Chapter Thirteen: Astonishing Semi-Cursive Script

His gaze shifted to the class bulletin board at the back, awash with a riot of colors and diverse designs—well-written essays, poetry, and a few drawings. Yet, overall, it was nothing extraordinary; the bulletin board was always the product of a group effort, and some students’ chalk handwriting was so atrocious it completely ruined the look.

Zhou Xuan thought to himself, if his own essay were written in handwriting like that, it would be better not to bother copying it at all—nobody would bother reading it.

Just then, the class monitor hurried over to inform Zhou Xuan that next week, their group would be responsible for the bulletin board. Zhou Xuan was to transcribe his essay first, then assign other students to copy it onto the board.

Zhou Xuan sighed—could his luck really be this uncanny? Was he fated to toil away? As soon as the class monitor left, several students from the group currently responsible for the board squeezed in, laughing and joking.

“Zhou Xuan, you’re in charge of the bulletin board this week!”

“That’s right, Zhou Xuan. The board’s content this time is just your essay, so you must know it inside out. You’ll copy it quickly for sure, so we’ll leave it all to you.”

“Brother Xuan, you’re amazing! I admire you most! I bet your chalk handwriting is stunning too—you must show us!”

“Exactly. Zhou Xuan, look at me—I’m so short, I can’t even reach halfway up the board. How could I possibly manage?” This was Zhuo Lian, his deskmate.

Zhou Xuan shot her a look. “Then you’re in charge of the lower part, that’s all.”

“Brother Xuan, think about it! If we all have to copy, you’ll have to write the essay out for each of us anyway. Why not just put it all on the board yourself, once and for all?” another classmate suggested.

Zhou Xuan considered this—there was logic to it. Copying it into notebooks for them was time-consuming, and besides, their handwriting was truly an eyesore.

With his memory, he could copy it onto the board without missing a word.

“All right, I’ll do it myself,” Zhou Xuan finally conceded.

“Thank you, Brother Xuan!”

“You’re the best, Zhou Xuan!”

Everyone scattered, leaving Zhou Xuan to sigh inwardly—well, I’ve brought this on myself.

After evening self-study, Zhou Xuan set about planning and executing the bulletin board.

The next morning, every student who entered the classroom couldn’t help but glance at the blackboard at the back. Word had spread that Zhou Xuan had been working on the board alone after evening study, and curiosity ran high—what new marvels would this rising star bring?

One by one, they stepped in and looked. Each person froze, stunned. Shock registered on every face; his chalk writing was exquisite, the elegant script itself a work of art. What’s more, Zhou Xuan had drawn a scene of snow falling in the countryside—vivid and lifelike.

Everyone marveled silently: Zhou Xuan writes brilliant essays, speaks eloquently, and now his chalk handwriting is beautiful, his drawing superb—is there anything he can’t do?

“Zhou Xuan’s chalk writing is so handsome, so beautiful! I adore him…” one infatuated girl sighed.

“He’s so talented; it’s just unbelievable…” another added.

“And have you noticed Zhou Xuan’s been working out lately? His physique’s getting better and better,” remarked a classmate who occasionally ran.

“Yes, he’s so determined—training every day, rain or shine. I remember one morning it was drizzling, but he still ran back to the dorm. I saw from upstairs—he looked awesome. Even though his clothes were soaked, he really is a good man.”

“He used to seem so ordinary, but recently… doesn’t he look more and more striking, more and more charismatic?”

“Absolutely!”

“I’ve noticed it too!”

Of course, these were the words of a few besotted girls. The boys, however, felt differently. Seeing the girls’ admiration for Zhou Xuan, a wave of jealousy welled up inside. For those whose grades were worse, they could only grumble that Zhou Xuan seemed good at everything. Those who once outperformed him academically were even more frustrated—now that Zhou Xuan was so popular, if his grades improved, what would be left for them?

Their only hope was that Zhou Xuan’s performance in the upcoming test would be as mediocre as before. That way, they could still salvage some advantage. They resolved to work even harder; if they couldn’t surpass him in other areas, they could at least maintain their lead in academics.

Little did they know, first place in the grade was already Zhou Xuan’s for the taking. Trying to outdo him in studies was now a hopeless endeavor.

When Zhou Lin entered the classroom, the hubbub reached its peak: “Wow, Zhou Xuan’s incredible—his chalk writing is gorgeous!”

Even students from other classes came to catch a glimpse, so that at any moment, a few heads would poke into Class Six’s windows, craning for a look.

When their homeroom teacher, Mr. Liu, arrived, he barked, “What’s going on? Aren’t you all from Class Five? Morning self-study is about to start, so why are you here?”

Climbing the stairs to the third floor and turning the corner, Mr. Liu had seen a group outside their window and feared something serious had happened. To his surprise, it was just students admiring the bulletin board.

Once the crowd dispersed, and the students of Class Six settled in for morning reading, Mr. Liu entered and, catching sight of the board, was taken aback: “This kid Zhou Xuan… he actually writes such fine semi-cursive!”

The script was square and robust, elegant and clean—much easier to read than full cursive, which, though fluid and interconnected, was hard to decipher. Zhou Xuan’s mix of semi-cursive and cursive, with most characters clearly legible and just a touch of artistic flair, made for a truly beautiful sight.

Mr. Liu was amazed; mastering chalk writing to this level was no overnight feat. He started to doubt the information that Zhou Xuan’s parents were mere farmers. If they were teachers, it would make sense—growing up around essays and calligraphy would naturally result in such skill.

But if Zhou Xuan had achieved this all through self-study, then he was nothing short of a genius.

Mr. Liu found himself growing more and more curious about Zhou Xuan’s future performance. Was this really all there was to him?

Because of his morning runs, Zhou Xuan always arrived at the last minute, entering the classroom under the gaze of the whole class. This time was no exception. He had expected his handwriting to surprise everyone, but not that, upon his arrival, the entire class would fall silent—all eyes fixed on him.

“Good morning, everyone! Thank you for your hard work!” For some reason, Zhou Xuan recalled the classic lines from every military parade, and couldn’t help blurting them out to his classmates.

To his surprise, the class responded in unison, “Good morning, Commander!”

Laughter broke out, and so began another day’s morning reading.