Being a tour guide for historical celebrities, the motherland is amazed again

Chapter 119 Master Zhuang Bi
"Mr. Pu, this is a garden built by later generations based on Strange Stories from a Chinese Studio."

Su Jiahe said this and led Pu Songling and He Shuangqing in. After walking a few steps, they saw a large open space with white smoke floating everywhere, like a heavenly palace, and many tourists playing and having fun in the white smoke.

"Could this really be a fairyland?" Pu Songling looked at the "fairy air" floating everywhere and hesitated to step forward.

"Don't be afraid, old man. These cigarettes are all artificial."

With Su Jiahe's support, Pu Songling carefully walked into the "fairy air." He saw wisps of white smoke rising up, and when he reached out to touch it, it dissipated between his fingers.

"So this is what it means to be in a fairyland."

Pu Songling was walking in the white smoke when he suddenly felt his leg hit.

"Ouch," a childish voice came. Pu Songling lowered his head and saw a little boy of four or five years old emerging from the white smoke. "Little kid, run slower." Pu Songling couldn't help but reach out and touch the little boy's head.

"I told you not to run around. You bumped into someone. Apologize to grandpa quickly." The boy's mother caught up with him, gave him a lecture and took him away.

The little boy looked back at Pu Songling and grinned with an innocent smile.

"Mr. Pu, are you very popular with children?" Su Jiahe asked.

"Yes, all the little kids in our area like me. When I have nothing to do, I sit at the door and tell stories. The little kids love to listen to me and always gather around me in circles."

After visiting Liaozhai Garden, the sun was setting, so we found a hotel to rest. The next morning, we went to other attractions in Zibo according to our travel plan.

The group came to the lakeside and saw a lot of people gathered in a square, cheering from time to time.

"It's so lively over there, are there any performers doing acrobatics?" Pu Songling was immediately attracted there.

"Oh? Are there still people performing now?" Su Jiahe also pulled He Shuangqing over.

The three people squeezed through the crowd and saw a temporary stage in the center of the square. A long red banner was hung on the stage with the words "Performance of Masters of Chinese Studies, Calligraphy and Painting" written on it.

"A master of calligraphy and painting? Is he selling calligraphy and paintings on the street? Since so many people are watching, he must have some extraordinary qualities." Pu Songling was very curious and tried to stand on tiptoe, looking forward to it.

A host in a suit walked onto the stage, holding a script card, and began to read aloud in a clear and melodious voice.

"Ladies and gentlemen, next up will be a live impromptu creation by the renowned calligrapher and painter Zhuang Bi."

"Good!" The audience applauded again.

"First, please allow me to introduce this master to everyone. Master Zhuang Bi is currently the vice president of the Calligraphy and Painting Association, the head of the Traditional Culture Research Group, and the founder of the Zhuang School of Cursive Script..."

After the host finished reading out a long list of titles, two staff members brought up a row of tables and placed pens, ink, paper and inkstone on them.

After repeated applause from the crowd, everyone finally saw Master Zhuang Bi's true appearance. He was wearing a Chinese-style gray robe, with sparse, half-white hair hanging down, and he walked slowly to the table.

"You are worthy of being a master. Looking at your dress, you look like an immortal, unique and unconventional!" An audience member in the front row exclaimed loudly.

Master Zhuang Bi didn't say a word. He just took a horse stance, stretched his hands over his head from both sides, crossed his fingers, and pressed them down in front of him. At the same time, he closed his mouth and eyes slightly, inhaled and exhaled deeply, as if he was gathering his energy.

"What is this person doing? Is he writing or practicing martial arts?" Pu Songling frowned slightly.

"Mr. Pu, I don't know what he's going to do. Just keep watching." Su Jiahe didn't understand Zhuang Bi's actions, but she had a bad feeling.

After about half a minute, Zhuang Bi finally finished his breathing exercise, suddenly opened his eyes, and shouted, startling many spectators. "My goodness, is this person a shaman?" Pu Songling, who was standing on tiptoe, almost fell, but was fortunately caught by Su Jiahe.

Next, Zhuang Bi picked up the brush, dipped it in ink, and dropped it heavily onto the rice paper. In an instant, the wolf hair on the brush spread out, and the ink splashed everywhere.

Zhuang Bi held the brush in both hands, his waist swaying as the brush moved erratically across the rice paper, leaving a mess of ink. His hair, which was already sparse, also fluttered in the air like the "calligraphy" he created.

Soon, Zhuang Bi's masterpiece was complete. He casually dropped his brush, wiped the ink off his hands on his clothes, and walked off the stage. Two staff members held up his "calligraphy" and displayed it to the crowd.

That poor piece of rice paper had been crumpled up, with a bunch of unrecognizable words written on it.

"Good!" Several audience members in the front row took the lead in cheering, and some onlookers who didn't know why also applauded.

"This..." Pu Songling was completely speechless, with the expression of an old man on the subway looking at his phone.

Just at this moment, another old man walked onto the stage, picked up the microphone, and seriously commented on Zhuang Bi's work.

"Master Zhuang has always been an independent person. His works transcend the framework of traditional calligraphy and reach a new realm of freedom."

"Today's work fully embodies his personal style. Look at the twisted brushstrokes, like a struggling dragon, reflecting the sadness of being unappreciated and misunderstood."

"Master Zhuang's own style is also known as 'ugly calligraphy'. He uses superficial ugliness to reveal the ugliness of the world and thus express his desire for beauty."

……

The old man was talking big on the stage, but many people in the audience were secretly playing with their mobile phones.

"Young man, they are obviously talking nonsense. Why don't you leave and still stand here listening?" Pu Songling secretly touched the young man next to him and asked with a puzzled look on his face.

"We were all pulled here by our unit to make up the numbers." The man looked helpless.

"Oh!" Pu Songling sighed, turned and left the crowd.

Su Jiahe and He Shuangqing couldn't stand it anymore, and when they saw Pu Songling leaving, they hurriedly followed him.

"I have never seen such a shameless person." Su Jiahe complained.

"A fraud who steals fame and seeks popularity by showing off his skills is actually sitting in a high position in the palace and enjoying great reputation. Some people even call a horse a zebra and fail to distinguish between beauty and ugliness. It's really sad!" Pu Songling clenched his fists angrily.

Just as they walked a short distance, they saw a white-haired old man setting up a stall on the roadside, selling his calligraphy and paintings.

There was a rope behind him, on which hung various sketches, watercolors, and several calligraphy works.

Pu Songling stopped and watched for a long time. Although his calligraphy was not of the highest quality, he put a lot of effort into every stroke.

"Brother, you are so old, why are you still selling calligraphy and paintings?"

"My family is poor and my children are not around, so I have no choice but to come out and earn some money." The old man said as he lowered his head to write.

"Alas, it's not easy for you either." Pu Songling felt very sympathetic towards the old man.

"I've loved calligraphy and painting since I was a child, but my family was poor, so I could only occasionally learn on my own, using only unconventional methods. Unexpectedly, now that I'm almost 70, this skill has actually saved my life."

Pu Songling squatted there, thinking for a long time, and suddenly asked, "Brother, can I borrow your brush and ink?"