Apocalypse Forecast

Chapter 1043: Chapter 809: A Different Perspective

After a night of commotion, the sword hunting continued relentlessly, with conflicts playing out throughout the Huangquan Slope.

Yet, in some places, there was a tranquil serenity as always.

In the courtyard facing the tea room, the striking of a water deer under the inflow of water rang crisply. On the white sand, plum blossoms fell on the black rocks.

An aging samurai held a teacup, quietly gazing at the scene afar, comprehending the essence of Zen.

His actions paused slightly for a moment.

His eyes turned towards the door of the tea room.

Behind the paper door, there were soft footsteps approaching slowly. The visitor stopped outside the door, not hiding their presence, but bowed respectfully, waiting.

It was only after the samurai finished his tea that the visitor softly knocked on the door and respectfully reported, "Instructor Sato, disciple Yamachigoya humbly requests a meeting."

Sato put down the teacup and asked indifferently, "Why not knock at the beginning?"

The young man outside the door bowed his head, "I dared not disturb your refined pleasure."

Sato laughed, "And now you think you’re not disturbing?"

The voice behind the door became more respectful: "My mind is in turmoil and truly restless, I fear to meet you, my instructor, but have no chance to see you."

"Since you’re here, come in."

Sato exhaled slowly, feeling a wave of irritation.

There are simply too many students trying to curry favor, leaving no stone unturned and beyond defense.

Especially since he took on the duties of a Sword Hunting Judge, the attentiveness towards him had increased, even his occasional leisure spot, the tea room, had visitors.

The paper door slid open, revealing a handsome youth kneeling outside.

Wearing the dojo’s uniform, carrying a lavishly decorated long knife, yet the scabbard seemed overly ornate, not like a murder weapon, more like a piece of art.

Though there were signs on his fingers from gripping a sword, there were no calluses.

An inelegant boaster in martial arts.

Sato glanced briefly and asked, "Now that you’re here, are you going to join me for tea?"

"The disciple dares not."

Yamada raised his hand, wiped the sweat from his forehead, and from beside him picked up a box: "Just upon entering, I came across an object, dare not to cherish it exclusively, rather invite Instructor Sato’s elegant appraisal."

Sato originally didn’t want to look and intended to wave, having him and his item roll out together.

But the young man’s actions were swift, directly opening the exquisite box, and gently pushing the item inside forward.

Sato’s raised arm paused for a moment.

Between the soft brocade, an ancient tea kettle revealed its true appearance.

Forged of black iron, the tea kettle’s design was inexplicably delicate and light, the texture fragmented like fish scales, containing strands of source substance, an aura of mystique and tranquility assailed, making the heart immediately serene.

It was not some precious border relic, but after decades of nurturing by a tea ceremony master, the kettle had self-produced source substance, rarer than any border relic.

Truly an exquisite, elegant piece.

Though he disliked sycophants, such a refined tea kettle placed before him, Sato couldn’t help but feel a pleasant mood. Watching the young man Yamada’s actions, the kettle was pushed right in front of Sato.

Close at hand.

Sato lowered his eyes, examining the ancient and weathered body of the kettle, couldn’t resist reaching out, gently stroking it, feeling a cool sensation under his hand, seemingly smelling the illusory scent of tea at the tip of his nose.

"This is truly a rare object..."

In the lengthy silence, Sato finally lifted his eyes, his expression becoming serious: "Bringing it for appraisal by an old man with dim eyes, I’m afraid it would obscure its brilliance?"

Yamada couldn’t help but shake his head and smile.

The young man’s smile was so warm and gentle, inspiring goodwill.

"After all, it’s just a teapot." Yamada answered with composure, "In the eyes of those who appreciate it, it’s priceless, but to those who don’t, it’s mere trash. It shows that fine horses are common, but people who recognize them are not."

"Indeed, those who recognize good horses are few."

Hearing this, Sato recalled the tough years past, and was filled with emotion.

After a while, his gaze suddenly turned sharp, looking at the disciple before him: "But Yamada-kun, you comparing me to a connoisseur, yet you’re not a fine horse, what guidance could I offer you?"

The young man lowered his eyes, respectfully responding: "I dare not expect much, only hope to frequently listen to your teachings."

"I teach at the dojo every Friday, why not attend my classes?"

"Of course, hoping you might see me differently."

As he spoke, the young man raised his head, allowing the instructor before him to scrutinize with a sharp gaze, hiding the trembling of his fingers, wanting to show resolve.

Sato was silent for a moment, then softly laughed.

"Very well, Yamada-kun." He said, "I’ll accept the tea kettle, I will watch your performance."

"Then I take my leave."

The young man politely bid farewell, stepped back two steps, bowed once more, and gently closed the door for him.

The footsteps gradually faded away.

In the silence, Sato looked down at the tea kettle in the box for a long time, then took out his phone, dialing a colleague’s number.

"This is Fujihira."

"It’s me." Sato began, "I remember, do you have a disciple named Yamachigoya?"

"Yamada?"

Fujihira thought for a moment: "There are so many dojo disciples, none that I particularly recall, but I remember there’s a Yamachigoya that donated to get in, his family is with the Honshu Agricultural Association, wealth is plentiful. Hasn’t attended many classes, rather mingled with a group of idle friends. But he does have a sense of propriety, hasn’t caused any trouble."

Fujihira asked, "Is he trying to get in through you?"

"Yes."

