"Not bad at all," Qin Xiangyang blew on the Spring Festival couplets his sister had written, "I really didn't expect my sister's calligraphy to be so good, it looks even better than the ones sold outside."
"Brother would be able to write like this after a few years of practice too," Qin Xiangnuan had just finished another set and put it aside with Qin Xiangyang, waiting for the ink to dry.
Moreover, Qin Xiangyang got a headache as soon as he heard his sister's words. What was this about practicing for a few years? Forget a few years, even one day was too much. He would rather carry a hoe and farm the land than to use such soft and disobedient brushes. Not to mention writing a few characters, even just dabbing the brush on the paper made his hands shake and caused him to sweat.
He really had no interest or talent in this.
