PDLP Chapter 20 Future God of War
Chapter 20 Future God of War
Sun Hao stood in the living room. Lin Fan's face was still on the TV screen, and the female reporter's voice continued, but he could no longer hear a single word.
It felt like a whole jar of boiling water had been poured into his ears, making a buzzing sound, and all other sounds were drowned out by the scalding roar.
"Impossible." His lips moved slightly, his voice very soft, as if he were talking to himself, "This is impossible."
Then his voice suddenly exploded into a hoarse roar: "Fake! This is absolutely fake! How could a good-for-nothing like him become the top martial arts champion!"
Startled by his shout, Sun's mother jumped up from the sofa, scattering the sunflower seeds all over the floor, with a few rolling under the coffee table.
She looked at her son's face, so distorted that she could hardly recognize him, and opened her mouth as if to ask something, but Sun Hao had already turned around and rushed up the stairs, his footsteps heavy and hurried, making the wooden stairs creak under the weight of his weight.
He rushed into the bedroom on the second floor and practically pounced on the computer desk. He slammed his fingers down on the power button, and for the few seconds it took for the computer to boot up, his fingers nervously tapped on the desktop, his fingernails making a rapid, clattering sound against the solid wood surface.
The screen lit up, and his hand trembled slightly as he dragged the mouse. He opened the browser, entered the URL of the Martial Arts Forum, and pressed Enter.
The pinned post is prominently displayed on the forum's homepage. The title is bold and red, and every word looks as if it were carved onto the screen with a hammer.
Congratulations to Lin Fan for winning the national martial arts exam this year with a score of 3000 jin (1500 catties), breaking a twelve-year-old record!
Sun Hao's pupils contracted sharply. He clicked on the post, which contained an embedded video.
The video started playing, showing an ordinary, even somewhat shabby, living room with an old fabric sofa, a calendar turned to June hanging on the wall, and several clean apples on the coffee table.
Then the camera zooms in, and Lin Fan is sitting in a wicker chair. It's the same face, the same white T-shirt, and the same calm expression that makes Sun Hao want to punch him every time he sees him.
"Lin Fan, which martial arts university will you be joining next?" The reporter's voice came from the computer speakers.
"I'm still considering it," Lin Fan replied briefly and calmly.
The camera cuts to another reporter: "Lin Fan, I heard your martial arts grades weren't very good before. How did you achieve such results in the college entrance exam?"
"Practice more." Lin Fan's answer was still so short and so calm, as if being the national martial arts champion was just an ordinary monthly exam result for him.
Sun Hao's hand holding the mouse was trembling. He scrolled the video back a bit and switched to another interview clip. Scrolling back a bit more, he got another interview from a different angle.
Every video features Lin Fan, every interview shows that face that makes him grit his teeth in hatred, and every reporter's question revolves around the same name—Lin Fan, the martial arts champion, weighing 3000 jin (1,500 catties), and a record-breaker.
"Impossible...this is impossible..." Sun Hao's eyes were bloodshot, and his lips were bitten until they turned white. He frantically scrolled down the thread with his mouse, trying to find even one comment that said it was fake news, trying to find even one person that said it was a rumor.
But the comments section was full of "Congratulations", "I admire you", and "You're amazing".
He scrolled to the last comment, then suddenly grabbed the keyboard—not by pressing the delete key, but by ripping the entire keyboard off the table, the cable taut and snapping. He held the keyboard high and slammed it onto the table with all his might.
With a crash, keycaps shattered on the floor like crushed nut shells. The spacebar bounced off the monitor and landed at his feet. Then came the mouse—he ripped it off too, the cord arcing through the air before slapping the lamp. The lamp wobbled twice and fell off the table, its bulb shattering.
"Damn it!" Sun Hao gasped for breath, his chest heaving as he braced himself against the edge of the table. His gaze fell on the computer screen—Lin Fan's video was still playing, and because the keyboard had been smashed to pieces, it couldn't be turned off.
