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... indow made the room somewhat bright.
Su Ming had dismissed all the servants and sat alone at the desk.
A sheet of fine xuan paper was spread before him, held down by a smooth, warm Hetian jade paperweight.
He lifted the brush, dipping it fully into thick ink.
He did not intend to write characters.
A deeper impulse, originating from his soul, was driving his arm.
The brush tip descended, ink lines meandering.
The starting stroke was decisive ...
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