With a smack, a pebble shot through the air and struck a little boy on the bottom.
The little boy cried out in pain, looking thoroughly aggrieved.
"No slacking. Head up, chest out," Fan Xiu barked.
The little boy gritted his teeth and struggled to lift his drooping head and puff out his little chest. He was holding a horse stance.
The boy had delicate, handsome features and looked about four or five, still very young.
His clothing, however, was rather strange and exceedingly ugly.
Over his clothes, he wore another odd garment that looked like so much scrap iron.
The child made no sound. He pressed his lips together and gritted his teeth, holding on.
Before long, his horse stance began to slacken again.
There was another smack, and his little bottom was struck once more.
"Grandpa Fan, I can't hold on anymore. I've lasted as long as I did a few days ago. Isn't that enough?" the little boy asked.
"So you know that was a few days ago? If you could last that long a few days ago, there's no reason you can't manage it now," Fan Xiu said. "Another two hours."
"Ah!" the little boy exclaimed.
Wouldn't another two hours be the death of him?
"What are you shouting for?" Fan Xiu rose from his chair nearby, walked over to the little boy, and barked, "You little rascal. Think I don't know you've still got strength to spare? Don't play pitiful. It won't work on me. Keep going. You can stop in two hours."
The little boy wanted to cry but had no tears. He did have some strength left and could probably keep going for another hour.
But he didn't want to be pushed to his limit every time. He wanted to relax just a