Lin Fan's face and voice were like a mirror, reflecting all his resentment, humiliation, and crumbling self-esteem at that moment.
Sun's mother stood at the bedroom door, looking at the mess in the room and her son's eyes, which looked like those of a trapped beast. She gripped the doorknob tightly, then loosened it again, but in the end, she didn't go in.
In the evening, Sun's father returned.
Mr. Sun was in a good mood today. Several old friends from the province had already congratulated him over the phone in advance—his son, Sun Hao, ranked third in the city and seventh in the province in the martial arts exam. Although he wasn't the top scorer, it was still the best result among the younger generation of the Sun family.
He parked his car in the underground garage, changed into slippers, and opened the living room door with a smile on his face.
The living room was quiet. There was no television, no one was talking, and no aroma of food wafted from the kitchen. He frowned and glanced around—his wife sat on the sofa, looking somewhat uneasy; she opened her mouth when she saw him return but didn't say anything.
The sunflower seeds on the coffee table weren't cleaned up properly; shells were scattered all over the surface.
"Where is Sun Hao?" Sun's father asked.
"In the study," Sun's mother said in a low voice, "He...he's acting a little strange."
Mr. Sun's brow furrowed even deeper. He placed his briefcase on the entryway cabinet, changed his shoes, and headed towards his study.
The moment he pushed open the study door, he froze in the doorway. The solid wood desk in the study was piled with torn notebooks and papers, the remains of a keyboard were scattered on the floor, and a black keycap had rolled to his feet.
The table lamp lay broken in the corner, the shards of glass reflecting dappled light on the wooden floor. His son, Sun Hao, sat slumped on the sofa, his hair disheveled.
His eyes were bloodshot, and he had lost his usual arrogant sharpness, leaving only something that his father had never seen in him before—a look of dejection and emptiness, as if all pride had been ripped from his bones.
Today is the day the college entrance exam results are released. Mr. Sun's first reaction was that his son hadn't done well—his state and expression could only mean he hadn't performed well.
He sighed softly, walked to the sofa, sat down next to Sun Hao, and patted his son's shoulder. His hand was broad and warm, carrying a steady strength unique to an elder.
"Son, it's normal to underperform," Sun's father said in a slow and steady voice. "The test was difficult for everyone; you weren't the only one affected."
I have a few connections in the province. Even if your grades are a bit lower, I can still pull some strings to get you into a top-tier martial arts university. Don't worry.
Sun Hao didn't move. His head remained lowered, and his shoulders didn't relax because of his father's words. After a long while, he finally raised his head, his face expressionless, like a crumpled and then flattened piece of white paper.
"Dad," his voice was hoarse, as if he had just cried or yelled, "I did very well on the exam. Third in the city, seventh in the province."
Sun's father's hand froze on his son's shoulder.
Third in the city? Seventh in the province? This result is even better than his best expectations. This province is home to Wuhan University of Science and Technology; ranking in the top ten is already a very respectable achievement.
He ranked seventh in the province, which would have made him a sought-after student by top martial arts universities in previous years.
"Your grades are excellent," Mr. Sun said, a hint of confusion in his voice. "They're even above average. So what's gotten into you?"
Sun Hao's Adam's apple bobbed. He lowered his head, as if using great effort to say the words, "Dad... I've offended someone."
"Who did you offend? Explain yourself." Mr. Sun's expression changed slightly. In Jiangcheng, the Sun family, while not the most prestigious, still had a certain foundation. For his son to be so afraid, the other party must be someone of considerable influence.
Sun Hao took a deep breath, his voice so low it sounded like it was squeezed out from between his throats: "This year's top scorer in the college entrance examination."
The air in the study fell silent. Mr. Sun opened his mouth briefly, then closed it again, his mind racing—his son ranked seventh in the province, and the top scorer in the college entrance examination was the person ranked ahead of him.
