"...I think my father's words make a lot of sense, too, but they clearly contradict what we're standing by now. I can't understand where the problem lies, so I wanted to turn to you for an answer.
Can you tell me? I sincerely look forward to your reply-Draco Malfoy."
Zhang Xiao folded the letter and spoke to the owl standing nearby, eating dried meat.
"Thanks for your hard work. Have a good rest here while I write back to your owner."
Malfoy couldn't see through this problem, but that didn't mean Zhang Xiao couldn't.
In fact, grab any college student from his previous life with that clear-eyed look of innocent stupidity, and they could spout a whole pile of theories at you.
History taught them that fence-sitters and double-dealers never came to a good end. Walking a tightrope was even worse. Walk by the river long enough, and sooner or later your shoes would get wet.
Besides, no method remained valid forever. What worked in the past wouldn't necessarily work in the future. Things were always changing, and problems needed to be viewed dialectically.
Hadn't Lucius's approach earned him a reckoning after the war?
After a moment's thought, he took a brush from the rack, ground some ink, and wrote in Chinese on a sheet of fine, gold-flecked rice paper:
"My friend, reading your words is like seeing you in person..."
Once he finished, Zhang Xiao lifted the paper and blew gently on it, waiting for the ink to dry. Looking at those neat, upright characters in regular script, he felt utterly delighted.
All that practice drawing talismans had certainly improved his brush control.
His recent handwriting practice hadn't gone to waste, either. His dad might say it had the form but lacked the spirit, but it was pleasing to