One Pound Meat, One More Attribute Point

Chapter 5: Lessons

Chapter 5: Lessons

"I think Junior Brother’s cultivation has improved again,"

At Pure Yang Martial Arts Hall, Ning Wantong was having dinner with her father, Ning Zhibai. Ning Wantong was scraping rice in her bowl when she abruptly looked up, her gaze crossing the candle on the table to address Ning Zhibai.

"Junior Brother?"

Ning Zhibai wiped a grain of rice from the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand and asked in confusion, "Which Junior Brother, Su Heng?"

"Yes," Ning Wantong nodded.

"He has practiced Pure Yang Skill for only less than three months, what improvement could be visible?" Ning Zhibai said with a dismissive smile. "Pure Yang Skill is a genuine Taoist mental method that requires persistent effort. Even if that boy has decent talent, it would take over a decade to notice any change without considerable time."

"Is that so?" Ning Wantong murmured in agreement, sounding subdued.

As Ning Zhibai smiled, his expression stiffened slightly. He looked at his daughter, whose fair face turned completely red, possibly due to the candlelight or some other reason. With a slightly furrowed brow and a hint of suspicion, he asked, "You haven’t... taken a liking to him, have you?"

"Of course not!" Ning Wantong’s eyes widened, "We differ so much in age, how could that even be possible?"

Ning Zhibai didn’t probe further and waited until dinner was finished. Ning Wantong stayed behind to clean up the dishes, while Ning Zhibai, holding a candle, went to the second floor of the training room. After meals, he would come here alone to sit quietly for a while, practice his mental method, and reflect on the day’s gains and losses.

This had become a habit over the years, unwavering for decades.

This time was no exception.

Outside the window, the moonlight was bright and clear, like a hazy mist passing through the open window and filling the room. Even without the candle’s light, the room was clearly visible.

Ning Zhibai sat down cross-legged, his eyes slightly closed.

He soon recalled a conversation he had earlier with Su Heng.

Ning Zhibai’s innate talent was mediocre; after decades, he had only just managed to reach the third level of the Pure Yang Skill. However, his master, the Nanshan Hermit, who had passed away over a decade ago, was a famous grandmaster in the martial world, having reached the limits of the Pure Yang Skill.

The Nanshan Hermit once lamented that something was lacking in this world, which made it impossible to perfect the martial path.

If he had been born three hundred years earlier, perhaps he could have stepped into an entirely different realm.

At that time, Ning Zhibai was young.

He didn’t take this complaint to heart, thinking his master was merely boasting. His master, a renowned grandmaster in the martial arts community, seriously claimed that he was just a newcomer who had hardly stepped onto the path of martial arts.

He wondered when he would become a grandmaster himself and say the same thing to his own disciples.

"Ah..."

Under the luminous moonlight, Ning Zhibai sighed.

As the years passed, the youthful dreams drifted further away. Now, merely continuing to live and passing on the Pure Yang Skill of the Nanshan Hermit consumed all his energy, leaving no room for the ambitions he once had. Looking back, only a touch of emotion remained.

"Above a grandmaster, one must undergo a transformation. Does the realm my master spoke of truly exist?"

Lost in thought, Ning Zhibai opened his eyes.

On the wooden table in front of him,

A shattered porcelain cup was turned into powder, forming a small pile at the edge of the table.

Ning Zhibai was first stunned, then rubbed his eyes and leaned closer, even lifting the candle to make sure he wasn’t seeing things.

"This..."

The second floor of the training room was completely empty; there was nothing else.

During the entire afternoon, only Su Heng was alone here until he quietly left in the evening.

Recalling what Ning Wantong had just said about Su Heng’s seemingly improved cultivation.

"Could it be..." a bizarre speculation appeared in Ning Zhibai’s mind, "This porcelain cup, could it have been crushed into powder by Su Heng’s bare hand!!!"

"Is this even human!?"

Ning Zhibai subconsciously clasped another porcelain cup in his hand. He exerted force with his fingers, but the porcelain cup remained immovable, instead causing his fingers to ache intensely.

"Oh no!"

Ning Zhibai looked up at the bright moon outside the window, his mind a complete blank, "Could it be that the boy has really developed something with Pure Yang Skill? But my master, the Taoist from Nanshan, practiced for thirty years and never achieved this; how could he have managed it in just three months! Impossible!"

