The "Huan'e Tie" (Goose Exchanging Post) displays elegant running script, flowing brushwork, and perfect structure.

The Regular Script, Kaishu, inherently implies squareness and conformity; yet, these characters varied—some large, some small, strokes thick or thin. While maintaining overall harmony, the forms shifted dynamically between characters, lending a feeling of lightness and ethereal grace. However, some argue that this style of Xiaokai brushwork does not resemble that of Wang Xizhi, which sparks debate over authenticity.

It is worth noting that the Huan'e Tie bears no signature, ending only with the notation "Fifth month of the twelfth year of Yonghe." No one knows from whom the tradition began of linking this sutra to Wang Xizhi. Regardless, controversy persists to this day.

Of course, for many master calligraphers, whether the Huan'e Tie is a genuine work by Wang Xizhi is not the most important factor; what matters most is the inherently superior quality of the inscription itself. Otherwise, it would not have been revered by calligraphers throughout the ages as a treasure of Wang Xizhi.

Currently, Daozhen is writing the Huan'e Tie. Elder Zhang mentioned that he has devoted himself to copying this specific piece for over twenty years. After observing for a moment, Wang Guan was completely convinced. He watched as Daozhen wielded his brush with the speed of flight, yet every character was distinct, imbued with an air of beauty and open clarity.

The original Huan'e Tie has been lost. Wang Guan had viewed surviving rubbings through various channels. Recalling those rubbings now and comparing them to the calligraphy before him, he found that whether in the form of the characters or the layout of the structure, it was an exact match.

"Impressive."

Wang Guan admired it for a moment, and though Daozhen had not finished, he praised sincerely: "Truly dedicated; an absolute expert, a grand master at imitating the Huan'e Tie."

"Layman Wang flatters me,"

At this moment, a Daoist smiled: "Actually, it was a bit rushed. If Daozhen could have been given some time to prepare, to purify his hands with incense and settle his mind, he could likely have executed it even better."

"Mhm..." Wang Guan nodded, harboring no suspicion.

It was precisely this lack of suspicion that allowed Wang Guan to understand Elder Zhang's sigh. To reproduce the Huan'e Tie with such spiritual mastery, perhaps even surpassing the famous extant copies by past masters, demonstrated extraordinarily high innate talent in calligraphy. Yet, it was a profound pity that such a genius was so singularly focused, only capable of imitating the Huan'e Tie. It was truly squandering heavenly gifts, a waste of ability.

Waste is shameful and invites retribution. And indeed, the retribution had arrived: apart from the Huan'e Tie, Daozhen understood no other styles of calligraphy—a truly regrettable and lamentable situation.

As Elder Zhang had said, even if Daozhen reproduced the Huan'e Tie identically to the original, or even surpassed it, no one would ever acknowledge him as superior to the original author. This was because his achievements were made entirely within the framework established by the original creator. But remove him from that framework, and he becomes nothing.

Why do calligraphers throughout history tirelessly pursue innovation, forging new paths upon the foundations laid by their predecessors, creating something uniquely their own? It is because they understand clearly that there is no future living in someone else's shadow; only by establishing one's own school can one earn the respect of the world.

Evidently, Wang Guan admired Daozhen's perseverance in practicing calligraphy, respecting his two decades of unwavering focus on copying the Huan'e Tie, but he would never revere him, as Daozhen had not earned the qualification for such reverence.

"Layman Wang finds his writing excellent."

Meanwhile, at the prompting of other Daoists, Zhang Qing spoke softly, "I, however, feel there is still room for improvement. If he could inscribe the Huangting Jing using the fluorescent resin, with Daozhen's skill, the profound nature of the scripture, and the effect of the fluorescent resin, the resulting work would surely astound both ancient and modern times, leaving a legacy for all ages."

Zhang Qing’s words were undeniably direct, laying bare his intentions—a clear unveiling of his true purpose—but this was also entirely expected, and Wang Guan was not surprised.

However, Wang Guan did not respond directly, offering only an ambiguous smile before turning back: "Elder Zhang, it is getting late, and after looking at things all day, I am tired. Let us return to rest."

"Uh..."

For a moment, several Daoists were deeply disappointed but refrained from saying much more. After all, Wang Guan’s excuse was sound, legitimate, and factual; there was no basis for rebuttal. Moreover, if the guest wished to leave, could they force him to stay?

"Very well, let's go back then."

Elder Zhang maintained a neutral stance and naturally offered no objection.

Just as Zhang Qing and the others, their faces etched with disappointment, prepared to courteously see them off, Wang Guan abruptly shifted his tone: "This Daoist’s calligraphy is indeed very good, but I truly am tired and cannot continue watching him finish. I wonder if you have a completed copy of the Huangting Jing already written? Could you give me one to examine when I return?"

"...We do, of course, we do."

In an instant, the situation took a dramatic turn, blossoming into unexpected hope. The Daoists were a mixture of surprise and elation, scrambling to search. In the end, Daozhen himself reached into a drawer and retrieved a beautifully crafted booklet, handing it to Wang Guan with a somewhat bewildered expression.

Frankly, even at this stage, Daozhen did not fully comprehend Wang Guan’s identity, nor did he understand why his fellow disciples like Zhang Qing seemed to be showing him such deferential deference. However, hearing that Wang Guan admired his calligraphy and needed to study it closely, Daozhen did not mind offering his masterpiece.

Wang Guan took the booklet, glancing down as he did so. He saw that it was bound according to ancient methods, the paper undoubtedly high-grade Xuan paper. Opening a page, he saw lines of flowing, elegant Xiaokai that were immediately pleasing to the eye.

