Chapter 7: Words That Barely Sound Human

Institute of Arts.

Liu Zhenyan adjusted his glasses with one hand and held an iPad in the other, his fingertip pressing the screen to enlarge the calligraphy he’d captured from a live broadcast.

From detail to the whole, then from the whole back to detail, he admired it repeatedly.

Standing beside the chair, impeccably dressed in a tailored suit, Lian Qi kept a close eye on Liu Zhenyan’s reaction.

Liu Zhenyan had spent his life immersed in the art of calligraphy. Ordinary writing rarely caught his attention.

From his expression, it was clear this piece was exceptional.

As expected.

“Marvelous characters!” Liu Zhenyan praised.

Lian Qi immediately caught the gleam in Liu Zhenyan’s eyes and pressed further, “Master Liu, do you think these characters are quite impressive?”

“More than impressive!” Liu Zhenyan replied. “These words move like dragons and serpents, vigorous as startled clouds—they are truly traces of immortals!”

Upon hearing this, Lian Qi’s expression faltered. He tried to restrain himself, but his heart was in turmoil.

Master Liu was the undisputed authority of contemporary Chinese calligraphy; his approval was as good as official certification.

“The true essence of calligraphy lies in its spirit, with form secondary. Only those who combine both can inherit the legacy of the ancients. Even through the blurred screen, I can see the spirit embodied in these forms, the harmony of shape and soul.”

Liu Zhenyan raised his cloudy yet still sharp eyes. “Where did this come from? I must meet this master.”

At this moment, the usually unshakable Master Liu was visibly excited.

Lian Qi pressed his fist to his lips, coughed, and said, “These characters were written by a streamer on the Whale Platform.”

“A streamer?”

Lian Qi nodded. “Yes, a newcomer, just an ordinary streamer.”

As Liu Zhenyan’s assistant, Lian Qi handled all aspects of his life and work. Earlier that evening, he’d seen a heated argument in his family group chat: a relative was scolding a high school niece for being lazy and always watching streams.

The niece retorted that no one noticed her studying, but the moment she picked up her phone—barely for five minutes—she was immediately caught. She felt utterly wronged, more so than anyone.

Moreover, she insisted she wasn’t wasting her time; she was listening to a streamer teach the fundamentals of calligraphy and had screenshots to prove it.

Curious and amused, Lian Qi took a look and was impressed by the writing, so he forwarded it to Master Liu.

After he finished speaking, Liu Zhenyan’s smile slowly faded, then disappeared altogether.

A streamer?

That profession seemed worlds apart from the art of calligraphy.

“A streamer selling products,” Lian Qi said, deliberately mysterious.

“Selling calligraphy?” Liu Zhenyan frowned.

Lian Qi replied, “Selling elixirs.”

At that, the room fell into a deathly silence.

It sounded completely absurd.

Such exquisite calligraphy—was he to believe it came from an online scammer selling fake elixirs?

Lian Qi looked at Liu Zhenyan’s complex expression and gave a wry smile.

He, too, had doubted the message when the publicity department head sent it to him.

But when he entered the livestream, he believed.

The streamer, with a stunning face, was selling dubious products yet writing beautiful, pleasing calligraphy.

And that was not the most bizarre part.

What truly astonished him was that, instead of singing or dancing, this young woman’s stream was about cultivating immortality.

After a quiet moment, Liu Zhenyan said, “As the saying goes, calligraphy is the painting of the heart. I can sense the scholar’s knowledge and refinement from these characters.”

He folded his hands, running them over the wrinkles, and said, “Chinese calligraphy is a treasured cultural heritage. Few can achieve such mastery.”

Hearing this, Lian Qi said with a hint of pride, “Master Liu, I’ve already arranged for the publicity department to contact the streamer. We should hear back soon.”

Liu Zhenyan nodded.

“This is a promising talent,” he said seriously. “We must reach out.”

*

Celestial Summit Sect, Library Pavilion.

Lu Qingfei glanced at the screen, where a co-stream invitation had just popped up, raising her brows ever so slightly.

At that moment, the number of viewers in the livestream had surpassed one hundred and was steadily climbing.

The audience was full of curiosity.

What could possibly prompt the renowned Liu Zhenyan to actively connect with an obscure streamer?

Could it be… the world was ending?

Or perhaps aliens had invaded earth?