Because Zhao Guodong was concentrating on his calligraphy, it was impossible for Ye Fan to knock and disturb him.
"Let's go inside." Zhao Lina whispered softly, gently tugging at Ye Fan's sleeve.
Ye Fan nodded and followed Zhao Lina inside with light steps.
When he reached the large desk, Ye Fan peeked at Zhao Guodong's calligraphy and felt that it was quite good, having been practiced for at least twenty years. The characters were restrained and square, making for a comfortable and pleasing handwriting.
However, upon closer inspection, he discovered a flaw. That was an unevenness in the size of the strokes, showing signs of a self-taught artist who had started mid-way.
Seeing Ye Fan mesmerized by her father's calligraphy, Zhao Lina thought he was overwhelmed by Zhao Guodong's skills, and she couldn't help but feel a bit proud as she tugged on Ye Fan's sleeve again.
Ye Fan came back to his senses and turned to look at Zhao Lina.