Whoever can strike me hard will be rewarded handsomely.

Shang Jingming opened his mouth, wanting to say something, but knowing that speaking would only displease His Majesty further, he silently swallowed the words that were about to come out and instead said, "Jingming knows his mistake."

"You know you're wrong?" The apology did not quell the emperor's anger; instead, it drew two lashes and a sneer. "If you knew you were wrong, you wouldn't have dropped that pot just now."

Shang Jingming's straight legs bent almost imperceptibly, his expression restrained, his eyes lowered. After a long while, he finally spoke in a low, hoarse voice: "Teacher, you were trying to protect me. I was ungrateful and let you down, only making you angry. Even if I had to do it all over again, it wouldn't be too much."

Upon hearing this, Qin Ji laughed instead of getting angry: "You're quite adept at reading people's expressions and guessing my intentions, even willing to risk your life to let me vent my anger. What do you take me for? What do you take yourself for?"

"What? In your eyes, are I and your brain-dead father cut in the same cloth? Do you expect me to willingly become your punching bag? Your punching bag?"

"No." Shang Jingming struggled to get up, his hoarse voice urgently denying it: "You have been so kind to Jingming, everything I have today is thanks to you, and I can only repay you so little. Jingming is a martial artist, thick-skinned and not afraid of pain. He should be punished for his mistakes, and a few dozen strokes of the cane are nothing."

A few dozen strokes of the cane are nothing, right?

Qin Ji was amused by his arrogant attitude.

Thinking of his past situation, she suppressed her anger, which was then simmered into a tangled mess of heartache.

Qin Ji pressed down on Shang Jingming's back, and with little effort, he managed to stop the highly skilled commander of the Five Cities Garrison from struggling and obediently maintain his prone position.

"You've done something wrong, and I decide how to punish you. Whether you can withstand it is your ability. What I want is your true reaction, not your judgment of whether it hurts or not. Besides..." Qin Ji put down the bamboo cane in his hand.

A chill ran down his back, and a warm hand covered the spot that had been throbbing with pain. Shang Jingming's body tensed up like a taut bowstring, every muscle seemingly standing at attention. A faint blush rose from the back of his neck all the way to the tips of his ears, spreading out in a patch.

The usually clever and reliable boy stammered, just like his less-than-bright senior brother: "Your Majesty, Teacher!"

Qin Ji raised his hand and said unhurriedly, "Besides, who told you that if someone is used to suffering and has high tolerance, they should be punished more severely?"

The slap landed, the crisp sound accompanied by the emperor's matter-of-fact admonition: "Fear of pain is not a reason for forgiveness, nor is being used to hardship an excuse for harshness."

"You should be happy that I didn't hurt you. If I'm not satisfied, I won't let you off so easily. There's no need for you to arbitrarily increase the punishment here."

Fear of pain is not a reason for forgiveness, nor is being used to hardship an excuse for being harsh.

The teacher's words echoed in my mind, and all the past events flashed through my mind like a slideshow. My throat felt like it was stuffed with cotton, and a warm current kept rising up.

"Smack."

Another slap landed loudly on the spot where the bamboo cane had already struck. The sound was loud, but compared to the previous slaps, it was nothing.

I should be ashamed, even though I'm usually very tolerant. But for some reason, it's like a trigger that brings out all sorts of discomfort.

My knees felt like they were being pricked with needles, every muscle in my arms was rebelling, and it felt like a fire was burning behind me, with pain overwhelming me.

It's as if all the pain that was deliberately ignored, forcibly suppressed, and thought to have long since disappeared is now surging back, rushing into my heart in a frenzy.

His body, which had been taut like a bowstring, unconsciously relaxed, and with each slap, his body would tremble silently.

A tough, hard-skinned martial artist seemed to have lost his hard shell in an instant, and every bone in his body was telling the story of his past grievances.

It wasn't until a small splash of water appeared on the floor tiles that Shang Jingming snapped out of his daze and tried to raise his hand, only to realize that he had unknowingly grabbed the hem of His Majesty's robe.

He bent his knuckles, silently released his hand, and wiped his face.

Noticing his movement, the emperor paused his lecture for a moment, his gaze sweeping across the floor tiles, his tone slightly surprised, "Did you hurt yourself?"

Shang Jingming was silent for a moment, then his voice was low and hoarse, as if he were squeezing out a single, resolute word from his throat: "It hurts."

It doesn't seem like acting.

Qin Ji hesitated for a moment between accepting his second disciple's rare vulnerability and grievance and following the example of the Poison Master, but decided to viciously accept his second disciple's vulnerability and grievance.

The slap came with more force, producing a crisp crack: "It's supposed to hurt, you asked for it. But that doesn't mean crying out in pain is useless. I'll give you a good beating first, and then I'll coax you."

Shang Jingming: "..."

...

Here is the second update from yesterday.

I didn't rest well yesterday, and I'm feeling a bit unwell today. I'm also experiencing writer's block, which is why it's so late this evening.

I'm still 400 words short of my goal for today, but even with what I owe, I'll still post three updates tomorrow. Waaah~ The event is on hiatus for two days, so I don't have to watch GG these two days. I'll catch up on what I owe.