Entertainment: Let You Do A Side Job And Set Up A Stall To Tell Fortunes?

As Yang Lin started writing in the quiet room, everyone's eyes were focused on him.

Even the four old men were no exception.

The cameraman immediately focused on Yang Lin's writing.

Unconsciously, everyone held their breath.

As Yang Lin's pen moved, lines of ink suddenly took shape on the white rice paper.

There was no pause in the whole process, no delay between one stroke and one stroke.

In less than 5 minutes, hundreds of words appeared on the paper.

When he finished writing the last word, he gently threw the brush aside.

With a clear sound, the brush was inserted directly into the pen holder next to it.

And it was just such a sound that made the four old men on the side wake up from a dream.

The first thing they did after coming back to their senses was to carefully look at the words written in front of Yang Lin.

Looking at the expressions on the faces of the four people, there were varying degrees of changes.

Especially Mr. Song Henian, after just a cursory glance, his eyes burst with indescribable brilliance.

It seemed like shock, it seemed like it was disbelief, and finally the expression turned into a look of dejection.

Not being able to stand still, he took two steps back and almost bumped into another table next to him.

Seeing this scene, the girl with ponytail next to her hurriedly stepped forward to help her.

"Grandpa, what's wrong with you? Are you feeling uncomfortable somewhere?"

Listening to the girl's slightly concerned inquiry, Song Henian immediately shook his head.

Then he took a deep look at Yang Lin.

Finally he sighed and said:

"As far as this holy order is concerned, old man, I am far inferior to you."

After saying that, he took another look at the holy preface he had written 30 years ago.

After comparing it, he suddenly picked it up.

In the next second, in front of everyone present, he tore his proud painting into pieces.

" grandfather..."

"Old Crane!"

"Old He, what are you doing!"

When everyone wanted to step forward to stop him, the sacred preface written by Song Henian himself had turned into waste paper.

And when this scene fell into the eyes of the audience in the live broadcast room, the audience immediately exploded.

"Old man, what are you doing? Why do you want to tear it up?"

"Yes, if this calligraphy was put up for auction in the market, it would probably sell for hundreds of thousands. Isn't it such a waste to just be torn up like this?"

"Obviously, the old man felt that what he wrote was not as good as Yang Lin's, so he chose to tear up what he wrote."

"No, I think the two words are almost the same."

"What they wrote should be Wang Xizhi's Holy Orders. If you don't look carefully, you really can't see much difference."

"This is all for you laymen to see. If you look carefully, you can still see some differences."

"For example, the one written by Yang Lin is obviously more beautiful and charming in structure and composition, and there is also his own opinion between the lines. It is not much different from the one written by Shu Shengsuo."

"As for Mr. Song's writing, most of it still follows the old path of the calligrapher, similar in form but different in spirit, and too deliberate in the strokes of his writing."

"But this was written by Mr. Song 30 years ago, so it's actually understandable."

"I have the same view. Although I only write a few strokes when I have free time, I can obviously feel that the words written by Yang Lin look more comfortable."

"Thirty years ago, Song Lao must have been in his 50s. When he was in his 50s, he lost to a young man in his 20s. If it were me, I would have torn up what I wrote."

"However, Songlao's structure is still worthy of praise, and he dares to admit his shortcomings."

"So Yang Lin won?"

"of course."

As the audience in the live broadcast room talked a lot, everyone in the quiet room also realized this.

The girl with the ponytail looked at Yang Lin in disbelief.

As if he couldn't believe that the little Taoist priest in front of him could write better than his own grandfather.

At this time, Mr. Song Henian finally regained his composure.

Looking at Yang Lin, who was calm and relaxed in front of him, there was a trace of approval in his eyes.

"Neither arrogant nor impetuous, neither arrogant nor arrogant. It is really rare to be able to achieve such a level at such a young age."

"Old man, if I lose, I will give this residual ink to you."

"Ziyu, return the money to me."

As soon as these words came out, a look of confusion appeared on the ponytail girl's face.

When she was about to transfer money to Yang Lin, Yang Lin shook his head.

"No need. Since the money has been spent, there is no reason to get it back."

Hearing Yang Lin's words, the girl's face suddenly beamed with joy.

"Taoist Priest, you are such a good person. No wonder you can write so well."

"Just wait, I'll make you a pot of tea."

With that said, she skipped out of the quiet room.

After she left, Song Henian spoke again:

"Little Taoist Priest, I was just an old man and I judged people by their appearance."

"I'll grind the ink for you right now."

At this moment, his attitude has changed 180 degrees.

The next second he picked up the remaining ink and started grinding it carefully on the inkstone beside him.

At the same time, his eyes glanced at Yang Lin from time to time.

At this time, Yang Lin also picked up the previous weapon of traveling around the world again.

As he started writing again, the atmosphere in the quiet room became quiet again.

Even the other three old men shut their mouths.

He didn't dare to breathe too loudly for fear of disturbing Yang Lin.

His eyes were like Song Henian's, staring closely at Yang Lin's hand.

At this moment, they became more and more curious.

Yang Lin spent so much money to buy the most expensive pen and the best ink in Sibaozhai. What kind of work did he want to write?

However, to their surprise, Yang Lin did not start writing after he started writing.

The whole person seemed to have been cast a body-holding spell.

Not only did his hands freeze in mid-air, even his expression and eyes remained unchanged.

If you feel it carefully, you can also find that his breathing has become vague, like a dead tree.

Nearly 10 minutes passed like this.

The audience in the live broadcast room began to wait a little impatiently.

"What exactly is going on? Will Yang Lin write about it?"

"Yes, what is he doing?"

"Is it possible that you haven't thought of what to write?"

"It shouldn't be."

"Or is it difficult to write with someone staring at him here?"

"It feels like I'm trying to make a fool of myself."

...

Just when everyone was wondering why Yang Lin was like this, Yang Lin suddenly moved.

He suddenly opened his eyes, and a faint white light flashed out of them.

Then his whole aura became ethereal.

Although he was very close, the people around him felt as if he had disappeared.

In other words, he blends in with his current surroundings.

Before anyone could figure out whether this was a real feeling or an illusion, Yang Lin's hands started to move.

I saw him first filling the tip of his pen with ink, and then lightly tapping on the white paper in front of him.

With one stroke, the people around him suddenly felt as if they had lost focus.

You can only vaguely see Yang Lin's brushstrokes wandering across the white paper.