Chapter 14: Showing Off

And he even sold it to others to make medicine... what kind of medicine was it? Zhao Jin only felt a deep horror, yet he could find no answer in his memories. At that moment, drowsiness surged over him relentlessly, his consciousness growing fuzzier and fuzzier, until he finally fell asleep.

He Cuihua had seen how utterly exhausted Zhao Jin was the day before, and it pained her heart. She slept restlessly all night, and the next morning she rose early, wanting to check on how the child was resting. Upon waking, she found her husband's spot in the bed empty. He Cuihua knew Zhao Zhentang had the habit of rising early to temper his body, so this was nothing strange.

He Cuihua tiptoed softly to Zhao Jin's room. Lifting the curtain to look, she found Zhao Jin's bed empty, and the clothes that had been on the chest were gone too. He Cuihua froze, and her mind couldn't help but recall the talk of kidnappers from the night before. An inexplicable panic rose in her heart, and she hurried toward the courtyard. Just as she reached the courtyard gate, she froze again, for Zhao Zhentang was standing right in the doorway.

"Husband, the child..." He Cuihua had just begun when Zhao Zhentang said irritably, "He's out running on the street. After that bout of illness, his brain seems to have been addled."

Just as he said this, Zhao Jin came running over, panting heavily, his forehead covered in sweat.

"Husband, why is the child running?"

"Tempering his body, extra training on his own," Zhao Zhentang said coldly. He Cuihua shook her head, craned her neck to watch Zhao Jin's figure disappear around the street corner, and said in a low voice, "Could it be that our child really is cut out for martial arts?"

Zhao Zhentang did not turn around. He gave a cold snort and said, "What damn use is practicing martial arts? Generation after generation practices martial arts, and generation after generation stays poor."

He Cuihua smiled, turned around, and went back inside to busy herself with breakfast. Zhao Zhentang stood there without moving, watching as Zhao Jin came running back from the other end of the street.

The autumn mornings in Xuzhou carried a deep chill, yet Zhao Jin was drenched in sweat from running. From that life to this one, yesterday had been the first time Zhao Jin had ever trained in martial arts. Although the drills had been very tedious, Zhao Jin had keenly realized that his own strength was insufficient.

Learning and practicing martial arts is pointless without a good body. Zhao Jin had been spoiled by his parents before and was very frail. There was no quick fix to change that; he could only increase his physical exertion to strengthen his body. Running could condition the body in a well-rounded way, and Zhao Jin remembered this quite clearly.

Zhao Jin had risen early to run. After his first lap, his father, Zhao Zhentang, was already standing in the doorway. Zhao Jin greeted him, but Zhao Zhentang made no sound, merely nodding. Zhao Jin kept his head down and ran laps, gritting his teeth and pushing on for nearly an hour. Zhao Zhentang watched the entire time.

After washing up, breakfast was already prepared. With his body exercised, his appetite had become exceptionally good. Zhao Jin ate a huge meal. After he finished, the little girl, Mu Shulan, walked in with a beaming smile.

"Xiaolan, don't walk alone on the streets."

"Auntie, don't worry, my dad always brings me and picks me up."

He Cuihua had taken Zhao Jin's words about kidnappers the night before straight to heart. Zhao Jin said nothing, but inwardly he could guess that his mother must have seen and heard many similar cases, which was why she grew nervous the moment it was mentioned.

After the meal, Zhao Jin was about to go learn martial arts. This time, He Cuihua did not let the two children go by themselves, but directly had Zhao Zhentang escort them.

Zhao Zhentang was still in a foul mood, but he did not object. However, before they could even set out, Zhao Zhenxing came over to pick them up.

Uncle Zhao Zhenxing walked in front, while Zhao Jin and Mu Shulan walked behind. Zhao Jin looked at his uncle's slightly hunched back and the many white hairs on his head; he looked over ten years older than his actual age.

"Brother Xiaojin, did you eat scallions?" Mu Shulan asked quietly as they walked.

Zhao Jin was taken aback. That morning, He Cuihua had made a pickled vegetable dish mixed with shredded scallions, a very appetizing side dish. He had eaten a few bites but rinsed his mouth before leaving. How was this little girl's nose so sharp?

Mu Shulan frowned and said, "It smells awful. My family never eats scallions."

Zhao Zhenxing, walking ahead, glanced back. The little girl giggled and changed the subject.

That day's drills were no different from yesterday's: horse stance and holding up the wooden chest. Zhao Jin found it a bit easier than the day before.

The human body is very fragile, but it is also very resilient and highly adaptable. What had felt so grueling yesterday was already somewhat more bearable today.

