Bai Shibao felt a little awkward, but he still listened to Bai Zhiman and took off his fence vest.

Bai Zhiman thought he was seeing things, but it turned out that Bai Shibao really did have a large bruise on his back, which looked jagged, probably from being hit with a stick.

"Your master did this?"

"ah."

Bai Shibao prepared to put on his vest, not wanting his father to see these things.

“Go find your older brother and get some safflower oil,” Bai Zhiman took a deep breath. “Hurry up.”

"Why."

Bai Shibao went out, and Bai Zhiman sat on the kang (a heated brick bed), his face pale.

It is said that strict teachers produce outstanding students, and the practice of masters punishing their students has existed since ancient times, but Bai Zhiman, as a father, still felt distressed.

Bai Shihai frowned when he saw the injuries on his younger brother's body: "What kind of society is this? Why is he still hitting people?"

That was a pretty hard hit.

Bai Shibao said, "My master has that bad temper. He's strong when he's forging iron, and he doesn't know how to hold back."

Bai Zhiman didn't know what to say, but he calculated the time: "You've been studying for three years now, shouldn't you be graduating? Has your master said anything about what to do afterward, whether you should stay with him or be introduced to another place?"

Bai Shibao paused for a moment, then said, "I guess I should stay and work there."

"What about the salary? You were so naive when you were little, shouldn't you have asked about this sooner?"

Bai Zhiman could only worry helplessly. Of all the children he had, Bai Shibao seemed to be the only one who was a bit dim-witted.

“My master said to study for another two years.”

"Two years? That's unbelievable!"