Guo Kai was not the only one.
At that moment, Guo Bingfu, whose name commanded respect throughout Tianjin and who believed he had long since seen through everything, lost all composure. His hands clenched behind his back, veins bulging across them.
He stared at the True Martial Force Li Xiang had unleashed. His lips parted slightly, but not a sound came out.
Ten days and ten nights?
Three days and three nights?
What a load of fucking nonsense.
From the moment the boy sat down to the moment he understood it, less than half an incense stick had burned.
What kind of genius was that? He was a monster born knowing it all, wrapped in human skin.
Guo Bingfu knew better than anyone how difficult True Martial Force was to grasp. It was not a martial art one could master by memorizing a diagram of meridians. One had to strip away every flourish and technique, face the Unyielding spirit in the deepest reaches of the heart, and question the very source of martial arts. Between oneself and that understanding stood a sheet of window paper, invisible and intangible, yet as unyielding as a chasm.
Back then, he had barely managed to pry open a crack with the Obsessive Thought he had built up over half a lifetime of hard labor at the bottom of society.
His own grandson, Guo Kai, had decent talent, but he had still spent more than ten years before the stele before grasping even the rudiments beneath the Wordless Stele.
Yet Li Xiang had simply sat down, taken one look, and... understood it.
He had covered the road that took Guo Kai more than a decade, then gone farther and seen deeper.
What crack in a rock did Hong Tianbao dig this freak out of...? Guo