In Samantabhadra Courtyard, Qiqi sat at the table, copying out the Heart Sutra stroke by stroke. Hu Xiaotian had never had much interest in Buddhist scriptures, but this sutra had attracted so much attention that he took particular notice of it. Qiqi's calligraphy was fresh and elegant, neat and precise, with a style all its own. Hu Xiaotian had already read the Heart Sutra several times; lines such as "emptiness is form, form is emptiness" rolled off his tongue backward and forward. Judging by the wording, the scripture Qiqi was writing seemed no different. Yet the spacing between its words and sentences followed an ordered pattern of density, and Hu Xiaotian spotted its peculiarity almost at a glance. There was nothing remarkable about memorizing an entire Buddhist scripture. Plenty of people could do it, and even Hu Xiaotian could recite this Heart Sutra from memory. But reproducing every paragraph exactly as it had appeared was beyond him.
Qiqi was utterly absorbed, her mind free of distraction. Even with Hu Xiaotian standing beside her, she acted as though no one was there.
Hu Xiaotian dared not disturb Qiqi for fear of interfering with her transcription from memory. He stayed beside her for nearly an hour before she finally set down the last period. Then she slowly placed the goat-hair brush on its rest and said softly, "This is the best I can do. I wonder whether it will pass Yuanmu's scrutiny."
Hu Xiaotian said, "That old monk is nothing special. He doesn't know what the Heart Sutra actually looks like either."
Qiqi said, "If I give him the sutra, will he tell me some of the things he knows?"
Hu Xiaotian said, "Monks do not speak falsehoods. Since he promised you, I doubt he will go back on his word." Inwardly,