The ink bamboo on Xia Wanyuan's paper was thin and tall. Its branches were proud and snow-white, and it looked as if it was made up of a noble man's heroic spirit. It was not something to be trifled with.
A top-notch painting, the object in the painting, was a fusion of the artist's state of mind. From Xia Wanyuan's ink bamboo, one could clearly sense the integrity in her heart.
The signature was signed off with the words' Yuan Wanxia '.
Elder Zhong happily took Xia Wanyuan's calligraphy and painting away. He wanted to take a look more, but he didn't.
It was almost noon. Madam Zhong had wanted to ask Xia Wanyuan to stay for lunch, but something had cropped up at the office.
Having never eaten at a university campus before, Xia Wanyuan ordered a meal in the canteen.
