Chapter 163

The production crew's convoy wound its way up the serpentine mountain road.

An hour later, a quaint, elegant courtyard came into view. Above the vermilion gates, the gilded characters "Script Hall" stood bold and powerful, their strokes carrying the weight of a thousand-year cultural legacy.

Serena Blake paused mid-step as she exited the vehicle. Glancing at the trailing cameras, she suddenly turned to Caleb Monroe with a smile. "Mr. Monroe, I hear your calligraphy skills are exceptional. We're eager to witness your mastery today."

Caleb's lips twitched. His last visit had ended in humiliation, and this woman clearly intended to embarrass him. But with cameras rolling, he had no choice. "I'll do my best," he forced out.

The gate creaked open, revealing a delicate-featured youth.

"Here for the show, I presume?" The boy scanned the group. "You're all aware of our rules?"

Aria Bennett, standing at the rear, gave a slight nod. She'd done her research—this place valued genuine talent above all else.

The youth led them past the entrance screen wall. At the courtyard's center stood several huanghuali wood desks, where the Four Treasures of the Study gleamed softly in the morning light.

"Today's challenge is the peony," the boy announced, gesturing to the vibrant blooms in the corner. "One calligraphy piece, one painting. Pass, and you may enter."

Caleb took a deep breath and approached a desk. His wrist trembled slightly as he lifted the brush, the first ink stroke bleeding across the xuan paper.

"Magnificent!" Applause erupted as he finished.

Aria moved closer to inspect. The running script indeed showed skill, though the ending strokes betrayed haste. Her gaze flicked to Serena, who was clapping theatrically for the cameras, and barely suppressed an eye roll.

"Let me see."

A hoarse voice cut through the chatter. An elderly man in indigo robes emerged from the corridor, the sunlight catching the "Ambrose" emblem on his chest.

Caleb stiffened. "Dean Ambrose!"

The old man studied the work, then shook his head. "Pity." His finger tapped a spot. "Too heavy-handed here. You've lost the peony's grace."

Silence fell. Serena's raised hands froze mid-clap before awkwardly lowering.

"However..." The dean's tone shifted. "It's an improvement from three years ago."

Caleb brightened, but the director interjected, "So can we proceed?"

"The calligraphy passes, but the painting lacks refinement." Dean Ambrose stroked his beard, then looked past the crowd. "Since our young friend Damian is here, why not grace us with a demonstration?"

Every camera swiveled toward Damian Cross.

Leaning against a pillar, the actor arched a brow. "Testing me, Dean?"

"I heard your calligraphy is displayed in the Palace Museum?" Caleb said eagerly. "We'd be honored to see it!"

Aria noticed Damian's almost imperceptible frown. Yet he stepped forward, his long fingers brushing the wolf-hair brush.

"Don't expect much."

The moment the tip touched paper, the entire courtyard stilled.