The dating reality show host just wanted to give up, but the rich girl fell for him.

Lin Mo sat quietly at the large desk.

His sleeves were neatly rolled up on his forearms, revealing strong yet smooth lines.

Between his well-defined fingers, he held an old piece of Huizhou ink that had been passed down for countless years.

He slowly and deliberately circled the inkstone on the ancient Chengni inkstone.

The clear water was gradually stained into a deep, dark black.

The ink stick rubs against the inkstone, producing a soft and pleasant "shush" sound, like a comforting old song.

On the other side of the desk, there was a stack of red paper that had been cut long ago.

This is not the kind of gold-flecked red paper with subtle gold foil patterns that is popular among Beijing's elite circles.

It wasn't made from expensive, thick cardstock from an Italian workshop.

This is the kind of large red paper that you can buy for a dollar in the most ordinary stationery store on the street.

Lin Mo personally took the paper cutter and cut them into neat squares one by one.

At the edges, you can even vaguely see a tiny rough edge left by hand cutting.

There were no elaborate sealing wax stamps, nor envelopes that smelled of perfume.

It exudes a most primitive and simple human touch.

With a creak.

The wooden door to the study was gently pushed open.

Jiang Ruoyun carried a bowl of freshly cooked mung bean and lily soup and tiptoed in.

Today she changed into a loose-fitting cotton and linen dress for home, and her hair was casually tied up with a wooden hairpin.

Having shed her dazzling phoenix coronet and wedding gown, she reverted to being the clingy and charming little woman who stayed by Lin Mo's side.

Jiang Ruoyun walked to the desk and gently placed the white porcelain bowl on the corner of the table.

Her gaze fell on the thin stack of red paper, and a smile involuntarily appeared in her peach blossom eyes.

"Are you really planning to use this to write it?"

She naturally sat down next to Lin Mo, resting her chin on her hand and tilting her head to look at him.

"If my dad knew, you wouldn't even buy a gold-rimmed envelope."

"I bet he'll be clutching his chest and running to the yard to hug a pillar and cry again."

Upon hearing this, Lin Mo's lips curled up slightly.

He put down the inkstone in his hand and picked up a clean wolf-hair brush.

I gently rubbed the brush tip against the edge of the inkstone, allowing the bristles to absorb the dark ink evenly.

"Those gold-stamped cards printed on industrial assembly lines are cold and tasteless."

Lin Mo's voice was soft, yet it carried an undeniable confidence.

"Marriage is a joyous occasion for two families, filled with human warmth and affection."

"Only when the paper is cut by hand and the words are written by hand, stroke by stroke, does the sincerity count."

After saying that, he raised his wrist.

His originally languid and casual gaze became focused and profound the moment he put pen to paper.

The tip of the pen touched the slightly rough surface of the red paper.

There is no layout required, and no draft is needed.

Lin Mo flicked his wrist, and the ink flowed freely across the red paper.

The strokes are strong and vigorous, like iron hooks and silver lines, lean and hard to the bone.

Between those strokes, there is a restrained sharpness, yet it also exudes a composed elegance.

The elegant and distinctive "Slender Gold" calligraphy style was so easily displayed on the red paper of a one-yuan note.

Jiang Ruoyun watched him write, her eyes filled with tenderness.

Sunlight shone on Lin Mo's sharply defined profile, and his earnest expression always made her feel incredibly at ease.

After writing on a piece of red paper, Lin Mo gently moved it to an empty table next to her to dry.

He wrote over a hundred invitations calmly and patiently.

Jiang Ruoyun took the prepared list from the side and softly read the names on it.

The sheer size of this list is nothing short of magical.

A large portion of them were the list of Beijing's celebrities and powerful figures that Jiang Jianguo had painstakingly compiled.

The other half consisted of friends and elders whom Lin Mo had chosen himself.

"Next, the Palace Museum, Mr. Yan."

Jiang Ruoyun read out a name.

Lin Mo nodded and smoothly wrote Old Yan's name on the red paper.

"Li Lin, director of CCTV Documentary Channel."

"Grandpa Zhang from Nanluoguxiang."

Upon reading this, Jiang Ruoyun couldn't help but burst out laughing.

"You even invited Grandpa Zhang, who always takes back his moves at the alley entrance?"

"If he receives this red paper, he'll probably turn around and use it to line his precious birdcage."

Lin Mo continued writing Zhang Daye's name diligently, his wrist never stopping.

"It's his prerogative to use a birdcage as a mat. He taught me how to stew and braise, and I should remember that kindness."

The list continues to be read.

