The atmosphere at the dinner table was silent.
The orange glow of the lamp stretched the father and son's shadows long against the wall behind them.
Qin Dahai had already set down his spoon and picked up his chopsticks.
He picked up some greens, placed them in his mouth, and chewed slowly, softly, making almost no sound.
His gaze never left the person across from him.
Qin Feng was starving.
The full day of grueling training had left his body feeling like a bottomless black hole, desperately craving energy and nutrients.
Although the Spiritual Energy from the Potion given to him at Sun Chan Hall hadn't been depleted, the primal hunger of his body was irrepressible.
He picked up his chopsticks and, without a shred of courtesy, buried his head and started shoveling food into his mouth.
Rice, synthetic meat, and vegetables were shoveled into his mouth in huge bites, his cheeks stuffed to bursting.
His table manners were far from elegant, even a little brutish. Every swallow, marked by the bob of his Adam's apple, was filled with a primal craving for food.
GULP.
After swallowing a large mouthful, he picked up the glass of water at his side, took a huge gulp, and let out a sigh of relief.
Qin Dahai watched silently. The food in his own bowl had barely been touched.
He watched his son devour his food, saw his sweat-drenched hair, the lingering exhaustion on his face, and his shockingly bright eyes.
His right hand, the intact one, held the chopsticks, paused in mid-air.
Qin Dahai wanted to ask.
'Was today's training tiring?'
'Was the money worth it?'
'Can... your body still take it?'
'Was there... even a little bit of progress?'
But each question felt like a thousand-pound stone lodged in his throat, stopping him from speaking.
He was afraid.
Afraid his concern would become a form of pressure.
Afraid his questions would pierce the fragile exterior his son had built with a facade of strength.
He had seen it too many times.
His son would drag his exhausted body home and devour his food just like today, but the physical test data he received the next day would still be just as glaringly bad.
The greater the hope, the heavier the disappointment.
This cycle had been going on for eight years.
He didn't dare place any extra burden on his son, not even with a casual greeting.
All he could do was watch in silence, using his own clumsy way to prepare as lavish a dinner as possible for his son.
The bowl of rice, piled high as a small mountain, was soon empty.
Qin Feng put down the empty bowl. It was so clean it looked as if it had been licked, not a single grain of rice left.
"Dad."
He spoke, his voice still a little muffled from eating so quickly.
Qin Dahai's body trembled slightly, as if he had been startled out of his own thoughts.
He raised his eyes, looked at his son, his Adam's apple moved, and he squeezed a single syllable from his throat:
"Hm?"
"Another bowl."
Qin Feng pushed the empty bowl over.
Qin Dahai smiled, turned, and filled another bowl to the brim for him.
This time, Qin Feng didn't immediately pick up his chopsticks.
He placed the steaming bowl of rice on the table, raised his head, his gaze clear, and looked directly at his father.
Qin Feng looked at his father's weathered face, at the deep wrinkles at the corners of his eyes, at the white hair that had appeared at his temples without him noticing, and at his empty left sleeve.
The inside of the sleeve still had red markings. It was a latent injury from a Flame Demon, one that often flared up with unbearable heat, tormenting him endlessly.
But in order to treat Qin Feng's illness, Qin Dahai had neglected his own latent injury for years, enduring it all on his own.
"Dad, I have good news."
Qin Feng took a deep breath.
Qin Dahai's right hand, holding the chopsticks, froze.
Slowly, he shifted his gaze from his rice bowl to his son's face.
In those eyes that were always as calm as still water, violent ripples appeared for the first time.
"Go on."
His voice was a little tight, with a hint of hoarseness he himself hadn't noticed.
"Today, at the Extreme Martial Arts Hall. The Sun Chan Hall Master met with me personally."
Qin Feng spoke slowly, making sure every word reached his father's ears clearly.
"He identified my old problem. He said I've carried the root of this illness since I was a child."
As Qin Feng said this, he clearly saw his father's knuckles turn white from gripping his chopsticks too tightly.
"Then, he treated me."
