Chapter 14

Zhaoin stood at the classroom door, took a deep breath, and firmly held the letter containing the secret that his mother had given him.

The previous day, Zhaoin's exhaustion was evident to He Cuihua, who felt very concerned. She didn't sleep well all night and got up early the next morning to check on her child's rest. Upon waking, she noticed that her husband's bed was also empty. He Cuihua knew that Zhao Zhentang had the habit of getting up early to exercise, so she wasn't surprised.

He Cuihua quietly approached Zhaoin's room, lifted the curtain, and found that Zhaoin's bed was also empty. The clothes on the chest were missing. He Cuihua was taken aback, and the topic of kidnappers from the previous night immediately came to mind. She felt a sudden unease and hurriedly walked towards the courtyard. Just as she reached the courtyard gate, she was startled again because Zhao Zhentang was standing at the door.

"Master, the child..." He Cuihua began, but Zhao Zhentang said irritably, "He's running on the street. After being sick, his mind seems to have been affected."

Just as he said this, Zhaoin, out of breath, ran over, his forehead covered in sweat.

"Master, why is the child running?"

"Exercising, he's adding extra practice," Zhao Zhentang said coldly. He Cuihua shook her head, watching Zhaoin's figure disappear around the street corner, and whispered, "Could it be that our child really has the makings of a martial artist?"

Zhao Zhentang didn't turn around and snorted, "What good is martial arts? Generation after generation, they practice martial arts and remain poor."

He Cuihua smiled and turned back to prepare breakfast. Zhao Zhentang stood there, watching Zhaoin run back from the street.

The autumn morning in Xuzhou was very cold, but Zhaoin was drenched in sweat. This was the first time Zhaoin had practiced martial arts in this life. Although the exercises were monotonous, Zhaoin keenly realized his lack of strength.

Without a good physique, martial arts are meaningless. Zhaoin, who had been pampered by his parents, had a weak body. There was no quick fix to change this, so he could only increase his physical activity to strengthen his body. Running can comprehensively strengthen the body, and Zhaoin remembered this clearly.

Zhaoin got up early to run. After the first lap, his father, Zhao Zhentang, stood at the door. Zhaoin greeted him, and Zhao Zhentang nodded without a word. Zhaoin ran laps, gritting his teeth for about half an hour, while Zhao Zhentang watched the entire time.

After washing up, breakfast was ready. With his body exercised, Zhaoin's appetite was particularly good, and he ate heartily. After finishing, the little girl, Muxulan, came in with a smile.

"Xiao Lan, don't walk alone on the street."

"Auntie, don't worry. My father always drops me off and picks me up."

Zhaoin's words about kidnappers the previous night had stuck with He Cuihua. Although Zhaoin didn't say much, he could guess that his mother had seen and heard many similar cases, which made her tense.

After breakfast, Zhaoin was going to practice martial arts. This time, He Cuihua didn't let the two children go alone but had Zhao Zhentang take them.

Zhao Zhentang still had a bad temper but didn't object. However, before they set out, Uncle Zhao Xing had already come to pick them up.

Uncle Zhao Xing walked in front, and Zhaoin and Muxulan followed behind. Zhaoin noticed that his uncle's back was slightly hunched, and his hair was mostly white, making him look over a decade older than his actual age.

"Brother Xiaojin, did you eat scallions?" Muxulan asked softly as they walked.

Zhaoin was taken aback. This morning, He Cuihua had made a side dish with scallions, which was very appetizing. He had eaten a few bites but had rinsed his mouth before coming out. How could the little girl have such a sensitive nose?

Muxulan frowned and said, "It really stinks. We never eat scallions at home."

Zhao Xing, walking in front, turned back and glanced at her. The little girl smiled and changed the topic.

The training for the day was not much different from the previous day, still horse stance and lifting wooden boxes. Zhaoin found it a bit easier than yesterday.

The human body is fragile but also very resilient, with a strong adaptability. What felt so difficult yesterday had become somewhat familiar today.

Yesterday, Muxulan had watched carefully, but today she was bouncing around. Zhaoin glanced a few times and noticed that Muxulan seemed to be learning something like dance. Before he could look closely, Zhao Xing hit him with a bamboo stick.

When Zhaoin corrected his posture, he couldn't help but wonder. In his previous life, children learning dance was normal, but in this era, art was considered lowly, performed by entertainers. Why was a child learning this, and Muxulan's father didn't seem to have any connection to dance or music.

However, in the afternoon, Zhaoin saw Uncle Zhao Xing's martial skills. Zhao Xing marked three points on the wall, each the size of a fingertip, arranged in a line from top to bottom, a few inches apart.

Zhao Xing held a long spear horizontally, stood steady, and then rapidly moved his arms, the spear tip continuously hitting the three points without missing any.

Zhaoin and Muxulan were both stunned. When they recovered, the little girl clapped her hands enthusiastically, while Zhaoin quickly resumed his stance to avoid being hit by the bamboo stick.

In his previous life, Zhaoin had seen others use long spears, the flexible wooden poles moving like windmills, very impressive.

But what he saw now was different. Zhao Xing's spear was rigid, and each thrust was almost imperceptible.

Zhao Xing was extremely focused while wielding the spear, completely ignoring Zhaoin's distraction. He took a few steps back, then charged forward, accelerating and increasing his strength. When he reached the wall, he thrust the spear, the tip accurately piercing the top point, half of it embedded in the wall.

Zhaoin suddenly understood the significance of the three points. They clearly represented the throat, chest, and abdomen, and being hit would be fatal.

Zhao Xing's distance from the wall increased, making it harder to hit the target as he moved. Yet, Zhao Xing never missed, and the spear tip penetrated the wall deeper each time.

Watching someone perform martial arts, children usually prefer flashy moves, jumps, and spins, the more dance-like the better. But Zhaoin was different. He saw the deadly intent in Zhao Xing's movements, each thrust precise and lethal.

Unconsciously, the little girl who had been clapping had retreated behind Zhaoin, silent, clearly frightened by the demonstration.

Is this the art of killing? Zhaoin was mesmerized. Just then, Zhao Xing suddenly stopped and swung the spear at Zhaoin with one hand.

The spear whistled through the air, and Zhaoin was terrified. Although the spear tip was about three feet away, it felt like he was about to be split in two, his heart pounding.

The spear tip stopped before it hit the ground. Zhaoin instinctively stepped back, stumbled, and fell to the ground, drenched in cold sweat. Muxulan screamed but didn't run away, remembering to help Zhaoin up.

"During training, you must not be distracted. If you do this again, I'll hit you with the spear shaft!" Zhao Xing said with a smile.

Zhaoin wiped the cold sweat and stood up, unsure what to say. He thought that if this happened a few more times, his body might not get stronger, but his spirit would definitely be shattered.

Just as Zhao Xing was about to continue speaking, a pained expression appeared on his face. He clutched his left side and his breathing became rapid. Zhaoin was about to ask if he was okay, but Zhao Xing took a deep breath, forced himself to recover, and said with a smile, "If you keep practicing like this, you will eventually be as strong as your uncle, or even stronger."

Hearing this, Zhaoin understood. His uncle was setting an example, thinking that a child might not endure such monotonous training and was trying to attract him to continue.

Zhaoin smiled bitterly. If it were the old Zhaoin, he probably wouldn't have been interested in continuing after seeing such a demonstration. The repetitive thrusts were not appealing; they were purely killing techniques.

Despite his thoughts, Zhaoin asked with concern, "Uncle, are you okay? You look very pained."

Zhao Xing shook his head but winced again. He gritted his teeth and said gently, "I'm fine, it's an old injury."