Closing the window and sealing it shut, he handed a scroll to the nearby Xiao Ying tending to a stack of books, before heading towards the drawing table in the center.
There, sat a girl in a coat of scarlet fox fur, writing onto a sheet of stationary paper with a brush of weasel hair.
”Something wrong?” Wei Xuan called out, giving the girl a light pat on the head. ”Let Father check your work, it's already been an hour.”
Ignoring the girl's protests, the minister's right arm swooped in to snatch the sheet of paper away. Bringing before his eyes, the minister began to read with an amused tone.
”G-Give it back!”
”The nature of man is to possess and discard,” Wei Xuan read whilst dodging the girl's feeble swipes and lunges. ”Accelerating to his death, man snatches useless gold and silver, discarding the essence of life and nature – Fei'er, why are you practicing with such a statement?”
An Fei came to a halt as she glared at the amused Wei Xuan, who took the initiative to dangle the sheet of stationary paper before her hands. Ignoring his gloats and panting heavily to regain her breath, the girl pointed towards the opened book on the drawing table.
”Xiao Ying brought out a random book. I just copied what's on the page.”
Raising an eyebrow in curiosity, the minister picked up the book, stroking the cover before scanning the page. Just a moment later, however, Wei Xuan released a light sigh before walking towards the girl. Reaching over, he pushed her onto the half-moon chair, before grasping her right arm with his fingers.
”You have the content copied accurately,” the minister guided An Fei in writing the statement again, his fingers manipulating her wrist to twirl the brush on the paper.
”But the essence was portrayed wrong. For a passage from a book written by a person of great caliber as this, one must carefully assess the interior meaning of the content. Rash copying and memorization without understanding the underlying concept will simply result in a distorted mind.”
”Remember, every action in calligraphy is initiated by the wrist. The hand, fingers, and arm only follow the movements you make with the wrist, allowing the brush to transverse across the medium without any interruption. This is the fundamental principle behind calligraphy, but is one that is often not comprehended well by those claiming to be scholars.”
”All in the wrist…” An Fei murmured, her eyes following the movements of her wrist guided by Wei Xuan. ”But why can't I write using my fingers?”
”Fingers?” the minister echoed, letting go of the girl's wrist.
Observing her fingers as they slid down the brush's length to rest just above its base, Wei Xuan narrowed his eyes before rubbing his chin in thought. From a single glance, he couldn't determine any critical aspect or misinterpreted position, causing him to furrow his brows.