Chapter Ten: Mastery of Words Takes More Than a Hundred Days, But All Can Be Lost in One Day of Neglect

“The brush must first be moistened, then dipped lightly in ink.”
After grinding the ink and moistening the brush, Su Youcai spread out a square sheet of rough, yellowish native paper, teaching Su Lu as he went:
“Yellow, coarse paper is best, too smooth or too white is undesirable—not that we could afford such paper anyway.”
“Master Dongpo once said, ‘Regular script gives rise to running script; running script to cursive. Regular script is like standing, running script like walking, cursive like running. One must progress step by step. If you try to run before you can walk, you’ll fall badly.’
“Of course, there’s no need to hide the fact that our reading is primarily for the examination. As far as that is concerned, regular script suffices. So I’ll only teach you regular script. But if you master the basics, learning running or cursive on your own will not be difficult in the future.”
“Understood.” Su Lu nodded. He had no interest in becoming a calligrapher; things that weren’t needed for the exam were best left unlearned.
“For regular script, these days all children learn the Jiang style.” Su Youcai wrote a few large, upright, sharply-angled characters on the paper.
Su Lu stared in surprise, not expecting his father’s handwriting to be so impressive. Su Youcai, however, showed no pride:
“My writing is merely an imitation of Jiang’s regular script Thousand Character Classic. Most scholars write this way. Though Jiang’s style is demanding, every stroke is precise. When forming characters, it keeps the mind focused and disciplined. Those who seek freedom and boldness may dislike it, thinking it lacks vigor and naturalness, not realizing how it benefits one’s character.”
He paused, then couldn’t help but complain: “Truthfully, it’s because exams only allow the official style, and Jiang’s script is the most orthodox.”
“There’s nothing wrong with that,” Su Lu replied, quite accepting of uniformity. He’d even practiced the Hengshui style in later generations—anything for exams, nothing shameful. His only worry was whether he could learn it in time:
“Just a hundred days—is that enough for your son to make progress?”
“A hundred days is enough.” Su Youcai nodded, “Master Dongpo also said, ‘If you lack a hundred days’ practice, you only fear a wasted day.’ Meaning, it’s not hard to learn to write; three months is enough to get started. What’s worrisome is interruption—you must practice diligently every day without pause.”
He paused again, then instructed, “You should practice writing for half an hour every morning, and another half hour in the afternoon. Write in one go, no interruptions.”
“Yes.” Su Lu was delighted—three months to get started was wonderful. The exam would be right after that; the Su family ancestors gave him confidence.
“How should I start practicing?” he asked enthusiastically.
“First, learn how to hold the brush.” Su Youcai handed him a worn brush and taught him the five-finger grip: press, support, hook, frame, and resist.
Each word refers to the role of one finger: thumb and index finger press the shaft firmly, middle finger hooks inward, ring and little fingers resist outward.
“The back of the hand should be rounded, the palm hollow, fingers firm, wrist suspended, shaft straight.” Su Youcai corrected Su Lu’s grip, explaining, “A hollow palm allows flexibility, firm fingers distribute strength evenly, a suspended wrist avoids smudging, and a straight shaft ensures each stroke is centered, with no flaws on either side.”
“For regular script, grip the brush close to the tip; small regular script relies mainly on finger strength…” He gave detailed instruction on finger technique, then concluded, “Your priority now is to train brush control. Tomorrow morning, draw a hundred horizontal, vertical, and slanted lines—keep thickness, length, and spacing as consistent as possible. Repeat in the afternoon.”
“Yes.” Su Lu quickly noted the assignment.

—

After the calligraphy lesson, Su Youcai began teaching Su Lu with Sound and Rhyme Primer.
The book contained five thousand words, divided into twenty rhyme groups, each chapter made of paired lines. It was designed for children to learn rhyme and parallelism. Even without learning to compose poetry, it trained them in pronunciation, vocabulary, and rhetoric—the basics of writing—
“Heaven and sun, rain and wind. Nine summers and three winters.
Auspicious clouds and fine snow, dripping dew and hanging rainbow.
Willows by the pond in gentle wind, pear blossoms in the courtyard under the melting moon…”
Such beautiful verses were a delight to recite, bringing joy and serenity. After Su Lu finished reading, Su Youcai helped with a few difficult pronunciations, then smiled:
“This book has another advantage: you don’t need to memorize it in order, nor word for word. During oral exams, the academy will recite the first line, and you must reply with the second. For example, if I say, ‘The tree stands straight with no crooked shadow,’ you must reply, ‘The spring is clear and the stream is pure.’ They won’t ask you backwards, nor expect both lines by heart.”
He added slyly, “So it’s enough to be familiar with the first lines; the priority is to memorize the second lines without error.”
“Got it.” Su Lu nodded happily—his father was not at all rigid.
In truth, Su Lu didn’t know that his father’s calligraphy instruction was already the simplest possible, teaching only what was needed so he wouldn’t be rejected for ugly handwriting.
Though Su Youcai thought their chances were slim, he still racked his brains to help his son prepare…

