Chapter Five: An Astonishing Speed of Learning

An Unbelievable Learning Speed

Niu Dali kept a close eye on Wu Hong, worried that he might be losing his mind. But when he witnessed Wu Hong's clean and precise strike, he burst into hearty laughter. "Brother, you’re truly remarkable! You’re the fastest learner I’ve ever seen when it comes to the art of slaughtering cattle. Seeing your neat and effortless hammer work makes my hands itch. Erzi, bring up the next cow!"

Rubbing his hands together, Niu Dali walked over as he spoke.

"Brother Niu is about to demonstrate his butchering skills! Everyone, come and watch!" Someone with sharp ears caught Niu Dali’s words immediately.

Many of the butchers put down their work, animatedly gathering around Niu Dali, excitement written all over their faces.

Before long, a bound cow was brought in.

Niu Dali casually picked up a wooden paddle, an iron hammer in one hand and a sharp knife in the other. He circled the waiting animal twice, his eyes suddenly glinting. With a flip of his right hand, a flash of cold light streaked through the air—the half-meter-long knife plunged into the wooden board beside the cow, embedding itself with a crisp sound.

In a stride, Niu Dali stood beside the cow. He pulled out the paddle and began to slap the animal’s body—"pa pa"—the paddle moved in a blur, each slap accompanied by a shift in his position. "You must remember," he instructed, "when paddling a cow, your force must be even. Too much, and the beef will bruise; too little, and it won't be tender!"

For over ten minutes, the paddle danced, each strike perfectly uniform. Strangely, the cow showed little pain, almost as if it was being massaged.

The crowd cheered repeatedly. Wu Hong watched in awe, never imagining that slaughtering cattle required such skill.

Time slipped by until, with a dull "thud," Niu Dali brought the iron hammer down hard on the cow’s forehead. He pulled out the knife and, with precise force, plunged it in—blood spurted forth.

The entire process took about twenty minutes. This might seem slow, but in reality, it was astonishingly swift. For this special treatment, where the whole cow is repeatedly paddled to allow the fat to penetrate the muscles, an average person would take over an hour—and if inexperienced, would even need assistance.

Niu Dali set down his tools and approached Wu Hong. "Ha ha—brother, did you see it clearly? I have high hopes for you." He patted Wu Hong on the shoulder.

Wu Hong felt his mouth go dry. His shock was not so much at Niu Dali’s technique, but at the fact that, as Niu Dali performed his series of actions, Wu Hong could distinguish the force behind each paddle blow with remarkable clarity.

What appeared to others as a blur, almost bewildering in its speed, seemed to Wu Hong, when he focused, to slow down countless times—every move, every shift, every action was crystal clear to him.

Had his eyes changed? Or was Niu Dali really moving that slowly?

"Brother Hou Shun, I’d like to try as well, if that’s all right?" Wu Hong asked, a bit embarrassed, feeling he might be stealing Niu Dali’s thunder.

"You? Brother, I think you’d better not. Overreaching is not a good habit! Reaching this level takes a long time to master," Hou Shun replied, turning him down gently.

"Monkey, let the young man try!" Niu Dali, however, had great faith in Wu Hong, curious to see how much Wu Hong had picked up from watching his slaughtering technique.

Wu Hong picked up the paddle used for slapping the cow, hammer in hand, recalling the nineteen moves of the Supreme Sun Tathagata’s True Art.

"Pa pa—" he began to slap the cow rhythmically. More people gathered, noticing his movements were unusual.

"Ha ha—this kid thinks brute strength alone is enough for this job. See, he’s already running into trouble!" Only Niu Dali frowned slightly, as if a thought had occurred to him.

Wu Hong felt his strength gradually becoming steady and even. He could distinctly sense the force of each blow, each one gently penetrating the cow’s body.

It was a strange sensation; Wu Hong nearly lost himself in the rhythm, entering a state where self and surroundings merged.

Throughout, the cow made not a single anguished sound, leaving the onlookers puzzled.

