Chapter 934 – Elf Children

The commotion finally caught Elder Rhindor’s attention. He strolled over, his face bearing a warm, inquiring expression. “Children, what’s going on? You should be focusing on—”

His words came to an abrupt halt the instant his gaze fell upon Mo Lan’s bark paper. He looked up almost immediately, turning toward Matil, who had been standing not far away the entire time, his eyes filled with inquiry and disbelief.

Matil responded with a calm, knowing nod, as if to say: “See? This is the difference I was talking about.” Though the tidal waves surging in the depths of her own heart were no less turbulent than Rhindor’s.

Elder Rhindor withdrew his gaze, and when he looked at Mo Lan again, he had already suppressed the storm within. He spoke to her in the steadiest tone he could manage: “Little Moira, your vine script… you’ve already mastered it remarkably well. Would you like to try something more challenging—the flowing wind script?”

The flowing wind script demanded brushstrokes as fluid and graceful as the wind, requiring a higher degree of wrist control and a deeper understanding of the spirit and rhythm of the characters. It was typically a domain that elves only ventured into after becoming proficient in vine script.

Mo Lan barely hesitated at all, nodding her little head vigorously, her emerald-green eyes sparkling with eagerness. “Yes!”

She had already built a foundation in vine script back in Valen. The flowing wind script and the leaf vein script were the true essence of Seran elvish calligraphy. The leaf vein script in particular could even carry magical energy—this was the perfect opportunity to give it a try.

She picked up the grass-stalk pen once more. This time, her movements were noticeably more cautious.

The strokes of the flowing wind script no longer pursued the coiling and nodes of vine script, but instead emphasized the continuity, lightness, and dynamism of the lines. She recalled the exemplars from her inherited memories, her wrist attempting to move in a more dexterous manner.

The pen tip descended again, and dark green lines began to wind across the bark paper. However, the flowing wind script was clearly a step up in difficulty. She had never practiced it before, and her lines were no longer as steady—occasional unwanted pauses appeared, and the structure of the characters looked somewhat loose due to the first attempt. Overall it appeared halting and rough. Though one could still discern a solid foundation and control far surpassing a true beginner’s, it no longer matched the stunning display she had produced when writing vine script.

The young elves who had already begun studying the flowing wind script couldn’t help but secretly breathe a collective sigh of relief at the sight.

Tally couldn’t resist voicing what everyone was thinking: “Thank goodness Moira didn’t start practicing flowing wind script while she was still in her life cocoon!”

If she could reach the standard level right from the start with flowing wind script as well, then elves like them who had practiced for decades would truly need to find a tree hollow to crawl into and hide.

For elves in their forties and fifties to be utterly outclassed by a little one who had been alive for only three or four days—that would be far too heartbreaking and demoralizing a thing for an elf to bear.

Elder Rhindor watched the raw yet promising flowing wind script characters taking shape beneath Mo Lan’s pen. A glimmer of appreciation actually flickered in his eyes, and he had finally found something he could offer guidance on:

“Very good. The key to flowing wind script lies in ‘intent’ rather than ‘form.’ Your wrist needs to be looser—imagine your pen tip is a gentle breeze skimming over the tips of grass…”

Mo Lan listened attentively, her small face the picture of concentration, adjusting her brushwork according to his guidance from time to time. Though the improvement wasn’t as dramatic as with vine script, she was still progressing at a pace visible to the naked eye.

“Alright, that’s all for today. Same time next week—if the weather is just as fine, we’ll come here again to continue exploring the mysteries of calligraphy!”

Hearing Rhindor’s voice, Mo Lan—who had been deeply engrossed in her practice—instinctively looked up at the sky.

The sunlight was perfect at that moment, and dusk was clearly still a long way off.

Class was already over?

Her eyes were full of confusion.

Had it even been an hour from start to finish? And next week’s session was even contingent on the weather being good enough to continue. This pace of instruction was far too brief and casual!

Now Mo Lan understood why the young elves needed twenty to thirty years just to practice vine script alone!

Yet the young elves around her seemed long accustomed to this.

They tidied up their bark paper, grass-stalk pens, and ink tubes in an orderly fashion. For elves who possessed long lives, learning was more akin to a lifelong stroll than a frantic sprint against the clock.

Polly came over to invite her: “Moira, would you like to come see the lily of the valley flowers I planted? They’re in the little garden below my treehouse—they’ve been blooming beautifully these past few days! We can pick some to bring back and arrange!”

She had barely finished speaking when the quiet Celine also spoke up softly, a hint of anticipation in her voice: “I… I’m going to pick water-wash flowers by the little stream outside Lady Lila’s Herb Garden to make water-wash ink. Would you like to come along? I can give you some when it’s done.”

Before Mo Lan could respond, Dominic, who had been barely containing himself, leaped forward in one stride, nudging Polly and Celine slightly aside. He said eagerly: “Hey, what’s so interesting about looking at flowers and picking flowers! Moira, come watch the wood sprites dance with me! I know where to find them—it’s so much fun!”

Three pairs of eyes looked at Mo Lan, full of anticipation, awaiting her choice.

Mo Lan looked at the three young elves. Lily of the valley smelled wonderful, and she had never seen the lily of the valley of the Seran world before—it would be nice to go have a look. Using water-wash ink for calligraphy practice would save a lot of paper, and during this practice phase, the usage rate would be very high—worth seeing. Watching wood sprites dance… that sounded lovely too. She was brimming with curiosity about this world right now.

But… what she actually wanted most was to keep practicing her calligraphy!

Her fingertips still seemed to retain the feel of the pen, and the stroke trajectories of the flowing wind script had not yet faded from her mind. That sensation of progressing from clumsiness to gradual mastery fascinated her.

She knew full well that only by mastering the flowing wind script sooner could she move on more quickly to the leaf vein script—the script capable of carrying magical energy.

That was the domain she truly yearned to reach.

Matil had come to understand Mo Lan somewhat by now. Seeing her look down at the paper and pen, the chieftain knew exactly what she was thinking, and felt both amused and tender-hearted: “Moira, go play with everyone! Your wrists are still very delicate—your bones and muscles are still growing. You can’t do such fine writing practice for extended periods, or you’ll hurt yourself. Balancing work with rest is the path to lasting progress.”

“Okay!” Mo Lan felt a tinge of regret but quickly accepted reality. She looked toward her newly acquainted elf friends and said: “There’s still… plenty of time. Can we… go to all of them?”

This greedy little proposal—wanting to have it all—made the three young elves freeze for a moment before they all broke into laughter.

“Sure, sure!” Polly was the first to clap her hands. “My lily of the valley is the closest!”

“Mm, picking water-wash flowers is quick too,” Celine added quietly.

Dominic thought looking at flowers was a bit of a “waste of time,” but he reluctantly agreed: “Fine then! But you’d better hurry up, or the wood sprites will have gone home to sleep!”

“Go on and enjoy yourselves,” Chieftain Matil said kindly, stroking Mo Lan’s hair. She offered one final reminder: “Remember not to leave the tribe’s protective boundary. No matter where you go, the Tree Spirit will be watching over you.”

(End of Chapter)