Quoting the evaluation of the third boss, Richard Foster, he was simply “an utter ignoramus.” Tell me, no matter how muddleheaded the Emperor of Jin might be, would he ever raise his own son like a pig?

However, when Eric Scott excitedly brought his new evidence to show the heads of the household, he didn’t get the reaction he’d hoped for. The third boss, Richard Foster, had long since lost interest in his true identity; the sixth boss, Peter Wright, and the seventh boss, Patrick Thompson, were both illiterate; the fifth boss, Frank Thompson, didn’t hesitate for a moment before declaring that he must have written the characters that way on purpose—otherwise, even if he held the brush with his toes, it couldn’t possibly look so atrocious! The one who had always cared most about him, the second boss, Brian Scott, made a decision on the spot: from this day forward, the young man must practice calligraphy on the sand tray for one hour every day, or else all meat would be removed from his two daily meals, and he’d have to gnaw on vegetable buns with the underlings!

“Second Uncle—!” Eric Scott had tried to be clever but ended up suffering for it, pulling a long face and pleading in a low voice.

The thing about him that most resembled a dragon’s descendant wasn’t his skin color or build, but his appetite. Without meat for a meal, he’d lose all energy; if he had to eat those saltless vegetable buns for two meals in a row, he’d be so hungry he couldn’t even lift a brush, let alone study the calligraphy styles of Yan or Liu!

“Jade must be carved to become a gem! Earlier, we only indulged you because you were just recovering from a serious illness!” This time, Brian Scott shed his usual kindly demeanor and refused to compromise in the slightest. “Besides, you can’t be like us, living as mountain bandits for life! We were forced into this life by circumstances. But you—you must live better than we do!”

As he spoke, a clear gloom appeared on his face. His bright eyes brimmed with sorrow and humiliation. Seeing this, Eric Scott felt a pang in his heart and quickly nodded in agreement. “Then—I’ll practice my calligraphy. Second Uncle, I’ll listen to you. I’ll practice for an hour every day, and then spend another hour reading inscriptions.”

“No need for inscriptions; the things in Buddhist scriptures are too profound for you!” Brian Scott reached out and affectionately patted his head, smiling as he advised, “They’re too abstract! For Han children just starting out, it’s best to begin with the ‘Thousand Character Classic.’ I’ll find time tonight to write it out from memory, so you can use it first thing tomorrow!” (Note 1)

“Thank you, Second Uncle!” Feeling the warmth from his uncle’s palm, Eric Scott bowed in gratitude.

“It’s a pity that times are so chaotic, or else I’d send you to the county school… sigh!” Brian Scott was once again reminded of his own troubles and shook his head with a bitter smile.

The boy before him was clever and pure, just like he himself had been as a child. Back then, he’d had all the time in the world to study and cultivate himself, but spent his days chasing after pleasure. In the end, all that external glory vanished like a dream, and in the end…

“You’d be better off spending that time teaching him more martial arts!” Just as he was lost in thought, the fifth boss, Frank Thompson, sneered. “These days, no matter how well you study, can it save you from a blade to the head? Look at Liu Zhiyuan, Du Chongwei—were any of them made by studying? Yet they all live well, getting whatever they want. Even the Khitan emperor doesn’t dare touch them lightly. But those scholars—after kneeling to the Tang, they kneel to Jin, and after Jin, they kneel to Liao. If you want to survive, you’d better learn to grovel first…”

“Th-that’s only because the times are too chaotic, you can’t blame it all on scholars being useless!” Eric Scott immediately looked like a child caught stealing a watermelon, blushing furiously as sweat beaded on his forehead. “B-but even in troubled times, there will be a day when peace returns…”

“Only if you and Little Fatty both live to see it!” Frank Thompson shrugged and hobbled toward the door, his words continuing to sting like a viper’s tongue. “With his delicate looks, if he doesn’t learn martial arts for self-defense, the moment he leaves us, he won’t last three months. I’ll bet you—if he lives even one day longer, I’ll take your surname and be your godson!”

“You…” Brian Scott was so angry he trembled, but couldn’t find a word to refute him. Since the rebellion of Huang Chao, war had raged for nearly seventy years. The dynasty’s name had changed four or five times, but who knew when the chaos would end?!

In troubled times, teaching your children to read is less useful than teaching them to kill. The fifth boss, Frank Thompson, might be lacking in humanity, but his words weren’t without reason. So from the next day on, Eric Scott had two fixed daily tasks: studying calligraphy and reading in the morning, practicing martial arts and archery in the evening, rain or shine.

He was a sensible boy and understood the second boss Brian Scott’s good intentions, so he was diligent in both his studies and martial arts. Whenever he had spare time, he’d give himself “extra helpings,” never daring to waste a moment, lest Second Uncle Scott see even a hint of disappointment in his eyes.

However, some things simply can’t be made up for by effort alone.

In martial arts, his progress was nothing short of phenomenal. When learning routines, he could master them after just two tries. In sparring and countering moves, he could use his burly physique and exceptional strength to make up for his lack of experience as much as possible.