Liu Jinyuan's reply made Lin Tiannan shudder slightly.
He gave the young man a long, searching look, then sighed."You child… why put yourself through this?"
"Uncle, I'm not suffering," Liu Jinyuan answered with a faint smile, shaking his head.
But the hollowness in his eyes and the exhaustion written across his face betrayed him. His resolve came at a cost—it was clear that giving up a promising future for martial training had torn him apart inside before he reached this decision.
Lin Tiannan's chest tightened. Watching him, he couldn't help but be moved. For a fleeting moment, he was even tempted to give his blessing for Jinyuan to marry Lin Yueru.
Yet the thought never made it past his lips. He swallowed it back and shook his head helplessly."How am I supposed to explain this to your parents, when you look like this?"
It was a fair point. Every parent wishes to see their child succeed. As the son of a high minister, Liu Jinyuan's family had poured everything into preparing him for a brilliant career in government service. They dreamed of the honor he would bring them.
But now, he wanted to throw it all away. And since their families were already connected by blood, Lin Tiannan couldn't help but picture the looks on their faces when they learned the truth.
At that moment, Alex finally spoke. His voice was calm, but his words carried a weight of conviction:
"Senior Lin, a person's future is like a pair of shoes. Only the one wearing them knows if they fit. You might think they look beautiful, but if they don't fit, every step is pain."
The metaphor was simple, yet it struck home.
It was a thought Alex himself had only just pieced together. All his actions until now—his struggles, his choices—had been made for Lin Yueru's sake. But had it brought her happiness? Looking back, he wasn't sure. Perhaps the best intentions could still leave someone hurting.
Lin Tiannan fell silent, his brows furrowed as he considered the words. Then he looked at Alex with faint surprise."You little brat… You can be infuriating, but sometimes, you actually make sense."
In the end, Jinyuan was no longer a child. He knew what he was giving up, and no one—not even Lin Tiannan—had the right to hold him back.
Lin Tiannan's gaze lingered on him one last time. He felt both heavy-hearted and strangely reassured. At least Alex was a man worthy of being Jinyuan's teacher.
With a mixture of pride, helplessness, and resignation, Lin Tiannan turned and left.
…
From that point on, Alex had no choice but to honor Jinyuan's decision. If Jinyuan called him "Master," then he would teach him. The two of them found a quiet courtyard, away from prying eyes.
Jinyuan stood there, anticipation flickering in his expression despite the weight he carried. He knew it would be hard. He had read enough to understand the old sayings about training in the dead of winter and under the heat of summer—martial arts were not a path of comfort. But he had chosen it, and he was ready.
Alex studied him in silence, turning over possibilities in his mind.
Should he risk giving him the magnetic powers he himself commanded? They were formidable, but far too costly—an ordinary man would burn away ten years of his life just trying to wield them.
What about the bloodline of the Asgardians? Immense strength, resilience, even longevity. But such gifts took decades to awaken, and Jinyuan didn't have that kind of time.
No… those were too extreme.
The only options left were martial arts and the One Piece power system.
As for magic? Alex was barely scratching the surface himself, and he wasn't about to mislead Jinyuan. Theory he understood well enough, but real mastery? He wasn't qualified to teach it.
In truth, whether it was the One Piece–style abilities or traditional martial arts, both ultimately came down to close-quarters combat.
After some thought, Alex looked squarely at Liu Jinyuan."There's a technique I know, something called initiation. I can transfer all of my martial arts knowledge directly into you, so you'll have a foundation right away."
"The initiation method?" Jinyuan's eyes widened. "I've heard of it. It's harmful to the one performing it. I can study on my own—you don't need to risk yourself for me!"
That was just who Jinyuan was. He could never accept someone else's sacrifice for his own gain.
But Alex didn't answer. Instead, he raised a hand and touched Jinyuan's forehead, unlocking the "knowledge space" inside him—the equivalent of an E-drive.
What he saw startled him.
Jinyuan's drive capacity was 170GB in total, with 60GB already occupied and 110GB free. That was far beyond the norm.
"Unbelievable," Alex thought. "A capacity like this… does that mean his ability to absorb knowledge is higher than average? Is that the real difference between a genius and an ordinary student?"
The more he considered it, the more it made sense. Jinyuan had been the top scorer in the imperial exams. Of course his aptitude would be extraordinary.
Alex checked his own E-drive out of curiosity—110GB total. Better than average, but nowhere near Jinyuan's level. And honestly? He knew why he hadn't excelled academically. Too many skipped classes, too many nights wasted at internet cafés or shooting hoops. Talent wasn't everything—effort mattered too.
He shook his head, focusing back on the task. With swift precision, Alex began transferring data: 28GB of kendo training and the simplified version of the Sacred Heart Technique.
Jinyuan's capacity could easily handle it. If Alex had access to it, he would've even copied the complete Sacred Heart Technique he once glimpsed from Emperor Shitian—but for now, the basics would suffice.
On the mental interface, a progress bar crept forward. The combined files—over 40GB of swordsmanship and martial technique—took time to copy.
And then it was done.
Jinyuan's eyes fluttered open as a flood of knowledge surged into his mind. The sheer volume of information stunned him—it was as though decades of training had been compressed into a single moment.
He looked at Alex in disbelief."How… how could someone so young hold all this knowledge?"
To master so much through normal study would take half a lifetime. Yet here it was, sitting in his mind, ready to be drawn upon.
Without further ado, as soon as the knowledge area was copied, Alex opened Liu Jinyuan's D drive's skill section.
Liu Jinyuan's D drive held only 70GB—significantly smaller than the average capacity.
It seemed the old saying, "God is fair," held true. Liu Jinyuan, with a large E drive, had a much smaller D drive.
Did this mean Liu Jinyuan could absorb knowledge more quickly than others but was slower at developing practical skills?
"Could it be that the size of the D drive determines how quickly someone acquires skills, while the size of the E drive reflects the depth of knowledge mastered?"
The thought flashed through Alex's mind, and the more he considered it, the more sense it made.
Alex's own E drive only had 88GB, a little smaller than average.
He remembered that, although he hadn't been particularly clumsy as a child, it had always taken him longer than most to pick up things—whether playing games, learning to ride a bike, or swimming.
So perhaps the size of the C drive represented one's lifespan, while the natural sizes of the D and E drives revealed aptitude for skills and knowledge.