Certainly, the calligraphy scroll before them now could not possibly be the work of Zhang Zhi. However, the author of this piece was a master of Cursive Script on par with Zhang Zhi himself.

“Huaisu?”

In an instant, an expert’s surprise was mingled with a trace of uncertainty. “Take a look, does this match Huaisu’s brushwork?”

“The wild cursive of Monk Huaisu?”

At the same time, others reacted, their eyes once again alight with a brilliant glow.

For anyone fond of calligraphy, Monk Huaisu is surely not an unfamiliar name. He was a cursive script master who dominated an era in the history of calligraphy. His brushwork was vigorous and powerful, his turns as round as a ring, unrestrained and flowing, executed in a single, unbroken breath. He was famous alongside another great Tang Dynasty calligrapher, Zhang Xu, known collectively as Zhang Diansu Kuang—or the Mad Zhang and the Drunken Su.

The Tang Dynasty represented another zenith of Chinese calligraphy, following the Wei and Jin periods. Whether it was the Four Great Masters of the early Tang or the Yan Jin Liu Gu (Yan’s bones, Liu’s structure) of the mid-Tang, they were topics of endless admiration. However, when it came to Cursive Script, in the minds of most people spanning the two or three centuries of the Tang, only two figures were truly worthy of mention.

These two, naturally, were Zhang Xu and Monk Huaisu. Zhang Xu needs no further introduction, hailed as the Sage of Cursive Script; his wild script was famously counted among the Three Wonders of the World, alongside Li Bai’s poetry and General Pei’s swordsmanship.

As for Huaisu, he was a monk, one who certainly did not abide by the strict monastic precepts. He took the tonsure in childhood and was obsessed with calligraphy as a youth, wholly immersed in paper, brush, ink, and the wash. He spent his days scribbling haphazardly, leading to his expulsion from the monastery twice.

However, researchers suggest Huaisu’s decision to become a monk was neither due to renouncing the mundane world nor poverty. His father, grandfather, and great-grandfather had all served as minor officials, such as county magistrates or chief clerks. By the standard of his family background and lineage, his was considered a scholarly household.

It appears, however, that there was a tradition of monasticism in Monk Huaisu’s family. For instance, his granduncle, Huirong, was also a monk and a calligrapher whose study of Ouyang Xun’s style was nearly indistinguishable from the original.

Furthermore, taking monastic orders had its advantages. That period was right in the midst of the An Lushan Rebellion; Monk Huaisu’s quiet cultivation in the monastery meant he was truly “outside the Three Realms and beyond the Five Elements.” No matter how turbulent the political winds blew, they had no bearing on him, allowing him the stillness to practice calligraphy, thus forging him into a grand master.

It was precisely because they understood Monk Huaisu’s renown and were keenly aware of the immense artistic value of his cursive script that Elder Zhou and the others were so excited. Moreover, compared to the works of other famous calligraphers, Monk Huaisu’s cursive script was easier to authenticate. One only needs to consider: while cursive script is easy to learn, truly excellent examples are exceedingly rare. It is much like Taijiquan—easy to pick up, but difficult to master.

Especially Monk Huaisu’s cursive script, which was like “a summer landscape of myriad strange peaks,” unpredictable and ever-changing.

For an ordinary person, forget mastering it; even tracing it accurately was difficult to grasp its essential spirit and charm. This is why, in the collecting market, counterfeits of famous calligraphers are common, but works in Cursive Script are exceptionally scarce. First, there are fewer people who understand and appreciate cursive script enough to purchase it. The second reason is the sheer difficulty of imitation.

Based on this reasoning, after a thorough examination, one expert declared with absolute certainty: “This is an authentic piece of Huaisu’s wild cursive.”

“Look here, the brushstrokes resemble trailing silk threads, like light, colorful ribbons. In all their looping and coiling, you can never find a knotting point…”

The expert began to analyze: “This is a hallmark of Huaisu’s cursive. Many people mistakenly believe Huaisu’s wildness is all about splashing ink in broad, expressive strokes—that’s a superficial view. In my opinion, Huaisu’s brushwork leans more toward delicacy, yet it is restrained and subtle, often invisible to the common eye.”

“Mmm.”

Someone nearby agreed: “The entire piece vibrates with spirit; the ink dances actively, the brushwork carries a vigorous wind. At a glance, it seems like a mighty river surging in full spate, with waves cresting amidst the grandeur. But look closely, and it’s like a restrained, subtle stream, where the gentle flow reveals an aura of clarity and elegant strength, winding and bending, ceaseless.”

As the expert expounded, Wang Guan listened intently. Yet, due to his limited study of Cursive Script, he couldn't quite perceive the nuances the expert described. However, upon careful observation, he certainly felt the writing possessed a well-balanced arrangement; the composition and spacing of the characters were rational, the ink variations perfectly appropriate, creating a feeling of immense comfort. It was indeed a fine work.

It was not that Wang Guan was being shallow; this was actually a small trick in authentication. Since a calligraphy scroll is composed entirely of characters, the effect of being pleasing to the eye is paramount. Otherwise, pages crammed with dense script would strain the eyes to the point of exhaustion, leaving no mood for appreciation.

Therefore, a good piece of calligraphy must first consider its layout and the variation in the ink. Especially in a long calligraphic masterpiece, where to leave space and where to condense, when to apply heavy strokes and when to lighten them—these details require profound consideration.

If the spacing is too sparse, it appears loose and shapeless. But if it is too densely packed, it feels cramped and suffocating. The ink intensity is similar: rich, flowing ink is desirable, but too much is excessive, resulting in a muddy black mass. Conversely, if the ink is too light, barely there, viewing it becomes a strain.

