What should I do if my pet loves watching anime?

In the old town of Linhai City, inside an old residential building under the shade of plane trees.

The training corner on the balcony of Mr. Hong's house.

It was nearly evening, and the orange-red afterglow of the setting sun shone through the gauze window, casting a warm halo on the slightly worn cushions and worn wooden stakes.

However, the atmosphere on the balcony at this moment was completely out of place with the warm twilight.

The Flying Mantis maintained the same "stationary" posture that Old Hong had adjusted countless times, standing in front of the heavy, dark iron stake.

Its two sickles were slightly raised, and its forward-leaning body resembled a fully drawn bow. From its claws gripping the ground to its slightly bent knees, tightened core, and stretched shoulders and back, the angle of its neck and the point of its gaze... every detail was strictly in accordance with Old Master Hong's requirements.

Nearly three hours have passed.

Sweat, or similar physiological fluid, seeped out continuously from the cracks in its emerald green shell, refracting tiny glimmers of light in the setting sun.

Its breathing gradually became long and slow, starting from rapid. Each inhale seemed to rise from the soles of its feet, pass through its entire body, pause briefly in its chest and abdomen, and then slowly sink down with a slight exhale.

Its wings folded slightly, and it no longer flapped unconsciously.

Those eyes, which were originally full of fighting spirit and quick-witted, were now calm, fixed on a small, non-existent point on the iron stake.

The entire elf seemed to have truly merged with the ground beneath its feet, the iron stake in front of it, and the surrounding air.

It's no longer about posing; rather, this pose is its most "natural" state at this moment.

Old Hong moved a creaky rattan chair and sat down not far away, holding a chipped enamel mug in his hand, slowly drinking cheap tea that had been steeped countless times.

His gaze seemed to fall casually on the mantis, but his hawk-like eyes were as sharp as ever, capturing the slightest tremor in its body and sensing every change in its breath.

He didn't speak, but just watched quietly and drank his tea.

The chess stall downstairs seemed to be arguing again, and the voices of several old men could be faintly heard. Old Hong listened for a moment, pursed his lips, muttered under his breath, "What are these stinky chess idiots making such a racket for?" and then ignored them.

About half an hour later, the last rays of the setting sun disappeared completely from the balcony floor, and the sky turned bluish-gray.

Old Hong put down his enamel cup, the bottom of which collided with the small wooden stool next to him, making a soft "tap" sound.

The sound was exceptionally clear on the quiet balcony.

The flying mantis's eyes twitched slightly, but its body posture remained unchanged.

Old Hong stood up and walked to the flying mantis. Instead of reaching out to swat and correct it as he had done in the afternoon, he slowly walked around it, his gaze like the most precise scanner, examining it carefully from head to toe, front to back.

Then, he stopped and faced the flying mantis.

"How are you feeling?" Old Hong's voice was not loud, but carried a peculiar calmness.

The flying mantis turned its eyes to Old Hong, and made a soft, short "cha" sound in its throat, as if in response or questioning.

"Don't you feel that after standing for a long time, your legs are a little numb, your back is a little sore, and the base of your wings is tight, but in your heart, you are calmer and clearer than when you were wildly swinging the sickle at the beginning?" Old Hong seemed to be able to understand its feelings.

The mantis hesitated for a moment, then nodded.

"That's right." A hint of satisfaction, almost imperceptible, appeared on Old Hong's face.

"Standing still doesn't mean just standing there like an idiot. It means bringing back all that random energy and scattered force you have when you're fighting, gathering it all together, and finding the smoothest flow path for it."

He extended a rough finger and pointed it in the air between the mantis's waist and abdomen.

"Here is the engine."

The power comes from here, not from your arms and wings.

Wings are like rudders and oars, helping you adjust your direction and accelerate with leverage, but they are not the source of power.

He then pointed to the mantis's legs: "Here, is the root. If the root is unstable, the power is weak, and any fancy attack will crumble at the slightest touch."

"That 'Demon Slash' you mentioned before," Old Hong paused, his tone neither praising nor criticizing.

"The idea is not bad. It combines several forces and strikes someone unexpectedly."

But mixing things too roughly is like forcibly kneading pig iron, charcoal, and sand into a lump. It looks like a knot, and it hurts when you hit someone with it, but you're wasting your effort and it's easy to break.

"What I'm going to teach you is how to smelt pig iron into steel, how to burn charcoal thoroughly, and how to wash sand clean."

Then, steel for the blade, charcoal for the fire, sand... um...

At this point, Mr. Hong ran out of words and suddenly regretted becoming a trainer before even finishing junior high school.

"The sand is not needed for the time being, but the principle is the same."

Each has its own use, but together they make a truly good knife—sharp, tough, capable of both cutting and stabbing, and durable.

The mantis listened quietly, its eyes gleaming slightly, seemingly understanding but not quite.

"That's all for today." Old Hong clapped his hands. "Relax, stretch a bit, don't move around too much all at once."

Upon hearing this, the mantis slowly and with great control relaxed all the tense muscles in its body.

The first thing it did was breathe; it took a deep breath and then exhaled slowly, as if expelling the fatigue and calm accumulated over three hours.

Then came the wings, which gently unfolded and flapped a few times, bringing a touch of cool air.

Next came the legs, which slowly straightened, the claws leaving the ground, a slight tingling sensation came through, but it controlled itself and did not stagger.

Finally, it lowered its slightly raised scythes, and the entire elf seemed to transform from a sculpture back into a living being, only its temperament had lost some of its previous impetuousness and gained a more restrained composure.

"Feel it, how is it different from three hours ago?" Old Hong asked.

The flying mantis looked down at its scythe, then stretched its shoulders and wing joints.

It tried to gently swing its sickle in the air.

He didn't use any skills, just the most ordinary slash.

"Whoosh—"

The sound of air being cut seemed a little crisper than usual, and the trajectory of the movement also seemed a little... "smoother"?

It looked at Old Hong uncertainly.

Old Hong nodded: "It's starting to look promising. We'll continue tomorrow, still with the stake setting, but I'll add something."

He pointed to several sandbags of different sizes and small targets hanging nearby.

"If you stay still for too long, you'll become stiff."

All you need to remember is that your feet are the foundation, and you must not move them.

The only things that can move are the waist, the shoulders, the arms, and the sickle.

The force originates from the ground, flows through the entire body, and finally reaches the tip of the sickle.

"When you can stand firmly amidst all the chaos and distractions, and every block or counterattack is accurate and steady, with concentrated and undispersed power, then you've truly mastered the art of stillness."

The flying mantis's eyes lit up.

This sounds more interesting than simply standing still, and it's closer to the combat training it craves!

"Yes!" It nodded vigorously, its fighting spirit reignited, but this time, beneath that fighting spirit lay a layer of calm.

"Alright, that's enough for today. Your trainer should be here to pick you up soon." Old Hong waved his hand, turned and walked back into the house, picked up his cup of iced tea, and called out towards the kitchen, "Old woman, what's for dinner? Is there any braised pork left?"

A woman's voice, equally loud and laced with laughter and scolding, came from inside: "All you ever think about is eating! Wait here, stir-fry some vegetables, and reheat the leftover meat!"

Just then, Gu Beiri arrived.

"Wow, you're right on time! Did you arrive right at mealtime?"

Looking at the travel-worn Gu Beiri, Old Hong asked with a smile.

"Just got off the arena and came straight here. How's Scyther doing?"

Gu Beiri smiled and turned to look at the balcony.

"You're quite perceptive. Your character-fixing practice is now complete. We'll set off tomorrow."

"Where to?"

"Go beyond the Great Wall, to Mount Taibai."