—

Tonight’s lessons were few, so Su Youcai finished early, yawning as he climbed into bed.
Su Lu cleaned the brush and inkstone, then returned to his desk to start memorizing Sound and Rhyme Primer. He soon discovered it was even easier than the Three Hundreds—rhymed, paired, and vivid in imagery, perfect for memorizing with visualization techniques.
After an hour of alternately reciting and copying, Su Lu blew out the lamp and went to bed, hugging his “Bamboo Lady,” activating his sleep-memory mode…

The next morning, the rooster’s crow woke him on time. Before opening his eyes, Su Lu recalled last night’s verses, reinforcing the memory formed during sleep.
Then he got up, sat at his desk, quickly checked the book for errors and omissions. He recited the whole section again, repeated the corrections, thus completing a second round of sleep-strengthened memory.
His aunt called everyone to breakfast, urging them to go thresh grain, but Su Lu was exempt—starting today, he could focus solely on his studies.
After breakfast, he returned to his room, sitting at his desk bathed in sunlight for the first time, carefully grinding ink as his father taught. Using the five-finger grip, he practiced in the air to loosen his wrist.
Finally, he dipped the brush and began slowly drawing vertical lines on the paper. According to his father, this was about taming the brush—turning a wild horse into a trained steed, able to follow your intent as you guide it across the page.
His father said, once you can precisely control the pressure, direction, and rhythm of each stroke, writing beautiful calligraphy becomes effortless.
Su Lu was inspired; such simple exercises could conquer the barrier of handwriting—how wonderful!
But when he began practicing confidently, he found it anything but easy…
First, brush control: pressing too hard caused split ends, too lightly made weak strokes. It was hard to meet his father’s standard of “every stroke centered, lines consistent in thickness.” He had to slow down, sacrificing speed for stability.
But doing so made his hand especially tired. His father required him to write with his wrist off the table, supported only by the elbow. As he wrote, his arm began to ache and tremble, making it hard to stay steady.
His father said if his hand trembled, he could use the “wrist pillow”—resting his wrist on his left hand for support. But eventually, he needed to move to direct suspended wrist, or else his brush control would be limited and his strokes lack grandeur.
Given that, Su Lu decided not to use the “wrist pillow,” aiming to master sustained suspended wrist as soon as possible.
He gritted his teeth, carefully drew one hundred horizontal, vertical, and diagonal lines, then put down the brush, flexing his aching forearm and wrist. He repeated the exercise for a second set, finishing his morning calligraphy practice.

—

Carrying his brush and inkstone out to the courtyard to clean them, Su Lu looked up into the distance. The sky was crystal blue, the mountains lush, the Chishui River rushing through the valley—Erlang Beach truly was a paradise.
Little Jinbao saw him and hurried over, stepping across the threshold with her tiny legs, looking up to ask, “Third Pot, have you wasted your learning?”
“It’s Third Brother—have you learned it yet?” Su Lu corrected with a smile, knowing she wanted him to play with her. She hadn’t pestered him all morning; that was rare.
He bent down and pinched Jinbao’s soft cheeks, laughing: “Let me teach you some exercises?”
“Yes, yes!” Jinbao clapped happily.
“March in place.” He led Jinbao through the eighth set of radio calisthenics.
“First routine: stretching…”
Jinbao, a little bean, mimicked him earnestly, raising her hands and kicking, trying to keep up. Her clumsy but determined effort was adorable.
From the kitchen came the tempting aroma of sorghum cakes—his aunt was steaming them. Freshly steamed, they tasted entirely different from when cooled.
Downstairs came the sound of clucking—his little aunt feeding the chickens and adding hay to the cowshed.
In the warm sun by the south wall, grandmother was stitching cotton shoes for the children. As for grandfather, he had already left, a roll of tobacco leaves in hand, out for a stroll…
Autumn cicadas sang among the leaves; smoke curled lazily up to the clouds. At that moment, it was beautiful as a painting, a portrait of happiness.

—

“Eighth routine: cool-down…”
After finishing calisthenics, Su Lu returned to the study, and Jinbao quietly went off to play.
Next, Su Lu took out his writing booklet to review yesterday’s Hundred Family Surnames and Thousand Character Classic.
According to the forgetting curve, memory loss begins immediately after learning, but the process is not steady—it’s “fast at first, then slow.” Without review, half is forgotten in an hour, three-quarters in a day. But over time, the rate slows, and eventually, little is forgotten.
People found that spaced review is twice as efficient as cramming. Reviewing after one day strengthens memory by twofold. Thus, the powerful “spaced review system” was developed.
In short, after first learning, one should review at seven key points: twenty minutes, one hour, nine hours, one day, three days, seven days, sixteen days. This ensures knowledge retention with almost no further forgetting.
That’s why, yesterday, while working during the day, Su Lu also recited lessons—he didn’t want to miss crucial review moments.
Today marked the fourth review for Hundred Family Surnames and Thousand Character Classic…

ps. The monk’s left eye is inflamed, writing in one-eyed dragon mode. Please forgive any errors. Also, monthly votes are now open—please vote and recommend!