It didn't matter whether the Ink Marker had a good temper or a bad one. It had come to life, and there was no killing it again, nor could he stuff it into the stove. Shen Le sighed and tried to console himself:
At least the Little Ink Marker had hit him with the Devil's Work Ball, not jabbed him with the pointed end of the Lead Weight.
The former would only leave a mark. He could rub it and be fine; it barely even hurt. The latter... the latter could actually kill someone...
And anyway, what exactly did you want?
Give me some kind of sign!
The Ink Marker said nothing and didn't move. Even the Lead Weight had drooped down, lying quietly on the table.
Shen Le took a step back, silently circulating his energy as he used his Spirit Eye to look. At a glance, he took another step back:
From the lion-shaped body of the Ink Marker, to the spool wrapped with Ink Line, to the Lead Weight and Devil's Work Ball at the end of the spool—the auras visible only through his Spirit Eye were practically dancing wildly, boiling over in waves that grew higher and higher.
It wasn't just the aura around the Ink Marker that was boiling. The toolbox nearby, along with the old tools inside it, was boiling over too.
Those auras were faint and couldn't compare to the Ink Marker's, but with dozens of tools gathered together, all resonating with the Ink Marker, they looked like a horde of demons dancing!
"Don't tell me you've all come to life? If you all come to life, I'm afraid I can't afford to keep you in this house..."
Well, woodwork tools didn't need to eat or buy clothes, and the house was his, so he wouldn't have to pay their rent either.
In that case, no problem...
Shen Le's mind wandered, and for a moment he let his guard down. With a smack, the Devil's Work Ball flew up and struck him on the forehead again.
Shen Le let out a soft cry and covered his forehead once more:
Damn, he'd forgotten! The Ink Marker's Silk Thread was eighteen meters long. In other words, unless he got more than eighteen meters away, there was no way he could escape its pinpoint strikes!
"What do you want me to do? Just tell me already!"
The Ink Marker didn't speak or try to tug the Ink Line into different shapes. It simply swung up the Lead Weight and once again aimed it at Shen Le's forehead.
Shen Le backed away, leaned back, dodged left and right, and flailed his arms. But his agility still wasn't high enough. After dodging twice, he was ultimately hit on the forehead by the Devil's Work Ball:
"Ow!"
Once was bad, twice was worse, but there couldn't be a third time!
If you do that again, I'll smash your Devil's Work Ball!
Shen Le was furious. Before he could finish the thought, everything went dark again, followed by a loud shout:
"You want to become a carpenter? No! Absolutely not!"
Ah, this was the last stretch of its memories, right?
The Ink Marker had been completely repaired. It should tell him what it wanted now, right?
Shen Le looked around. The scene he saw this time was much more recent than the ones before. At least the television in the room was an LCD, not one of those old, bulky sets.
Aside from that, however, the furnishings were still old-fashioned:
On the wooden headboard, plum branches spread out on either side, with magpies spreading their wings and surrounding a large peony in the center. The flower was carved in shallow relief. It was exactly the same bed as the one in the silver-haired old woman's home;
The wooden panels on the fronts of the two bedside tables were split with three or four cracks of varying sizes, clearly weathered by decades of use. Crocheted dust covers had been laid over them;
On the side of the large wardrobe against the wall were dozens of parallel lines drawn in ballpoint pen. The lower lines were spaced farther apart, while the upper ones were closer together. They clearly recorded a child's growth, step by step...
But the child his parents had pinned such high hopes on, the child whose height they had carefully marked as he grew, was now curled up on a little stool in the corner, silently holding the familiar old Ink Marker.
In front of the child, his father wore a grave expression. He paced back and forth, back and forth, until at last he made up his mind:
"We still have to pay the sponsorship fee! We'll pay forty thousand yuan to get him into Yucai Middle School. We're not sending him to vocational school!"
"No!" In the kitchen, the sound of chopping immediately grew louder. The clash of the cleaver against the cutting board couldn't drown out the woman's raised voice:
"Zheng Xiaohua! That money is for your medical treatment! High school or vocational school, it's all schooling. Why can't he go to vocational school?"
"Vocational school is absolutely out of the question!" The father charged into the kitchen to argue with his wife:
"What prospects are there at vocational schools these days?
He could learn to cook and stand in smoke and heat all day long?
Or learn auto repair and crawl under cars every day, getting covered in grease?
Or study machinery and work in a factory, where a machine might cut his fingers off one day?!"
"And what's the point of high school?" The mother wasn't about to back down either:
"He's four points short of the cutoff. Even if we pay the sponsorship fee to get him in, it'll still be the worst high school. Then what? Does he really think he can get into a top university?
"He'll end up at a college or technical school anyway! Why spend all that money just to take the long way around?"
Uh... that was true... If he couldn't even meet the cutoff for high school, it really would be difficult to turn his life around there...
By then, Shen Le had recognized them. They were the very couple he'd seen several times in real life, the ones who had sold him the Ink Marker and the complete set of woodworking tools.
He'd witnessed them arguing so badly in real life that they nearly got divorced. He hadn't expected to witness them arguing again in the Ink Marker's memories. Fortunately, before they could really get going, the man's tone softened a little:
"The kid's still young. He doesn't understand anything yet. By the time he finishes high school and goes on to college, he'll at least be a little more mature." He lowered his voice as he tried to persuade her:
"Vocational schools are a mess these days. Every day it's either fighting or chasing girls. We should wait until he has more self-control before sending him there. As his parents, we have to take responsibility for him..."
"We still can't waste money!" The mother's voice softened slightly too, but soon hardened again:
"Your back is in bad shape. The doctor's told you several times that you need surgery, but we haven't had the money... That lumbar disc surgery costs over thirty thousand out of pocket, even with the minimally invasive procedure. What if you spend the money and your back starts hurting again?"
At the mention of back pain, the man reflexively reached behind himself and pounded his lower back, a look of pain crossing his face.
Years of squatting, bending over, and hunching while he worked had caused problems with his lumbar spine at an early age. He had to sleep on a hard bed, and every few days he needed medicated plasters and a hot compress.
If it were only pain, he could bear it. But when his back flared up, he couldn't even move in bed, let alone go out to work.
If he couldn't work, he wouldn't earn anything. Not only would there be no income, but someone would have to stay home and look after him...
"I can get the open surgery." The man's voice was heavy:
"The open surgery only costs a few thousand yuan, and insurance will cover it. There's no need for that minimally invasive procedure!"
"There is a need!" His wife's voice rose another notch:
"With the minimally invasive procedure, he won't suffer as much. He can get out of bed the same day and walk out of the hospital after a week.
"With open surgery, he won't be able to get out of bed for a week. He'll have to stay in the hospital for at least half a month, lose more blood, and take longer to recover.
"We can't skimp on this money. He absolutely has to get the minimally invasive procedure..."