...

"All he knows is to run outside, never doing anything serious, never coming home. All three of us have been waiting for you here, and the food has already gone cold."

In a spacious and bright room within the Su Family mansion.

Su Heng’s father, Old Master Su, was tapping his fingers on the dining table, causing the oil lamp on it to swing back and forth, reflecting Su Heng’s somewhat helpless expression.

"Actually, you didn’t need to wait for me," Su Heng finally spoke helplessly after Old Master Su had finished venting his anger, "You could have eaten without me; I wouldn’t mind eating what’s left. Besides, with so many servants in the mansion, it would be completely possible to cook separately for me."

"You dare talk back!" Old Master Su felt his authority as the Family Head being challenged, and he glared.

"Don’t be angry, don’t be angry," Su Heng’s mother quickly reached out to hold Old Master Su’s shoulder, speaking soothingly, "Heng has been practicing martial arts at that martial arts hall recently, hasn’t he? I see he has gotten much stronger lately, surely due to considerable hard training."

"Humph!" Old Master Su snorted coldly, "What’s the use of practicing martial arts?"

"These days the world is peaceful, the court values literature over martial arts. Even if you’re a great fighter, what can you achieve? Even the so-called grandmaster on the rivers and lakes, if surrounded by seven or eight crossbowmen, would meet his demise if he is not careful.

Not to mention the craftsmen in the court have developed muskets which could threaten a grandmaster from a hundred steps away, even in the hands of an ordinary person."

"So you see, studying diligently and achieving scholarly honors is the true path," another somewhat immature voice came from beside Su Heng. It was his younger brother, named Su Shang. Additionally, Su Heng had a sister who was two years older than him, named Su Li.

Little brother Su Shang, only twelve years old, with fair skin, a handsome face, and rosy lips and white teeth, looked as pretty as a little girl. Yet there he sat at the dining table, trying hard to look like a little adult, shaking his head as he earnestly addressed Su Heng, "Big brother, you’re almost of age, and our parents are getting no younger; let’s not make our parents worry anymore…"

Su Shang couldn’t finish his sentence.

Because Su Heng was tilting his head, looking down at him with an expressionless face, yet somehow frightening.

Su Shang couldn’t hold back a shiver and timidly said, "Big brother?"

Su Heng didn’t respond, but took two chopsticks out of a bamboo tube and handed them to his little brother. Su Shang took them, but his small face was puzzled.

"Try to break them," Su Heng said.

Su Shang, though confused, did as told. Using his thigh as support, he applied force with both hands, and with a crisp sound, the two chopsticks easily snapped.

Su Heng waved his hand grandly.

He took all the chopsticks out of the bamboo tube and handed them to Su Shang.

"Try again?"

Su Shang did so, and this time, dozens of pairs of chopsticks gathered together, their thickness noticeably more substantial than Su Shang’s arm. His small hands struggled even to grip them, let alone break them.

"I understand," Su Shang looked up at Su Heng, carefully began, "A single pair of chopsticks can be easily broken, but many chopsticks together are unshakable. Big brother, you are using this method to tell me that the siblings of the Su Family should be harmonious and supportive of each other, that’s how we can protect our great family business."

"Well said…" Su Heng’s face broke into a smile, just as his little brother was about to sigh in relief, but then Su Heng’s tone abruptly changed, "Unfortunately, you missed the mark."

As Su Shang looked puzzled, Su Heng stretched out his hand, grasping all the chopsticks in his hand.

His large hand before Su Shang’s face, his burly wrist almost as thick as an ordinary person’s calf. As Su Heng exerted force, veins bulged on his wrist, thick green-black lines protruding outward.

In the orange glow of the firelight, the smile on Su Heng’s face deepened.

Crack!

A crisp sound.

Followed by a rapid, firecracker-like series of snapping sounds.

With his fearsome wrist strength alone, Su Heng single-handedly broke dozens of chopsticks. The irregularly broken pieces of wood scattered across the table, bounced up, then fell again.

Su Shang’s eyes widened, his face holding a trace of horror, but even more incredulity.

The worldview he had formed over twelve years was being violently reshaped by his older brother. The room fell into silence, and it took several breaths before a slight sound was heard again—it was Old Master Su’s chopsticks falling to the floor from his hand.