In his previous life, Xia Nan had not had any particular hobbies.
If anything, back when he was a student, he had still often been able to call up a few friends and go play some sports on a court. After he started working, his only form of entertainment had been sitting in front of the computer on his days off and playing games.
If "transmigration" had not happened to him, then in another decade or so, when the first digit of his age reached "4" or "5," perhaps he would only then have developed interests like "fishing" or "literary antiques."
And he himself did not possess any related knowledge, ability, or artistic cultivation.
So, most of the time, when a layman like Xia Nan tried to judge whether a carving was good or bad, he could usually only do so through the most basic aspects: appearance, material, and price.
The more exquisite the content, the better. The more eye-catching the texture, the better. The more expensive the price tag, the better.
But right now, the gray-black wooden carving before him gave him a completely different feeling.
It lay quietly on the shelf like a dust-covered rock, utterly unremarkable, yet for some reason it drew the attention of customers passing by, making them unable to help casting their gazes toward it, and thereby discover its rough yet subtly delicate wooden texture.
The statue itself was not complicated. Even on close inspection, it was impossible to make out exactly what had been carved.
But those flowing lines, secretly conforming to the grain of the material, seemed to have been born naturally, curving and extending, carving out what the sculptor had in mind in a way that was almost purely suggestive.
Though he could not say exactly what was good about it,