Although Sun Hao usually has a bit of a spoiled brat attitude, he's not stupid enough to offend someone stronger than himself for no reason.
"What happened? Tell me everything from the beginning." Mr. Sun's tone turned serious as he helped his son sit up straight and look at him.
Sun Hao's lips twitched slightly, as if he wanted to swallow back what had happened, but in the end he still told the story.
From the moment Zhao Xiaoyue invited Lin Fan to her birthday party a month ago, to his warning to Lin Fan to stay away from Zhao Xiaoyue at the party, to his sarcastic remarks during martial arts class, to having Zhang Hu publicly humiliate Lin Fan at the exam hall entrance the day before the college entrance exam, and then to yesterday when he had Du Fei "teach Lin Fan a lesson" at the Zhenshan Martial Arts School—
He squeezed out each word slowly, like toothpaste, each word difficult to utter, because with each sentence he realized that his mistake was a little more serious than before.
Mr. Sun listened quietly. He didn't interrupt, get angry, or even frown from beginning to end. But Sun Hao noticed that his father's hand, which was resting on his knee, was slowly closing, his knuckles tightening one by one, and the veins on the back of his hand were slightly bulging.
After Sun Hao finished speaking the last word, a long silence fell over the study. Sun's father slowly leaned back on the sofa, closed his eyes, and exhaled a heavy breath from deep within his chest, as if it were emptying his lungs.
The national martial arts exam champion, weighing 3000 jin (1,500 catties), broke a twelve-year-old record. Martial arts universities in Beijing and Shanghai personally came to recruit him, and the national media reported on him extensively. Such a person cannot be described as a "genius"; he is a prodigy, a monster, a future god of war.
His son offended a future war god.
"Dad, what should we do?" Sun Hao's voice held a weakness he had never shown before. He was the eldest son of the Sun family, pampered since childhood, and had never had to bow his head to anyone. But now he was afraid.
He was truly terrified. The thought of Lin Fan becoming a Earth-level martial artist or even a War God-level expert and coming back to settle scores with him made him feel like his life was over.
Sun's father opened his eyes. Looking into his son's ashen eyes, he couldn't bring himself to say anything too harsh, and simply sighed heavily.
"It's too late to say anything now." His voice was deep, as deep as water drawn from a deep well. "We can only try to make amends."
He pressed a button on the sofa armrest, stood up, walked to the window, and stood with his hands behind his back.
The sky outside the window was already mostly dark, and clusters of city lights were flickering on in the distance. He stared out the window in silence for a moment, then turned away.
"In a couple of days, invite Lin Fan to our house as a guest." Mr. Sun's tone left no room for argument. "Our whole family will apologize to him properly. Whatever he wants, we'll give it to him."
Sun Hao raised his head, his lips moved slightly, and he was about to say "Why should I?" but he swallowed the words back before they could come out.
Because his reason told him that his father was right. He had only offended Lin Fan, but not too deeply—those taunts, those difficulties, and that instruction to have Du Fei teach Lin Fan a lesson—if he humbled himself and sincerely apologized, there might still be a chance to ease the tension.
"I understand." Sun Hao lowered his head. But his hands were clenched tightly, his nails digging into the leather of the sofa, leaving a shallow scratch. Lowering his head was more painful for Sun Hao than being beaten.
Seeing his son's expression, Sun's father walked over and patted his shoulder again. This time, the force was greater than before, as if he wanted to infuse some principle into him along with the warmth of his palm.
"A true man can bend and stretch." His voice was not loud, but very steady. "If you can't even lower your head this much, you won't go far in the future."
Sun Hao remained silent for a long time.
The sky outside the window had completely darkened, and the city lights began to twinkle one by one. In the distance, from some building, a firework exploded – someone was probably celebrating the good news of today's exam results.
The firework exploded into a golden flower in the night sky, reflected on the study window, and vanished in a flash.
"I understand," Sun Hao finally spoke, his voice so hoarse it was almost inaudible.
But his hands remained clenched tightly.