Chapter 3: Eight Years later in Fallen Village (2/2)

"If you use your fists on the weak, what's the point of training you?"

"Is this what I taught you?"

"If you fight back, I'll be attending his funeral tomorrow."

The young man rubbed his head, staying silent for a long while.

"You're holding back, so you must get some shit to plan. I don't even want to bother." The old man pretended not to notice. "Did you meet Mr. Meng on the way back?"

Quentin Lee chuckled, "Sue is getting prettier by the day."

"Slap!"

"Who asked about that girl?!"

"Oh, oh, you meant my father-in-law?"

"Slap!"

"Take a medicinal bath after dinner and practice on the dummy four hundred times!"

"Grandpa, please! Grandpa!!"

The old man stood up suddenly, leaving him grasping at air.

"Burp... I'm done."

Quentin Lee realized something was wrong in a sudden.

He reached into the bowl with chopsticks several times quickly, the sound of wood scraping against wood echoed in the house.

"Off to play chess with Uncle Lo again?"

"You go practice!"

With a bitter face, Quentin began shoveling rice into his mouth, eating every last grain.

After dinner, he went to the backyard, stripped off his clothes, and sat in a large tub.

The dark green medicated bath stung his skin, causing his body to flush red within moments.

Beads of sweat gathered on his forehead. He clenched his teeth, enduring the pain.

Through the murky green liquid, mysterious patterns faintly appeared on his body.

This year, Quentin had just enlightened his inner eye.

Though he could only see in black and white, it was a tremendous surprise to him.

Thus, everyday he will exhaust his mental energy to use his inner eye.

Quentin sat cross-legged in the tub, silently enduring the pain and planning his practice session after.

On the eastern edge of Fallen Village stood an ancient locust tree.

Sam, dressed in a grey robe and carrying a small folding chair, strolled leisurely to the tree.

An elderly man with a kind face was sitting there, playing chess alone.

Seeing Sam arrive, he greeted her warmly.

"Just finished dinner?"

Sam removed a piece of meat from his teeth and flicked it away. "Old man, today it is one last game with you."

The white-haired old man slowly looked up, speaking softly. "Leaving?"

Sam placed the chair on the ground and replied gently, "Yes, leaving."

"Meng, and Cheung from the west village, I know who they are." He picked up a white chess piece and placed it on the board, looking at the old man. "But you, I've wondering for eight years and still can't figure out."

"What's your name?"

The old man smiled slightly, placing a black chess piece beside the white one. "Me? Just a lonely old man. As for my name… it's Tyson Lo."

"Never heard of it." Sam frowned, muttering softly. "Then you must not be anyone important."

Bang!

The black chess piece was crushed by a flick of her sword sheath.

Sam's eyes sharpened as she stared into the old man. "I don't care who you are. As long as I'm alive, you can't hurt my grandson! You can't even lay a finger on him!"

Buzz!!

In the next moment, the shattered black chess piece miraculously reassembled, returning to its original state.

The old man, unfazed by his threat, said slowly, "Whether or not, I should have a go, shouldn't I?"

Sam smiled, scratching her head with the sword sheath, then stood up. "Then let's settle this now. I might be too busy tomorrow."