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With that beginning, the rest of the people swarmed in and soon the room was packed, all gazing at that piece of calligraphy.

Minister Jia had no time to drive the students away, and even if he had, he would not have. For things that were right, he always encouraged students to listen and think more, which was why these students dared to come in so boldly.

He could not afford to be angry, lost in his thoughts, vaguely feeling that his own writing lacked something, some essence, and was stagnating. Hearing these comments, he began to understand a bit more.

His dissatisfaction had already dissipated, and instead, he eagerly asked, "And the second point?" His mind seemed to have grasped something, and he was eager to know more.

Lian Musu took a few steps back, surveying the whole piece of calligraphy, and said, "The second point is that it lacks spirit. Master He’s calligraphy is square inside and round outside, just like Master He’s way of conducting himself in life, while your characters are square both inside and out, reflecting your very upright and strict nature.

However, by forcibly imitating Master He, it ends up looking neither here nor there. "

Hearing this, one of the students who had faced Minister Jia’s harsh teachings couldn’t help but mutter under their breath, "Strict? It’s simply a Shura field..."

Minister Jia turned and glared, the noise was too disruptive, utterly scattering his train of thoughts; the grasp he had was gone without a trace.

The students behind him immediately fell silent.

Turning back, he suddenly felt that he did not quite understand this young man—calm and unhurried, able to discuss his calligraphy cogently, and most importantly, he even found himself tacitly agreeing.

Yet, he still felt unreconciled. He had no other hobbies, just two: his mother’s pickled vegetables and calligraphy. He had practiced diligently for many years and had made a modest name for himself in calligraphy; people often sought his own pieces.

And this young man, only in his twenties, how could he have such a profound understanding of Master He’s calligraphy, even seemingly deeper than him?

Over the years, he had seen all kinds of people, including those who sought fame under false pretenses. Being the head of the Imperial Academy made him unwilling to trust others easily.

He scrutinized Lian Musu, "You just mentioned that you’ve practiced Master He’s calligraphy? Then write a piece for me to see."

His competitive spirit was completely aroused. He wanted to see if this young man truly had genuine knowledge or was just speaking confidently without basis.

No matter how well one spoke, it was not as good as putting pen to paper to reveal the truth.

Lian Musu paused for a moment, "I can, but it has been a while since I last practiced. My hand might be stiff, so please be understanding."

He was not bragging. Out of admiration for Master He’s character and calligraphy, he had started practicing before his exile.

Even during his exile, he had not neglected it; in his spare time from hard labor, he practiced with a stick on the ground, and at night before sleeping, he used a piece of marble, eventually wearing marks into it.

However, after escaping, due to his incessant travels, his mother falling ill, and his studies for the examination, he indeed had not practiced for a long time.

Minister Jia coldly sneered, another one who spoke confidently without basis, trying to preemptively excuse himself by saying he had not practiced much, so he could blame any poor performance on his stiff hand.

Lian Musu did not care about what Minister Jia was thinking. He turned to retrieve his writing brush, ink, paper, and inkstone from his book basket. The students who had crowded in made way for him, and some offered to help.

After opening the lid of the book basket, Lian Musu picked up a change of clothes from the top and set them aside. Those who had come to help gasped in surprise, "Is this basket filled entirely with books?"

As Lian Musu took out his writing materials, he replied, "Not entirely books. There’s also the ink, paper, brush, inkstone, and some necessities I use daily."

Someone couldn’t resist going over to take a look, "That must be 80% books. Brother Lian, do you carry this every day?" That’s awfully heavy.

Lian Musu heard this and smiled, taking out his writing brush, ink, paper, and inkstone.

He was not a person of extraordinary talent, only more reflective and thoughtful than others. If he didn’t seize the opportunity to study and make up for the lost years, how could he catch up to his goals?

The year before he was about to take the exams, an incident occurred at home, and he hadn’t had the chance to study properly during those subsequent years.

Fortunately, after passing the Scholar examination, he didn’t rush to take the Juren exam but chose to delve deeply into his studies.

He had a thorough understanding of the books during his exile.

He constantly reflected on the writings, faced many trials and tribulations, and developed unique insights and views on the sage’s works, which broadened his mindset.

Now, reading anew, he found more in the books than before, and his thoughts flowed more smoothly.

The path he was to take was surely not easy. He had to work harder than others. Passing the imperial examination was just the first step; if he couldn’t make this initial stride, how could he reach what he aspired to?

Thus, he rarely left his home before and after the regional exams, secluding himself to read. Not many knew him. Even on the journey back to the capital from Taiyuan Prefecture, sitting in an ox-cart, he didn’t forget to pull out a book to read.

He surmised that he might not immediately take the exam upon arriving at the Imperial Academy.

As for how long it would take and when he could complete the necessary exams, it was uncertain.

So it was better to be prepared; he brought along his whole set of items for the exam, allowing him to continue reading while he waited.

As he was closing the lid of his book basket, Minister Jia pushed through the crowd and saw the books inside. Indeed, books filled more than 80% of the half-person-tall basket, no wonder it was so heavy. He barely managed to hold it!

So many books, and this young man seemed so accustomed to them. Could it be he really carried them all the time?

Indeed, if he didn’t carry them often, how could he do it so effortlessly? It didn’t seem strenuous at all. Someone carrying it for the first time wouldn’t appear so at ease; whether they could even lift it would be another matter...

He was somewhat stunned, finding that actions spoke louder than words. He now truly believed that this young man was genuinely talented. Carrying so many books, how could such a studious person be dishonest?

Suddenly, he felt ashamed of his behavior upon entering and ashamed of troubling a young man who had a limb impairment and carried such a heavy load of books.

Having a physical disability was a severe blow for a scholar. Even ordinary people, once lame, would have their spirits ground away, yet this young man did not wallow in self-pity.

To offer words of encouragement, his demeanor and conduct were better than all the students he had taught. He could sense the young man’s composure and resilience.

Even just for this, he deserved admiration.

What more could he ask for? How was he different from those troublemaking students from Taiyuan Prefecture?

He had prejudged based on hearsay, and now, having his lack of expertise exposed made him feel disgraced. Moreover, his competitive spirit made him continue to find fault.

Thinking about this, he felt uneasy, as if sitting on pins and needles, and his face suddenly felt burning hot.

"May I use the master’s desk?" Lian Musu asked politely after he was ready.

"Ah? Oh, go ahead." Minister Jia, feeling uneasy at the thought of having bullied someone, responded and then felt it was inappropriate. He was still finding fault with others.