"Aunt Li, who sells pork at the market."

"And... there's Grandpa Li from the next village in Jiangnan, and his two little grandsons."

Regardless of whether the other party is a business tycoon worth hundreds of billions.

They were still ordinary villagers haggling over prices at the market, clutching their spare change.

In Lin Mo's study, filled with the fragrance of ink, all beings are equal.

All they received were identical, ordinary red papers.

There is no distinction between high and low, noble and base.

a few days later.

These are light, flimsy red papers without even an envelope.

Through the most ordinary express delivery packages, they have arrived in every corner of Beijing.

The Palace Museum.

A heavily guarded underground restoration room.

Old Yan was wearing clean gloves, his brows furrowed as he stared at a newly delivered Ming Dynasty wood carving.

Several young restorers stood aside, barely daring to breathe.

The assistant knocked on the door and came in carrying an ordinary courier document bag.

"Dean, there's an urgent document for you."

Old Yan waved his hand impatiently.

"Can't you see I'm busy? Put it on the table!"

The assistant didn't dare say anything more, put down the package, and left.

After a while, Old Yan rubbed his sore eyes, walked to the table, and picked up his teacup.

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of that shabby delivery bag.

He casually tore open the seal.

A thin, even somewhat rough, piece of red paper slipped out.

Old Yan was about to throw it in the trash as a sales pitch for GG.

But the moment his gaze fell upon the ink stains on the paper, he froze on the spot as if struck by lightning.

He suddenly took off his reading glasses and vigorously wiped them with the corner of his long gown.

After putting it on again, he held the thin red paper in both hands and brought it up to the brightest operating light.

My fingers trembled slightly uncontrollably.

"This...this intention..."

Old Yan's voice was trembling, and his breathing suddenly became rapid.

The young experts in the restoration room were startled and looked at each other, wondering what had happened to the director.

"The brushstrokes, though dry, are sharp and forceful! They perfectly capture both form and spirit!"

"It's Mr. Lin! It's a genuine work of Master Lin's 'Slender Gold' calligraphy!"

Old Master Yan was so excited that he slapped his thigh, completely losing his usual composure and dignity.

He turned around and yelled at the assistant at the door.

"Quick! Take it to the framing room right away!"

"Go to the warehouse and get that best piece of century-old rosewood. Make me a framed picture!"

"Put on gloves, everyone! Anyone who dares to wrinkle even a corner of this paper, I'll fire them!"

at the same time.

In the private studio of Zhou Yang, a master of traditional Chinese painting.

This art master, who usually has high standards and whose paintings are hard to come by.

He was holding the red paper in one hand and his phone in the other, frantically typing away at the screen.

"Old Wang! Did you get it? My master sent me the invitation!"

"The direction of this brushstroke, the elegance of the blank space—it's absolutely amazing! I studied it all night and couldn't sleep!"

On the other end of the phone came the smug laughter of Wang Cunzhen, an expert in ancient architecture.

"Nonsense, how could I not receive it? This is my master's handwritten name!"

"Let me tell you, Lao Zhou, I've already found the best craftsman and ordered a custom-made golden nanmu frame."

"Once it's finished, I'll hang it right in the center of the head of the architecture department at Tsinghua University, making those old fogies green with envy!"

These are academic giants who seem unapproachable to outsiders.

But now it's all because of a piece of red paper that costs only a few cents.

They argued heatedly on the phone, their faces flushed, like children who had just received their favorite toy.

Because they understand.

The calligraphic skill embodied in this piece is immeasurable by money.

This is a priceless masterpiece of calligraphy.

And it was also in the capital city.

The scene at the farmers' market in Nanluoguxiang is completely different.

Aunt Li, who sells pork, has just finished chopping a rack of ribs.

She wiped her hands with her greasy apron and opened the ordinary package.

"Oh, it's Xiaolin getting married! This young man is really thoughtful, he still remembers his aunt."

Aunt Li doesn't know the difference between good and bad characters, nor can she understand the style of the "Slender Gold" calligraphy.

She felt that the words on the red paper were written so vividly that they made her feel happy just looking at them.

She casually tore off a piece of wide tape.

With a "smack," the red paper was stuck directly onto the greasy pillar of his own pork stall.

Bright red, for a festive touch.

As it turned out, it was already afternoon.

A vice president of a calligraphy association who was passing by came to Nanluoguxiang to collect inspiration.

I caught a glimpse of this red paper on the pillar of the pork stall.

The vice president was so shocked that he rushed over, walking and running.

Ignoring the grease on his body, he almost pressed himself against the meat stall.

