Amateur talent show? Top mentors are my students.

Before He Xu could stop them, a series of unhurried footsteps came from the direction of the training ground.

Jonathan came out from the side door, wearing his old gray T-shirt and carrying a thermos, taking small sips.

"What is it that makes you shout like that?" He walked to the side of the target lane and glanced at He Xu and the target paper.

Mike didn't say anything, he just handed over the binoculars.

Jonathan took the binoculars, held them up to his eyes for about two seconds, and then put them down.

His expression wasn't one of surprise, but rather one of confusion.

He Xu stood at the shooting position, holding his pistol, unsure of what to say.

Jonathan put down his binoculars, walked over and tore the target paper off the shelf, then came back and said, "The first shot was to the upper left chest, the second to the same spot, and the third to the left—the dispersion is smaller than many active targets I've seen."

Jonathan walked up to He Xu, his gaze shifting from the target paper to He Xu's face.

He was silent for a moment, then said something that left He Xu speechless for a long time: "You were born to play with guns."

"...What?"

"I'm telling you, you were born to play with guns." Jonathan's tone was more serious than ever before. "Three shots, such a small spread. Some people have fired thousands of rounds to get to this level."

He Xu stood at the firing position, the gun still in his hand, the metallic feel lingering between his fingers: "...I don't know."

"Of course you wouldn't know." Jonathan folded the target paper and put it in his pocket. "A person who knows they have this talent won't wait until they're twenty-four to pick up a gun."

"So... wasn't this just luck?"

"Luck gets you one shot. The second one is all about skill," Jonathan said, his tone returning to its usual smugness. "You fired five shots, all hitting the bullseye. You're telling me that's luck?"

"..." He Xu thought for a moment, "...So, this counts as a special talent?"

"Yes, of course, exceptional talent." After saying that, Jonathan suddenly threw his head back and laughed loudly—his laughter was deep and powerful, echoing across the empty shooting range for a few seconds before slowly subsiding.

He smiled and shook his head, then reached out and patted He Xu's shoulder hard, harder than usual, with the heartfelt satisfaction of an elder towards a younger person: "You're a really good lad."

He Xu's shoulder slumped slightly from the slap, and he stood there stunned: "...Are you praising me?"

"I'm flattering you." Jonathan smiled and withdrew his hand, his tone even more playful and cheerful than usual. "I've seen plenty of people, some who practice their whole lives and still can't achieve your level of skill. You were born for this."

He paused, then added, "Starting tomorrow, we'll have extra shooting practice, one hour every day."

"...I haven't even started my combat training yet—"

"You can practice hand-to-hand combat, but you can't develop a feel for guns every day." Jonathan glanced at him, the smile on his lips still playing on his lips. "You have this talent, don't waste it."

He Xu stood on the shooting range, watching Jonathan's back as he walked back to the training field, and then looked down at the pistol in his hand.

The coldness of the metal came from his palm, heavy and carrying a weight that felt unfamiliar to him.

He felt the world had gone mad.

-

The world seems to have truly gone mad.

The confidence He Xu found at the shooting range lasted for less than 24 hours.

dagger.

He didn't know why Langdon was so versatile, wielding hand-to-hand combat, firearms, and even knives as if he were born with them.

But he couldn't do it.

He Xu held the dagger, standing in the center of the training field, the fluorescent lights overhead casting a cold white light on the blade.

The blade was not sharpened, and was even somewhat dulled; it was purely a prop.

But the feel of holding it in his hand still made him feel uncomfortable.

Mike stood two steps away, hands on his hips, his expression a mix of confusion and hesitation: "...You were so steady when you were shooting yesterday, how come you're like a completely different person as soon as you pick up a knife?"

He Xu ignored him.

He looked down at the dagger in his hand and tried to do what Mike had just demonstrated—flip his wrist, let the blade circle around his thumb and forefinger, and then catch it with the other hand.

The knife flew out.

The dagger flipped in the air, its hilt grazing his fingertips before hitting the cushion with a dull thud.

"……Hold."

He Xu bent down and picked up the knife, his movements filled with a sense of irritability.

He gripped the knife handle again and tried once more.

This time the knife didn't fly away, but the direction of the blade was completely wrong—the blade, which should have been pointing outwards, went straight into his forearm as it spun around.

The tool wasn't sharpened, but he still instinctively flinched when the cold metallic touch brushed against his skin.

The dull blade grazed his forearm with its speed, leaving a red mark. He Xu shook his hand and picked up the knife with some annoyance.

"It's stuck again, it's stuck again." Mike walked around to his side and pointed at his wrist. "Your wrist is too stiff. You're using your whole arm to pull it when you're turning the knife."

"The rotation of the knife relies on a sharp, quick movement of the wrist, not the shoulder—don't you also make wrist movements when you dance? How come you forget that when you're using a knife?"

He Xu stood still, took a deep breath, and tried again.

This time he deliberately slowed down, moving his wrist first, and the blade circled around the web of his hand—it didn't fly away.

But when he switched hands to catch it, his fingers didn't grip the handle properly, and the hilt slipped out from between his fingers and hit his own instep.

"...I feel like this thing has a grudge against me."

Mike stood to the side, hands on his hips, his expression now a suppressed smile: "You don't have a grudge against it. You just haven't learned how to get along with it yet."

"Why should I have to deal with a knife?" He Xu bent down to pick up the dagger, his movements carrying a restlessness he himself was unaware of. "When I'm fighting, my own body is enough. Why do I need to carry something else in my hand?"

"Because of Langdon's character, there are a lot of close-up shots of him wielding a knife. The script shows at least five scenes of him turning his knife—he's a natural knife wielder, and that's one of his defining characteristics. Your job is to make the audience feel like you were born to do that."

He Xu stared at the dagger in his hand and remained silent for a full five seconds.

Then he spoke, his tone returning to calm: "...Again."

He Xu took a deep breath and gripped the dagger tightly again.

In the instant his wrist flipped, he deliberately slowed down, using what Mike called "inch strike" to guide the blade.

He spun the dagger halfway around the base of his thumb, with the tip pointing outwards, and caught it with the other hand.

This time, the knife didn't fly.

But it only lasted one beat.

At the moment of switching hands, his fingers did not properly grip the handle.

The dagger slipped from his palm, flipped in the air, and flew straight toward Jonathan with the hilt pointing downwards.

Jonathan was leaning against the doorframe, watching the commotion with a thermos in hand.

Seeing the knife flying towards him, he didn't even blink, he just slightly turned his body—the dagger grazed his sleeve and hit the wall behind him with a crisp "clang".

Then it fell to the ground and bounced twice, like a dying fish.

He Xu stood there, watching the knife bounce on the ground, feeling his blood pressure rising at a visible speed.

Jonathan glanced down at the dagger on the ground, then looked up at He Xu, his smile now completely uncontrollable: "...Are you filming a movie, or are you trying to murder me?"

He Xu ground his back teeth together: "...I didn't mean to."