My Wife Is A Sword Immortal
Chapter 395 - 285: Those Few Days That Come Every Month_2

Chapter 395: Chapter 285: Those Few Days That Come Every Month_2

However, Zhao Rong conscientiously used a red brush to annotate each assignment turned in by the students.

Moreover, he tailored his guidance according to the different circumstances of each student, pointing out areas for improvement in the comments of every assignment,

and sometimes even went to the trouble of writing thousands of words of constructive suggestions.

It could be described as teaching according to a student’s ability.

And these tasks beyond the lessons had already taken up most of Zhao Rong’s time after class.

This was also one of the reasons why attempting to "break through the meridians" had to be done in stages over several days.

As for the effectiveness of his overnight ’work’.

Zhao Rong sighed softly.

The results at Justice Hall were pretty good, but at his own Shuaixing Hall...

It wasn’t that, compared to the former academy, more noteworthy characters caught his attention than in the latter one.

It was that the students of Justice Hall were progressing faster in general than those at Shuaixing Hall.

At present, Shuaixing Hall’s overall calligraphy was somewhat better.

Among them, Zhao Rong even spotted quite a few classmates whose writing was indeed quite good.

For example, Li Xueyou.

Her delicate and graceful handwriting greatly pleased Zhao Rong.

And she seemed to have seriously read some of the guidance in his comments, improving each time.

Zhao Rong felt that her writing was as refined as her person, elegant and delicate...

For example, Yu Huaijin.

Although his calligraphy was too rigid, his foundation was extremely good; he had learned a lot from Zhu Yourong’s handwriting.

He had practiced diligently, so there weren’t too many issues with his technical skills.

If he could add a bit more soul or "comprehension," that would be even better.

It’s akin to the finishing touch in painting a dragon, yet this touch of spirit is precisely the most difficult to achieve.

Zhao Rong felt that this too was reflective of the person.

Straight-laced and fastidious, that’s very ’Yu Huaijin’...

Then, there’s... Fan Yushu.

When Zhao Rong first met him, he discovered that this seemingly unreliable friend actually had a handsome and extraordinary style of cursive writing.

Fan Yushu’s handwriting was flamboyant and elegant yet also orderly.

He was meticulous with his strokes, yet within the rules, he was unrestrained, even bordering on the style of ’running-cursive.’

Zhao Rong wondered how this guy, who was even too lazy to copy his homework usually, managed to train himself to this level.

Could it be that Brother Yushu also has an untold history of dogged dedication?

Or could he be a hidden gem?

As for whether it was for the sake of a certain Ms. Ye, similar to writing love letters, that he had trained himself.

Zhao Rong thought this possibility was quite unlikely.

Because the art of calligraphy, especially this extraordinary cursive style, different from the strictly structured regular script, requires daily and monthly training; it’s hard to achieve overnight.

And as far as he knew, Brother Yushu’s relationship with Ms. Ye had seemed quite good before.

Similar to his past with Qing Jun, it was the kind typical of childhood sweethearts.

The gradual distancing between these two only seemed to have happened in recent years.

This was also why he was somewhat surprised.

However, Zhao Rong remembered that Fan Yushu once seemed to have mentioned while drinking that his family’s thatched cottage shop on Wangque Continent did very good business, so perhaps... family tradition?

Zhao Rong shook his head gently, thinking that he would ask Fan Yushu someday when there was a chance.

As for the handwriting of the other students at Shuaixing Hall.

Brother Teng Ying and another introverted student in the hall who was said to be good at studies had both written well, and their diligent practice after lessons must not be lacking.

Well, there’s also Wu Peiliang’s attendant student whose handwriting was quite good...

It should be the attendant student, Zhao Rong thought.

Especially after he had corrected and sent down his comments repeatedly, and the writing that was turned in lately kept getting better...

This made Zhao Rong somewhat eager to meet Wu Peiliang’s attendant student...

At his writing desk, Zhao Rong laughed to himself.

After a while, he continued to bury himself in the desk, his profile focused on correcting the Justice Hall students’ assignments.

So, Zhao Rong felt that overall, Shuaixing Hall students’ handwriting was better than that at Justice Hall.

But aside from the few people he had just thought of who were quickly improving,

the overall progress at Shuaixing Hall was not as rapid as at Justice Hall.

And what determined this,

was attitude.

Night, silently flowed.

All was still.

In the northern room of East Fence Small House, the young Confucian scholar at the writing desk wrote feverishly.

The stack of papers on the desk gradually diminished, as the Book Mountain was transferred, one by one, to another place.

The oil lamp was tended by a hand smudged with ink, trimming the wick over and over with scissors.

The young Confucian scholar wrote intently, occasionally pausing after correcting an assignment to pick up an apricot leaf

and quietly write on it a message for some old friends in distant places.

At times, he would slowly put down his pen, walk over to the window,

lift up the sash, and gaze gently upwards,

quietly looking at the slowly westward-slanting bright moon.

It was unclear whom he was thinking of.

————

Today seemed somewhat different from the usual.

The typically tranquil mornings at Linlu Academy were now tinged with the liveliness unique to holidays.

Early in the morning, the place buzzed with excitement.

On the main roads, under the shade of the trees, and in front of the mansion gates, crowds gradually increased.

However, the corner of the southeast’s Mochi Academy, inside Shuaixing Academy, it was not like that.

In the morning, the students of Shuaixing Academy gathered together.

Unlike the bustle elsewhere on rest days, the grand hall was silent, filled with students but void of sound.

Arriving early and waiting, Zhao Rong stood on the platform.

His expression calm, he rhythmically tapped the desk with two fingers, quietly surveying the audience of students below.

Yu Huaijin was in the midst of collecting the assignments he had distributed the day before.

Apart from Jia Tengying and other students known to be diligent and studious, most of the other students at Shuaixing Hall had sullen expressions.