"He said he used his ultimate technique, the Ten-Complete Hand, to force out all the toxins that have accumulated in my body for eight years."
"Dad."
Qin Feng looked at his father's instantly widened eyes and said, word by word:
"My illness... is cured."
"Master Sun said I'm just like a normal person now."
"He cured me."
The moment those three words fell, time seemed to stand still.
The living room was so quiet you could hear a pin drop.
Outside, a civilian anti-gravity vehicle glided past silently. Its headlights swept across the wall, illuminating Qin Dahai's stunned face.
He didn't move, like a statue that had been instantly petrified.
One second.
Two seconds.
Five seconds.
Ten seconds.
CLANG—
A crisp sound broke the frozen air.
It was the metal chopsticks in Qin Dahai's hand, which had slipped from his trembling fingers and fallen onto the hard floor.
He didn't react at all.
His lips moved, like a fish out of water, but he couldn't make any sound.
The rims of his eyes reddened at a visible rate.
A film of moisture shimmered in his eyes, gathering and swirling, yet stubbornly refusing to fall.
"Good... good..."
He finally squeezed a broken, out-of-tune syllable from deep in his throat.
Immediately after, he abruptly stood up.
The movement was so sudden, so fierce, that the chair was knocked back by his thigh, its legs scraping against the floor with a piercing screech.
Qin Dahai turned around and, in a posture that was almost like fleeing, put his back to Qin Feng and staggered towards the bathroom.
"I... I'm going to have a smoke."
His voice was muffled and indistinct.
BAM!
The bathroom door was slammed shut heavily by him.
From inside came the sound of a lighter, CLICK... CLICK... finally catching flame after several attempts.
Qin Feng sat quietly at the dinner table, looking at the closed door.
He didn't move, nor did he speak.
The man behind the door, the man who had held up the sky for him, was releasing eight long years of accumulated pain, self-blame, worry, and resentment.
Those were a father's tears.
He lowered his head, silently picked up his chopsticks, and began to eat the second bowl of rice.
The sweet fragrance of the rice melted on his tongue.
Qin Feng savored it carefully. It was the taste of "hope" and "rebirth."
...
That night, Qin Feng slept more soundly than ever before.
His body, after a day of extreme training, was undergoing Self-Repair and growth with unprecedented efficiency.
The gentle energy left in his body by the nutritional Potion was like the most dedicated gardener, nourishing every parched cell in his body.
Deep in his consciousness, the [Celestial Dao Rewards the Diligent] panel floated quietly.
The passive effect of the [Empire Basic Body Refining Technique (Entry-Level)], like a tireless precision engine, was accumulating for him, bit by bit, the capital he needed for the path to power.
Qin Feng had an incredibly magnificent and grand dream.
In the dream, his perspective broke free from gravity, flew out of Planet Morningstar's atmosphere, and soared through the boundless depths of the Cosmos.
He saw gargantuan Interstellar Cargo Ships, like behemoths, shuttling along fixed routes, their hulls flashing with the emblems of major merchant guilds.
He saw burning planets and shattered asteroid belts—the scars left by War, silently telling of the Empire's iron-blooded expeditions.
He saw magnificent Creation Nebulae, as if colored by the hand of God himself, where countless new stars were being conceived and born, radiating a captivating light and heat.
He saw those figures that existed only in news and legends.
Someone clad in Power Armor, wielding a Chainsaw Giant Sword, battled a ferocious Alien Race Warlord above a Meteorite Belt, every collision erupting with a brilliant light comparable to a supernova.
Someone sat cross-legged in the orbit of a gas giant, and with a single breath, triggered a tide of energy spanning hundreds of millions of miles, forming a Spiritual Storm that swept through the planet's rings.
"Fist Emperor" Loksi, "Dragon Snake" Wang Chao... names as renowned as thunder, figures like gods and demons, flashed before his eyes one by one.
It was an era of the strong—a magnificent, impassioned era of iron and blood.
And he, Qin Feng, after eight years of silence, had finally obtained the first ticket to step onto this stage.