Because of these myriad considerations, the surviving masterworks of calligraphy are invariably superb pieces, serving as models for later generations practicing the art.

Meanwhile, another expert confirmed: “Not only is this Huaisu’s work, but it is specifically a piece from his middle years, after he grasped the true essence of calligraphy, when his creative output reached its peak.”

“What basis do you have for that claim?” someone nearby asked curiously, as not everyone could discern the exquisite subtleties in authenticating a scroll.

“There are certainly grounds for it.”

The expert smiled: “According to historical records, Monk Huaisu practiced diligently when he was young, even planting tens of thousands of banana trees and cutting off the leaves to use for practice. However, it must be admitted that his lack of formal mentorship in his youth laid the groundwork for his future innovations in calligraphy.”

“After all, it is widely known that in the era transitioning from the High Tang to the Late Tang, the Tang calligraphic atmosphere favored strict adherence to established rules. Wang Xizhi’s calligraphy was championed by Emperor Taizong in the early Tang, and people rushed to emulate it. Yet, Huaisu was a rebel; he paid little heed to the contemporary artistic trends, focusing more on his own explorations.”

As he spoke, the expert sighed: “After the An Lushan Rebellion, the great poet Li Bai traveled south to Dongting Lake. Li Bai was fifty-nine that year, and Huaisu was just reaching the age of majority (weak guan). He sought out Li Bai out of admiration to request a poem. This was Huaisu’s first and only interaction with Li Bai.”

“The two shared similar temperaments: Li Bai wrote a hundred poems after drinking, and Huaisu’s script became wilder with wine. As the elder statesman, Li Bai cherished talent and promoted rising juniors, affirming Huaisu’s innovation, even praising him in verse. Youthful Shangren is called Huaisu, his cursive script is supreme under heaven. Wang Yishao, Zhang Boying, how many gained fame of old? Zhang Dian died, not worth counting; my master’s meaning is not to follow the ancients…”

This Song of Cursive Script verse revealed Li Bai’s profound favoritism and high regard for Huaisu.

Wang Yishao refers to Wang Xizhi, Zhang Boying to Zhang Zhi. Zhang Dian naturally means Zhang Xu. Li Bai suggested that Wang and Zhang gained their reputations in vain because their artistic achievements belonged to the past. He further implied Zhang Xu’s legacy was less significant, focusing on promoting the young Huaisu’s fame.

The phrase “not following the ancients” specifically underscores Huaisu’s spirit of innovation.

“Everyone knows Li Bai’s poetry tends toward exaggeration, and given his unrestrained nature, if he liked someone, he would praise them extravagantly, unafraid that the height might cause them to fall and break.”

At this point, the expert chuckled, “Fortunately, Huaisu did not entirely let down Li Bai’s expectations. While he might not have been able to claim mastery of the world’s cursive script in his youth, by middle age, after years of extensive travels, his calligraphy had entered a state of near-flawless fluidity.”

“Of course, the claim of ‘not following the ancients’ is only half true. Huaisu was indeed self-taught in his youth, but after the age of thirty, his script entered a phase of wandering; his technique stagnated, hitting a bottleneck.”

“Upon realizing his calligraphy was not improving, he began traveling extensively. During his journeys, he visited contemporary masters and studied the masterworks of antiquity, leading to sudden enlightenment.”

“However, Huaisu truly grasped the core essence of the brush technique only after paying respects to his cousin-uncle, Wu Tong, gradually comprehending the brush methods of the Wei and Jin dynasties. Wu Tong was a student of Zhang Xu and a classmate of Yan Zhenqing. Wu Tong kept Huaisu at his home and explained to him in detail the subtleties of Zhang Zhi’s practice, the uncanny, almost supernatural nature of Zhang Xu’s cursive, and the deficiencies in Wang Xianzhi’s calligraphy—such as the appearance of ‘withered trees in bitter winter.’”

The expert sighed with profound feeling while speaking: “If Huaisu’s youth calligraphy relied on artistic intuition, then his artistic exploration after age thirty was a quest within the artistic tradition. And the historical tradition of Chinese calligraphy is the lineage of brushwork transmission; brushwork is the core secret of Wei and Jin calligraphy.”

“Mastering this core secret, Huaisu finally achieved consummate skill. When he visited Yan Zhenqing, Yan Zhenqing generously imparted his twelve brush intentions and inquired about Huaisu’s own insights on Cursive Script.”

Here, the expert sighed again: “Monk Huaisu explained that he modeled himself after Nature. He had spent a long time observing the posture of summer clouds, noting how they transformed unpredictably with the wind—sometimes like strange peaks jutting out, sometimes like coiling dragons, or like startled birds leaving the forest, or snakes dashing into the grass, or like a great roc spreading its wings, or horses galloping across a plain—countless magnificent manifestations.”

“This is the realm of ‘summer clouds with myriad strange peaks,’ which represents Huaisu’s attainment of supreme mastery in Cursive Script.”

As he spoke, the expert gestured: “Look at this piece; the calligraphy changes capriciously, isn't it just like those summer clouds, not only showing sudden peaks but also a wide variety of line quality? The delicate, ethereal trailing threads, the brushwork resembling a heavenly maiden scattering flowers—he skillfully and expertly integrated the disciplined forms of Clerical Script and Running Cursive.”

During this expert’s analysis, everyone present was largely convinced by his judgment. After all, he was a top specialist dedicated to researching calligraphy; his pronouncements carried significant authority. Furthermore, the others were not blind; after careful inspection, they confirmed that the silk paper was indeed a Tang Dynasty artifact.

After verification, everyone could be certain: this was another rare treasure, one no less significant than Li Gonglin’s Nine Songs Scroll...