Chapter 124: The Sharp-Witted Old Gentleman and the Masterful Matriarch

The Cultural Affairs Division of the City Hall is located in the inner circle of the Uptown District.

The building is not particularly tall; on the contrary, its low, unassuming structure carries a certain elegance reminiscent of the Old Era. As it is not a department known for lucrative kickbacks, the area remains quite tranquil. Directly facing the entrance is a large park, lending the place the air of a recluse’s retreat.

At twelve-thirty in the afternoon, Shi Tiexin finished his shift and ran all the way over. Standing at the entrance of the Cultural Affairs Division, he cast a glance at the prominent sign displaying the details of the upcoming competition. Scanning through, he bypassed the lengthy administrative jargon and distilled the core information:

The Centennial Mist Tumubao Calligraphy Competition is divided into two categories: brush calligraphy and hard-pen calligraphy. Participants must register and perform the calligraphy on-site at the Cultural Affairs Division; entries brought from elsewhere are ineligible.

The competition is fair and impartial, with renowned calligraphers from the Inner Solar System serving as judges. Rankings for both categories will be calculated separately, with one first-place prize for each, awarding 100,000 value points; three second-place prizes for each, awarding 50,000 value points; and ten third-place prizes for each, awarding 10,000 value points, and so on.

Shi Tiexin stopped reading further; his gaze had already snagged on the number of zeros following the first-place prize.

How many?
How many points?
He counted the zeros again—cough, one, two, three, four, five... five zeros! One hundred thousand! One hundred thousand value points!

Shi Tiexin felt as if a bolt of lightning had descended from the sky, striking him directly on the crown of his head. One hundred thousand value points? How much money is that, exactly? As a temporary security guard, even if he worked thirty days a month, he would only earn three hundred points—and that was already the highest income record for anyone in the Orphanage.

At one hundred thousand points, he would have to work as a temporary security guard for twenty-eight years to earn that much!

Besides, didn’t he need to eat? To drink? To pay rent? After twenty-eight years, saving even twenty thousand points would be a model of extreme frugality. But these one hundred thousand points were pure gain. The notice stated that the prize money was tax-free; what was promised was what he would receive, not a single point discounted.

Holy crap, there was a sense that one could live the high life after pulling this off!

Do it!
Must do it!
If he had known about such a competition, he would have come to register long ago!

Shi Tiexin excitedly walked into the Cultural Affairs office, circled around inside, and quickly walked back out. No, he couldn’t register just yet. He had just seen that the writing was done on the spot after registration. He hadn’t reached his peak yet and couldn’t guarantee a win.

One had to realize that the cultivators of this world were not like the students at Fengming High School. Students relied solely on personal perseverance, whereas cultivators possessed "Qi of Thought" in addition to talent and grit. Their average level was certainly far higher than that of pure students. Therefore, after glancing at the ninety-eight-degree progress of his Basic Rhetoric (Proficient), Shi Tiexin decided to practice a bit more to enter the competition in his most perfect state.

It wouldn't take long. He had reached ninety-eight degrees a few days ago and hadn't slacked off since; he felt that breaking through to ninety-nine was close at hand.

But where could he practice calligraphy in this neighborhood?

Shi Tiexin looked around and quickly headed toward the large park at the entrance of the Cultural Affairs Division. The park was bustling with people, as many citizens enjoyed exercising there. From a distance, Shi Tiexin saw many elderly men drawing water from the park's small lake and using large, specialized soft brushes to write characters on the ground.

The characters appeared clearly where the brush touched the ground, only to vanish without a trace once the wind blew—a rather excellent way to practice.

Shi Tiexin hadn’t intended to pay much attention, planning only to find a spot to practice and achieve perfection before going to claim his money. But as he subconsciously watched for a moment, he felt a shiver of awe in his heart.

These old men—they were strong!

Looking closer, he realized these men were incredible! While not everyone was a master, several possessed a truly high level of skill. A single glance was a feast for the eyes. When he looked at those men again, even their hunched backs seemed to possess a unique character, and their very wrinkles seemed to conceal talent.

*Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh.* A gust of wind blew past. Turning his head, Shi Tiexin saw another elderly man in the park brandishing a three-foot-long brush, executing a set of Judge’s Brush techniques with astonishing momentum.

Looking closely, the large brush appeared to be made of metal, weighing over a dozen pounds. Yet, the old man swung it as if it were weightless, without a hint of hesitation or strain. As the wind erupted, the characters on the ground were written with vigorous, dragon-like strokes—every one of them breathtakingly beautiful.

This!
This old man was clearly an expert in the Realm of Sharp Qi!

Shi Tiexin was stunned, then looked up at the other men nearby. They remained calm and composed, as if they were used to such things, not even bothering to look up.

Shi Tiexin was shocked.

He suddenly felt like a lamb standing among a pride of old lions. Though the lions were aged, they were sturdy, and their teeth and claws were all the sharper.

Glancing at a group of elderly women practicing swordplay by the lake and several elderly men doing Tai Chi, Shi Tiexin felt the park was filled with hidden masters. Every person he looked at seemed to have the phantom of a baring, ferocious beast looming behind them.

I... I was wrong. I was too naive!

On a workday like today, who but the wealthy could afford to spend the middle of the day playing in the park? Just look at those men’s brushes, the women’s swords, and the clothes they wore—if these people didn't have high-end retirement insurance, he’d slap himself across the face!

And with money, could cultivation be far behind? Or rather, without cultivation, could one even have such money?

Shi Tiexin was shaken, then regained his composure. The urge to sweep the field and get rich through his calligraphy suddenly faded. He re-evaluated himself and found a secluded corner.

He pulled out a pen, but he had no paper for practice, nor a flat desk.

Shi Tiexin took a thick stack of blank cardstock from his pocket—these were the blank business cards Tao Zhongming had given him; writing ten would earn him one point.

His restless thoughts settled, and Shi Tiexin returned from the clouds to reality. He bent down, placed the cardstock on the stone ledge by a flower bed, and sat on the ground, his tall, six-foot frame folding neatly.

The cardstock was perfect for writing on the stone ledge.

He picked up his pen, his expression solemn, and began to write.

The sunlight was bright, the provincial examination list hung high in the sky, and the surroundings were filled with the hustle and bustle of people coming and going, some pointing at the list in admiration. An elderly woman in the park turned on a large speaker, and the rhythmic beats of music began to play for a dance. Not long after, others who found the music a nuisance came to argue.

There were secret realms opening and duels taking place, with the outcome decided by the strength of one's martial arts, determining whether the square dance could continue.

In the end, the square dance music never stopped, while those who had come to argue seemed to have been sent to the hospital.

All of this was happening—the bustling, chaotic, mortal world. But Shi Tiexin paid no mind. He calmed his heart, as if he had returned to his classroom at Fengming High School, completely focused and undistracted.

Writing these business cards was for a living, for survival—not for art. Having to follow a format, to stick to a routine—it was a necessity, a lack of freedom. But the attitude with which he put pen to paper, the way he wrote every stroke—that was his own choice.

—As long as one treats every stroke with devotion, even words written for the sake of survival can shine with brilliance.

At three o'clock in the afternoon, Shi Tiexin lifted his head in peace.

A star collided with the progress bar. Basic Rhetoric (Proficient) at ninety-nine degrees: achieved.

Now, it was time for the Heavens-Sent Golden Light to work its magic.