Yesterday, Mu Shulan had watched very attentively from the side, but today she was hopping and skipping about the whole time. Zhao Jin glanced over a few times and noticed that what Mu Shulan was learning seemed to be something like dance. Before he could get a closer look, Zhao Zhenxing smacked him with a rattan cane.

As Zhao Jin corrected his posture, he couldn't help but wonder. In that life, it was perfectly normal for children to learn dance, but in this era, the arts were the domain of entertainers and performers, a very lowly status. Why would they let a child learn this? And from what he could see, Mu Shulan's father didn't seem to have any connection to singing and dancing.

In the afternoon, however, Zhao Jin got to see his uncle Zhao Zhenxing's martial skill. Zhao Zhenxing marked three dots on the wall, each the size of a fingertip. The three dots formed a vertical line, arranged top, middle, and bottom, spaced a few inches apart.

Zhao Zhenxing held a long spear level in his hands. After steadying his stance, his arms swung rapidly, and the spear tip stabbed into those three dots in quick succession, missing none.

Both Zhao Jin and Mu Shulan stared, dumbstruck. After snapping out of it, the little girl clapped furiously, while Zhao Jin hurriedly resumed his stance to avoid getting hit by the rattan cane.

In that life, Zhao Jin had also seen people use long spears—flexible wooden shafts several meters long, shaken in the hands like a windmill, very spectacular.

But what he saw before him now was different. The wooden shaft of Zhao Zhenxing's long spear was stiff and straight, showing almost no vibration with each thrust.

When Zhao Zhenxing thrust with the spear, he was utterly focused, paying no attention to Zhao Jin's distraction. He was seen stepping back several paces, then charging forward with great strides. He accelerated and gathered power with each step, and upon reaching the wall, he thrust out with force. The spear tip pierced accurately into the topmost dot, sinking halfway in.

Zhao Jin suddenly understood the meaning of those three dots. They clearly represented the positions of a person's upper body: the throat, the chest, and the lower abdomen. A hit there meant certain death.

Zhao Zhenxing retreated further and further back. The longer a person's running distance, the more unstable their body becomes, and the harder it is to hit the target. Yet Zhao Zhenxing did not miss a single thrust, and the spear tip sank deeper and deeper into the wall each time.

Watching someone demonstrate martial arts, a child would surely prefer the flashy kind—leaping and spinning, the more like a dance, the more brilliant. But Zhao Jin was different. From Zhao Zhenxing's movements, he perceived a dense, murderous aura. Every motion was without excess, all techniques meant for killing.

Unknowingly, the little girl who had been clapping and cheering had already hidden behind Zhao Jin, silent and still. She was already somewhat frightened by this martial display.

Was this killing martial skill? Zhao Jin watched, utterly mesmerized. Just then, Zhao Zhenxing suddenly stopped, and holding the long spear in one hand, he abruptly slashed it down toward Zhao Jin.

The long spear drew a sharp whistle through the air. Zhao Jin was petrified with terror. In truth, the spear tip was a full three chi away from Zhao Jin, but facing it head-on, Zhao Jin felt as if his entire body was about to be cleaved in two, his heart and gall shattered.

The spear tip was halted before it even touched the ground. Zhao Jin instinctively recoiled, stumbled backward, and sat down hard on the ground, his whole body drenched in cold sweat. Mu Shulan was also so frightened she let out a shriek, but she did not run away; she still remembered to go help Zhao Jin up.

"No distractions while training! Next time this happens, I'll thrash you with the spear shaft!" Zhao Zhenxing said, a smile on his face.

Zhao Jin wiped his cold sweat as he stood up, not knowing what to say. He thought to himself that if this sort of thing happened a few more times, his body might not necessarily get stronger, but his spirit would surely be frightened to pieces.

Zhao Zhenxing was just about to continue speaking when a pained expression suddenly appeared on his face. He reached out to clutch his left rib, his breathing becoming rapid. Zhao Jin was about to step forward and ask, but Zhao Zhenxing took a deep breath, forcibly endured it, and returned to normal. Smiling, he said, "Xiaojin, as long as you keep training like this, sooner or later you'll be just like your uncle, maybe even stronger."

Hearing this, Zhao Jin finally understood. His uncle was trying to set an example for him, thinking that a child might not endure such tedious training, so he demonstrated his martial arts to attract him and keep him training.

Zhao Jin smiled bitterly to himself. If it weren't him, but the old Zhao Jin, seeing that martial display just now would probably have killed any interest in continuing to train. That kind of monotonous thrusting held no appeal whatsoever; it was purely a killing technique.

Despite his thoughts, Zhao Jin still asked with concern, "Second Uncle, are you alright? You looked like you were in a lot of pain."

Zhao Zhenxing shook his head, but another twinge of pain struck from somewhere. He gritted his teeth and said gently, "It's nothing, just an old injury."