"Thank you."

Wang Guan nodded in satisfaction, offering no further commitments, and instead turned to call for Elder Zhang to leave.

Leaving Mount Longhu, about half an hour later, the group returned to Fang Mingsheng's Penglai Cottage. Although Wang Guan had claimed fatigue, everyone understood that this was an excuse. Thus, they did not retreat to separate rooms to rest but gathered in the living room for tea.

While Fang Mingsheng started the fire and brewed the tea, Elder Zhang asked directly: "Wang Guan, what is your thought process?"

"What thought process?" Wang Guan countered.

"Playing dumb again," Elder Zhang glared. "Be straightforward: they want to purchase your fluorescent resin. Are you willing to sell?"

"I don't know yet," Wang Guan admitted candidly. "I'm still hesitating..."

"Hesitating about what?" Elder Zhang was curious. "Are you reluctant to part with it? Or are you calculating how to squeeze out another hefty sum?"

"No."

Wang Guan smiled. "I'm considering how much it would cost to hire that Daoist to write a copy of the Huangting Jing for me."

"Hmm?"

Elder Zhang was instantly astonished upon hearing this. "So all this time, you were hatching this plan—to pull the rug right out from under them!"

"I’m not a fool," Wang Guan responded naturally. "If I possess something like this, having someone create a work for me would guarantee it becomes a rare treasure. Why should I enrich them?"

"Suit yourself. It's your own affair; you sort it out," Elder Zhang said, unconcerned. Now that the matter of the Zitan Yin'chen Mu beads was settled, he felt his involvement was over and did not intend to meddle further. He smiled and inquired, "By the way, what is that treasure of yours, the one even more valuable than Wu Zhen’s Fisherman?"

"A fine item, a rarity,"

Wang Guan played coy. Only after Elder Zhang urged him repeatedly did he finally bring the object out. It was contained in a long box, about the width of a palm—a brocade box typically used for mounting calligraphy scrolls.

Seeing the brocade box, Elder Zhang naturally made a mistake, asking with interest, "What calligraphy is it that is valued higher than Wu Zhen’s Fisherman?"

"It is not calligraphy," Wang Guan shook his head with a smile. "You'll know once you open it, Elder Zhang."

"What?"

Elder Zhang froze momentarily. "If it’s not calligraphy, what else could it be?"

"Elder Zhang, the treasure vault holds more than just calligraphy," Wang Guan replied, beaming. "There are other items inside that are quite valuable."

"That's true enough. Besides paintings and calligraphy, there are some precious Ming and Qing porcelains, as well as jade and metal artifacts," Elder Zhang nodded, then mused, "But judging by the box, it shouldn't be porcelain. Could it be that gold-inlaid jade ruyi scepter?"

"No," Wang Guan denied, shaking his head. "The gold-inlaid jade ruyi would fetch at most two or three million; there’s no way it rivals the Fisherman."

"That's true," Elder Zhang agreed wholeheartedly. "Given your character, you wouldn't trade a sesame seed for a watermelon."

"It's good that you know, no need to state the obvious," Wang Guan laughed.

At the same time, Elder Zhang made no ceremony and reached out to take the long box. He hefted it slightly and expressed surprise. "It's quite heavy. It looks to be about 1.2 meters long. Is it a weapon?"

"Not a weapon."

Seeing Wang Guan shake his head again, Elder Zhang decided to stop guessing and decisively flipped the box open.

"Ah..."

Instantly, not only Elder Zhang but also Fang Mingsheng, standing nearby, were stunned into silence, their eyes wide with doubt.

"This is..."

After a long pause, Elder Zhang collected himself, immediately knitting his brow in confusion. "Wang Guan, you... this isn't trading a sesame seed for a watermelon, is it?"

"Is it not?" Wang Guan’s smile remained unchanged. "I think this thing is quite good. Such a 'grand stroke' is rare."

What Wang Guan referred to as a dà shǒu bǐ (grand stroke) was not merely an adjective; it was a statement of fact.

Generally, the term dà shǒu bǐ refers to famous essays or works, or metaphorically, the execution of a magnificent plan. However, the dà shǒu bǐ Wang Guan spoke of, or rather, the item in the box, was literally a grand writing implement: an exceptionally large brush, commonly known as a rú chuán dà bǐ (a brush as large as a roof rafter).

The allusion of the chuán bǐ originates from the Eastern Jin statesman Wang Xun. One night, he dreamt that someone gifted him a large brush, the size of a roof rafter. Upon waking, he pondered the dream and told his family, "This portends a major literary undertaking."

As it turned out, not long after, Emperor Xiaowu passed away. Due to Wang Xun’s exceptional writing talent, the entire task of drafting the imperial edicts of mourning, obituary notices, and posthumous titles for Emperor Xiaowu was entrusted to him for promulgation across the realm.

From then on, rú chuán bǐ, bǐ rú chuán, chuán bǐ, bǐ chuán, and dà shǒu bǐ became goals pursued by scholars. Discovering they had not received a brush in their own dreams, some people simply fashioned large brushes themselves and hung them in their studies, whether as decorative ornaments or as omens imbued with deep meaning. Such large brushes have not been uncommon throughout history.

Now, Wang Guan had chosen this large brush over Wu Zhen’s Fisherman, which, in the eyes of Elder Zhang and Fang Mingsheng, was a clear case of abandoning the essential for the trivial, grasping at straws, and suffering a net loss.