"Hey, have you heard? The Yan family's second son seems to be a mute..." "Yes, yes, and he was born to a concubine, too. What a pity..." —— The second young master of the Yan family was given the name Wuyang and the courtesy name Wangyou. His given name was drawn from the saying "May the mountains and rivers remain unblemished, and peace prevail across the mortal world," while his courtesy name was taken from "Humble though my station may be, I dare not forget my concern for the nation; only when the coffin lid is sealed can a person's deeds be judged." —— For reasons unknown, Yan Wangyou had been unable to speak since birth. When the midwife carried him out into the hall, she patted his back, yet no infant's cry came. Looking down, she saw his little mouth wide open, completely voiceless. She patted him again, looking at the wide-mouthed infant in her arms, and thought of the frail, breathtaking woman lying weak in the inner room. With a silent sigh, she thought: "Another poor soul born to a bitter fate, what a pity..." —— Because he was mute, Yan Wangyou suffered plenty of bullying growing up, yet he cultivated exquisite calligraphy. His brushstrokes were bold and vigorous, akin to iron hooks and silver strokes, yet imbued with a delicate grace. Anyone who saw them could not help but marvel: "This boy is surely destined to become a great calligrapher!" —— Alas, fate was unkind. Yan Wangyou's mother had always been frail, and after giving birth to him, her years were numbered. She was exceptionally beautiful, bearing the delicate, graceful charm of a Jiangnan woman, with features like delicate blossoms and pale lips. She often kept her face partially veiled with a handkerchief and kept her eyes lowered, making it impossible to tell what she was thinking. Yan Wangyou inherited his mother's looks, showing signs from an early age that he would grow into a refined, striking beauty. The only feature that differed was his eyes, which he inherited from his father—Yan Shanhe, head of the Yan family and a patriotic warlord. The outer corners of Wangyou's eyes tilted upward with a natural, subtle blush. When his gaze shifted, his crystal-clear, radiant amber eyes seemed capable of pulling anyone in. The finishing touch was a small crimson mole on his right eyelid, visible even when his eyes were open, lending him an extra touch of delicate allure. —— "Such a handsome young man, why did he have to be a mute..." "Indeed... Look at those eyes of his, simply captivating!" Yan Wangyou grew up hearing the whispers of the servants. Yet his mother treated him with utmost tenderness, quietly pawning off much of her jewelry and secretly hiding the money away elsewhere. Gently stroking Wangyou's head as she looked into his innocent eyes, she would speak to him in her soft Jiangnan accent: "Little one, if you ever find yourself with nowhere left to turn, go to that place Mama told you about, alright?" Yan Wangyou nodded, engraving that Jiangnan address deep into his memory: the small tiled house at No. 421, Nan'an Road, Heqing City. —— Today was Yan Wangyou's eighteenth birthday. There was no banquet and there were no gifts, only his mother's cold body. He stared blankly at her peaceful, serene face on the bed, tears streaming uncontrollably down his cheeks. He gently lifted her stiffening body onto his back, used his savings to purchase a small burial plot, and bought a beautiful set of traditional Jiangnan women's attire from a clothing shop, having the servants dress her in it. He buried his mother entirely by himself, weeping without pause. To the day she died, he never even knew her real name, only that she was called "Lady Lian." —— From then on, Yan Wangyou became even more withdrawn, finding solace only in listening to traditional Chinese opera. His father paid him no heed, merely tossing him a bit of silver each month to send him away.
"Words are the voice of the heart; calligraphy is the painting of the mind."