Chapter 9 Geniuses are always a little weird
In front of you is a courtyard with green bricks and green tiles, nestled against the mountains and beside the water. The courtyard is full of lush bamboos, and the sound of birds singing reflects the spring scenery, as if the words in the poem "The river flows beyond the sky and earth, and the mountains appear and disappear" have been moved here.
Following the stone path around the koi pond to the main building, an elderly man with silver hair but a strong body sat on a throne in the corridor, swaying with his eyes closed.
Like sitting in a cradle and coaxing yourself to sleep.
"Mr. Wu."
Hearing the familiar voice, Mr. Wu suddenly jumped up, but his movements were too big, causing the armchair to shake violently. He struggled for a few seconds before finally sitting up.
His eyes were as big as bells, staring at the girl who was only a few steps away from him and was smiling like a flower.
He quickly stood up and strode over, slapping Meng Anran on the arm. He sniffed and felt very aggrieved, "You heartless person, you still remember to come and see me! Tell me, how long has it been since I last saw you!"
Meng Anran rubbed the spot where Wu Lao had hit her, and said indignantly, "I'm here! I brought you a good seedling, do you want it? If not, I'm leaving!"
After she finished speaking, she turned around and made to leave. Old Wu quickly grabbed her and said, "No, no! I'm an old man and it's so boring to stay here. It's a rare visit for you, so please stay with me for a while!"
Meng Anran gave him a resentful look, pulled out Meng Chenghong who was hiding behind her, and led him forward, "This is my brother."
Meng Chenghong greeted him timidly, "Hello, Grandpa Wu."
"Hey! So good!" Old Wu pinched the child's face with loving eyes. He felt sweet in his heart when he heard the word "Grandpa".
Then he suddenly realized it, his smile disappeared, and he stared at Meng Anran seriously, "That's not right, where did your brother come from?"
"I'll tell you about this later. Where are your pens and ink? I remember you posted on WeChat Moments the day before yesterday. You got a new set, right? Take it out and let the child play with it." Meng Anran took Meng Chenghong's hand and walked straight past Mr. Wu and headed for the study.
Old Wu was stunned for a moment, then reacted in shock and hurried after him, "Grandfather! That brush of mine is made of top-grade northern wolf hair! And that ink is also lacquer smoke ink that I spent several months making myself. It's very expensive! You can't use it for playing! If the child wants to play with it, I'll get him something else!"
Meng Anran stopped and said, "That's fine."
It doesn’t matter whether the ink is expensive or cheap, the ink here by Mr. Wu is not that bad anyway.
It’s enough for Meng Chenghong to practice.
Afraid that Meng Anran would waste the ink he had worked so hard to make, Mr. Wu hurriedly got a small basket of brushes of various sizes, as well as an inkstone, ink, and even rice paper.
Meng Anran chose an empty room with a table and let Meng Chenghong play here slowly and write his best calligraphy and painting.
Afterwards, I went to the pavilion in the yard with Mr. Wu to drink tea and chat.
"You mean, you're not some rich girl at all, and your family is struggling financially?"
After hearing the story of the real and fake daughter, Mr. Wu frowned.
How could something so outrageous and ridiculous happen? They could even take their own daughter away by mistake. Are they all out of their minds?
After sighing, Old Wu continued, "But it's good that you can leave the Lu family. Too many rules and regulations will stifle your artistic talent. The Meng family is poor financially, so why don't you come here and become my apprentice? I'll take care of you and let you enjoy the good life!"
Meng Anran took a sip of hot tea and glanced over, "Forget it, I don't want to be your apprentice."
Old Wu suddenly pursed his lips and looked mournful. "Wow, I've devoted my whole life to art. I'm already in my seventies, unmarried, childless, and without even an apprentice. Can you bear to see me die alone with no one to inherit my legacy?"
This trick didn't work on Meng Anran. She said leisurely, "You're only sixty-three, what's the point of being seventy or eighty? Besides, didn't I bring you a seedling?"
Old Wu looked disdainful. "You mean that kid? He doesn't look like an artist at all. Geniuses are always a little eccentric, like you, like me."
Meng Anran held her cheek and sneered, "His calligraphy is quite good, but it lacks a bit of soul, so I burned all the rice paper he had collected for practice."
Hearing this, Old Wu glared and said, "You're too cruel, aren't you? You're burning someone's child's treasure just like that?"
Meng Anran shrugged nonchalantly, "Talent sometimes has to be forced out."
Old Wu glanced over with disdain, "Do you think they all look like you?"
After saying this, seeing Meng Anran's indifferent look, Old Wu waved his hand again, "Forget it, forget it. You are not normal. It's useless to talk to you."
It was lunchtime and the servant called for dinner. Meng Anran and Old Wu walked back to the main house and first went to the study to find Meng Chenghong.
Meng Anran walked over, glanced at the running script of "Lanting Preface" on the table with the ink still wet, and raised her eyebrows slightly.
He is indeed talented. In just a few days, he seems to have understood what she said that day.
"It still lacks emotion and can't be called art." She said in a calm voice.
Art is the expression of emotions, thoughts and aesthetic concepts through creation or performance.
Perhaps because Meng Chenghong is still young, he does not have a deep understanding of the world and always focuses more on skills than emotional investment.
Wu Chongxi followed it and saw the running script written on it with sharp and vigorous strokes. His wrinkled hands couldn't help but tremble.
His throat choked for a long time before he uttered an old voice: "How long has he been studying?"
Being able to write like this at the age of nine must have been cultivated since childhood, right?
“One year for regular script, one year for running script.”
As soon as Meng Anran said this, Elder Wu's eyes widened and he turned to stare at her. "What? What did you say?! You can become so good in just one year?!"
Genius! This is genius!
"It's amazing that he can achieve this level of skill at such a young age!" Old Wu stared at the Lanting Preface, unable to move his eyes away, and exclaimed in amazement: "If he follows me, he will definitely become a great talent in the future!"
Meng Chenghong tilted his head and looked at Wu Chongxi in confusion, "Grandpa Wu, is your calligraphy very good?"
"Of course! I'm second best in the country, no one dares to be first!" Old Wu said without a hint of modesty. "How about it? Xiaohong, do you want to be my apprentice?"
Meng Chenghong hesitated for a moment, but Meng Anran directly declined on his behalf: "Forget it, you live in Shankala, which is so far away, and Xiaohong still has to go to school, so it's better not to have this master."
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