Lu Jiazhe spoke nervously, "Imperial Grandmother, is it because Sister Shen's calligraphy isn't good? Sister Shen is grieving deeply, so it's understandable if her writing is subpar at the moment—"
"No." Empress Dowager Li interrupted him. "Her writing is exceptional."
Hearing this, Lu Jiazhe instinctively leaned closer to take a look, only to find himself stunned.
On the paper, Buddhist scriptures written in golden ink displayed strokes of iron-bound silver hooks, each line etched as if into the wood. Every stroke carried compassion yet was laced with brutality, a style that was half-Buddha, half-demon. Such a technique had never been seen before in the world. It exuded a sense of perplexity yet seemed to have unraveled all mysteries; it embodied decisive killing intent while also reflecting deep compassion. The shifting, intricate brushwork appeared to hold boundless marvels!
It didn't seem like something a young woman like Shen Yinning could create!
