Fu Mo looked at Anfeng with a slight confusion.
He could see the latter's temptation, just as clearly as he now saw his resolve.
It wasn't that he couldn't; it was that he didn't wish to. If one didn't wish to, their heart would be still as still water.
But when one's heart was tempted and truly wanted to do something, yet there was a line drawn before them, blocking their path, making it impossible to cross, that was truly being unable to.
Anfeng offered no explanation. His gaze fell on his father, and he pressed his lips together, a stubborn determination appearing on his scarred face.
If practicing martial arts meant leaving his father, he would rather not practice at all.
If practicing martial arts meant being a burden to his Master along with his father, he would also rather abstain from learning.
He didn't need to speak; having grown up rough and tumble from a young age, he had already come to understand something.