Sato candidly said, "If he performs well, accepting him as a formal disciple wouldn’t be bad."

On the other end of the phone, Fujihira immediately caught on.

"Then you owe a treat."

Each year around this time, it’s not uncommon to see dojo followers trying to make a move, seeking a step up or other appointments. And instructors naturally would not be too unkind, often lending a helping hand if possible.

Such as disciples like Yamada.

Understanding propriety, knowing when to advance and retreat.

Generous in their actions, respectful to elders.

Teaching naturally has endless benefits.

But accepting a disciple cannot be so hasty; one cannot count on just a fleeting impression. It requires long-term observation to confirm that it won’t cause trouble before considering it formally.

And during this period, it’s time for the disciple to prove themselves...

Sato squinted his eyes, and inevitably, anticipation filled his heart.

The potential disciple Yamada was acting even faster than he expected.

According to surveillance footage, at four o’clock in the afternoon, he had already set up his stand at the entrance of the dojo.

Just three minutes before Sato arrived.

.

.

"Instructor Sato!"

Just at the entrance of the dojo, before Sato even looked up, he heard a voice that was as bold and powerful as thunder, nearly causing him to draw his sword in surprise.

Looking up, he saw a young man bowing respectfully at the entrance.

The name he recalled was... Yamachigoya?

So soon, they met again.

The shout was really too loud, drawing the curious gaze of passersby both inside and outside the dojo.

Yamada was momentarily taken aback, then suddenly realized, smiling to himself.

This little guy is already using me to make a reputation, huh?

And behind him, in the basket, there were a scattered hundred famous swords, an impressive number. One could feel the aura of warriors who had immersed themselves in them for a long time, undoubtedly genuine.

He understood immediately.

Not knowing where he got so many Samurai "Swords", no doubt with the intention of making a name for himself in this Sword Hunting event?

Indeed, he is very ambitious.

That’s why he wants to cater to my interests. If I, one of the Sword Hunting Judges, push him, he might certainly succeed this time, and soon his reputation will soar among his peers...

But alas, the young man is still a bit green.

Could Sato really not see through it?

This young man, with a façade of composure and seriousness, had a heart and pulse in chaos, sweating in nervousness...

Instructor Sato’s expression turned serious.

"Yamada!"

Instantaneously, Yamachigoya shivered, lowering his head: "The disciple is here!"

Seeing his nervous demeanor, Sato smiled slightly, extended his hand, and patted his shoulder: "Young man, refrain from arrogance and rashness; do not pursue something beyond reach."

Although not intending to ruin his efforts, a little admonishment was necessary.

But after admonishment, encouragement was also essential, lest he offer goodwill without reward.

Thus, in front of many disciples, Sato encouraged him by saying, "Do your best, Yamada-kun, the future depends on you all."

Yamada was stunned for a moment, then overjoyed, loudly responding, "Yes!"

Feeling the yearning gazes from around him, Sato smiled slightly and turned to walk into the dojo.

Being sensible and polite can also be profitable, especially with such ambition...

This future inner disciple of mine might indeed have great prospects.

He thought this way.

Yamachigoya stood politely bowing on the spot until Instructor Sato walked far away before slowly straightening up, sensing the subtle glances from his surroundings.

Some were indifferent, some sarcastic, and some even hostile...

Seeing a completely unfamiliar dojo disciple bring back so many results and receiving the judge’s praise, others felt uneasy.

A disciple recently back from Sword Hunting, carrying more than seventy sharp blades, slowly approached, smirking as if to provoke: "Hey, you’re really a stranger, huh."

Yamada stood still, retracting his gaze from the direction where Instructor Sato left, his expression turning from a smile to coldness, retorting, "Do you think I find you familiar?"

The visitor was instantly enraged.

But before he could act, ’Yamachigoya’ picked up the registration board beside him, holding a pen, impatiently asking, "How many?"

"Hmm?"

The provoker paused, confused.

"Are you here to have fun with me, bastard!"

Yamada’s expression suddenly turned angry, tapping the board with his pen, almost rebuking: "I asked you for the quantity, didn’t you participate in the Sword Hunting? Below third-year, don’t make trouble!"

The young man slapped the table, displeased: "I’m registering here—"

"Huh?" The provoking disciple paused for a long time, finally responding, "Re-registration? Register what?"

"Of course, it’s the fruits of the Sword Hunting!"

Yamachigoya picked his nose: "They are uniformly left for registration count, and you people report back sporadically these few days, occasionally outsourcing so many, do you consider the instructor’s place as a ledger house? The gentlemen have had enough, otherwise, why do they want me to do this job?

The instructor just came to inspect the task, didn’t you arrive?"

"I... I..."

"I what?"

Yamada coldly pointed to those large baskets and boxes beside him: "Put the stuff there and report the count yourself! Don’t dare to fake it; I have a count here!"

Saying this, he patted the blackboard behind him, which immediately displayed a list of names and the number of collected swords.

Impatiently glancing at the visitor, waiting for him to respond.

Heart... had already jumped to the throat, and under the second-hand dojo uniform, the calf muscles were twitching.

Always ready to slip away.

"Sev-seventy-one..."

The visitor, intimidated by his angry expression, seemed finally to comprehend, instinctively complying with his command, placing the sword into the basket, allowing him to take it.

With the verification of the instructor, there was no doubt about this person’s origin.

After all, this was the entrance of the dojo; no one would boldly play tricks under the nose of the Sword Saint, right?

The answer is, there certainly would be.