Lu Zhao liked it when people called him Young Master.
In that respect, he truly retained the bearing of an ancient man.
At that moment, he was practicing calligraphy in his study. The room was steeped in Great Xia style as well, with classical rosewood furniture and a painting of Zhong Kui catching ghosts by some modern Great Xia master of calligraphy and painting hanging on the wall.
That master had caused a minor uproar before. An old man marrying a young wife had somehow been hailed as an eternal love story, earning him no small amount of verbal abuse from busybodies.
When I entered the study, he did not even raise his head, focusing intently on his writing.
I said nothing either and stood to one side, watching.
Four characters had already appeared on the rice paper: Those Who Follow Me Prosper.
Written in a semi-cursive style, they carried a touch of wildness.
That was only half the sentence. Naturally, I knew the other half: Those Who Follow Me Prosper; Those Who Defy Me Perish.
Was it not filled with menace and warning?
Sure enough, after writing the final four characters, he set down his brush and looked up. "What do you think of my calligraphy?"
"Free and elegant, with the style of a true master."
He smiled. "In your era, this would indeed be considered good calligraphy. But in our time, it would only have been average. Even an accountant from our era could become a great calligrapher today."
I had forgotten. Strictly speaking, he did not belong to this era. He was, in a sense, an ancient man. Naturally, ancient people were unmatched when it came to brush calligraphy.
He said, "Do you see all the furnishings in this study? Do you know how much they cost?"