"Girl! This handwriting...who wrote this?!"

The vice president was so excited that he became incoherent and pulled out a wad of cash from his bag.

"I'll pay you 50,000! No, 100,000! Will you sell me this piece of paper?!"

Aunt Li looked at him as if he were crazy, and quickly covered the red paper on the pillar.

"Get out of here! If you're going to buy meat, just buy the meat itself. Why are you buying paper?"

"This is a wedding invitation from Xiaolin, I won't sell it for any price! Don't interfere with my business!"

Just when those in the know were treating this red paper as a treasure.

The other group of people who received the invitations had a completely different reaction.

Inside a highly private, top-tier high-end club in Beijing.

The private room was covered with thick Persian carpets, and the air was filled with the smell of expensive cigars and sandalwood.

Several well-dressed and adorned with jewels, distant relatives of the Jiang family were gathered together for afternoon tea.

In the center of the marble coffee table.

A plain red paper lay there all alone, without any wrapping.

Jiang Jianguo's cousin, wearing a pigeon blood ruby ​​ring, disdainfully picked up a corner of the red paper.

It was as if it were garbage contaminated with some kind of virus.

She gave a cold laugh and tossed the red paper back onto the marble tabletop.

"Look everyone, this is the invitation sent by the excellent son-in-law whom the founding father carefully selected."

Several uncles and cousins ​​nearby gathered around to take a look.

They all revealed their undisguised contempt and mockery.

"This paper is so rough! They didn't even bother to use cardboard as a pad? It'll tear in the wind."

"That's right, there wasn't even an envelope, it was just stuffed into a plastic courier bag and sent over."

An uncle with slicked-back hair picked up a wine glass and took a sip of Romanée-Conti.

He shook his head repeatedly, his tone full of superiority.

"After all, she is the eldest daughter of the Jiang family getting married."

"This invitation doesn't even have a gold foil edging, nor does it have the family's sealing wax stamp."

"The man's family is far too poor."

My aunt rolled her eyes and leaned back lazily on the leather sofa.

"I've said it before, those country cooks who come from small, hole-in-the-wall restaurants are simply not good enough for professional settings."

"What's the use of writing clearly? You don't even understand the most basic decency of high society."

In their circles, where people are accustomed to using luxury brand logos and elaborate packaging to display their status.

It's a synonym for being poor, stingy, and unsophisticated.

"Jianguo must be senile to tolerate his daughter being treated like this."

My aunt snorted and picked up the cup of red tea in front of her.

"Fine, since they've already sent it, let's not be rude."

"Just treat it as a vacation in the countryside, and maybe see some funny stories along the way."

My uncle chuckled and twirled the wine glass in his hand.

"I heard the wedding is being held in a rural area in southern China?"

"Why not use all the five-star hotels in Beijing and insist on having the wedding in that muddy place?"

"If word gets out, where will the Jiang family put their face?"

Inside the private room, they chatted amongst themselves.

His words were full of mockery of Lin Mo and disdain for this grassroots wedding.

A few days passed in the blink of an eye.

The wedding day was finally approaching.

As a conglomerate with assets worth hundreds of billions, the Jiang family would naturally not make these relatives suffer in terms of transportation.

Jiang Jianguo chartered a luxurious wide-body private jet.

They specially arranged for these celebrities and their relatives from the capital to travel to the water towns of Jiangnan.

10,000 meters above the ground.

The cabin of the private jet was decorated with unparalleled luxury.

The spacious first-class leather seats were filled with members of the Jiang family, dressed in gold and silver.

They held the expensive champagne served by the flight attendants and whispered among themselves in small groups.

Their faces always wore that air of superiority that came from a perpetually condescending attitude.

No one took that thin piece of red paper seriously.

Some people even find it cumbersome to hold and casually place it under their champagne glasses.

Water droplets seeped from the cold glass, slowly wetting the elegant and slender calligraphy.

They leaned back in their soft chairs, gazing contentedly at the clouds outside the window.

Everyone was looking forward to it.

In this country cook's territory, they were going to put on airs like celebrities from the capital.

Let's see how much of a joke this grassroots wedding held in the mud can turn into.

The plane flew smoothly through the clouds.

After several hours of flight, we finally landed slowly at the airport in Jiangnan.

The cabin door opened.

The humid air of early summer in Jiangnan is refreshing.

"When we get to that run-down rural area, everyone has to be considerate of the eldest brother's reputation and not embarrass that poor kid too much."

The relatives adjusted their bespoke suits and expensive shawls.

With an air of superiority and condescension, he walked down the plane's steps with a cold smile.