There was a shop in front and a courtyard behind Old Brush Pen Shop, but both of them were really small and dangerous for Ning Que to practice the damned flying sword. It was acceptable to hurt the plants and flowers, but would Sangsang wash rice and cook under the protection of the big black umbrella? Therefore, Ning Que did not practice swordsmanship after going back to Lin 47th Street. Once again he stood in front of the desk, using the brush to dip in ink and staring at that snow-white paper.
Today he was not in a daze like a statue, but took a deep breath from time to time. He lowered the waist and paced around, making eyes frequently and even vaguely humming. His right hand holding the brush was no longer as heavy as it was the previous days, but easy to be suspended in the air where he painted with a distance from the desk. Although he still hadn't painted, he looked much more relaxed.
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