This could only mean one of two things: either, like Niu Dali, every strike was perfectly even, or the blows were so gentle that they accomplished nothing.

"What’s this boy doing, slapping so softly?" The crowd whispered among themselves, but Niu Dali remained silent.

Finally, Wu Hong cleanly and efficiently let out the cow’s blood.

"It’s truly difficult! I still need to learn from you, Brother Niu," Wu Hong said humbly to Niu Dali, his attitude earnest.

"Ha, who does this kid think he is, Lord Butcher himself? Thinks he can master such skills after a single viewing," the others muttered, ready to disperse.

"Wait—" Niu Dali called out, and everyone stopped. He circled the cow, frowning. "Monkey, skin and butcher it."

Hou Shun complied, and with practiced hands, a few men began to skin the cow. In just over ten minutes, the hide came off.

Hou Shun sliced off a piece of beef. Upon seeing the marbled layers of fat within the meat, his face changed. He hurried to Niu Dali.

"Brother Niu, look at this."

Niu Dali took the beef, and his face paled in shock. "Astounding craftsmanship!"

There, between the muscle fibers, layer upon layer of fat—ten layers in all.

Niu Dali and Hou Shun could hardly believe their eyes. This was almost unheard of—even for an old hand like Niu Dali, the most he’d ever achieved was six or seven layers of fat.

But Wu Hong, on his very first attempt, had managed this. Genius was the only word for it.

The crowd gasped in disbelief. No one could believe that Wu Hong, with his first attempt at paddling a cow, could produce such exquisite marbling.

Everyone was stunned. In the history of the slaughterhouse, no one had ever reached such heights after seeing the technique just once. Normally, this would be impossible.

Niu Dali’s hands trembled as he held the beef, lost in thought. "This young man is destined for greatness. If he devotes himself to the craft, who knows—he might one day match the legendary Butcher Ding!"

It was said that when Butcher Ding dissected a live cow, the animal would make no sound of pain. He could skin and separate the flesh without damaging the muscle fibers, completing the process in under ten minutes. So swift was his work that the cow would not die until its heart was finally removed.

Wu Hong’s performance today overturned everything the butchers thought they knew.

"Brother, you’ve truly opened my eyes today! You’re a genius!" Niu Dali exclaimed, deeply impressed. All the butchers admired Wu Hong now.

Wu Hong blushed furiously, though inwardly he was elated. For more than a decade in the Marquis Wu’s household, he’d borne the label of a natural-born good-for-nothing.

Though he’d lived in luxury, no one dared challenge him, yet the quiet humiliation and the disgrace he brought upon his family’s honor tormented him constantly.

Then came the family disaster: King Wu Wei died, and his second wife, Lady Zhao, had someone secretly sever Wu Hong’s tendons, intending to kill him had he not been rescued by a mysterious man in black.

Afterwards, Wu Hong struggled on the edge of life and death, until a kind doctor managed to reattach his tendons—but he was left half-crippled, with little hope of ever avenging his family’s blood feud.

He drifted through the world, until now, when things finally began to turn for the better—hope flickered anew in his heart.

Though today he’d only learned some butchering skills, Wu Hong was deeply shaken. If, one day, he could apply the art of slaughtering cattle to killing men, what might the result be?

"Let’s all disperse! Brother, you don’t look well—why not go home and rest today?" Niu Dali suggested, seeing Wu Hong lost in thought.

"Ah, I’m fine, Brother Niu, just thinking about something."

The crowd gradually broke up, discussing what they’d seen.

"I hereby declare that Wu Hong, like myself, may work here only when needed or when preparing special food for the Huang household. Otherwise, he’s free to come and go, and is promoted straight to senior servant! Does anyone object?"

"No objections!" everyone replied loudly. No one thought it unfair; here, everything was decided by strength. As the slaughterhouse manager, Niu Dali had full authority to promote any servant.

If Niu Dali had the power, he might have made Wu Hong a steward on the spot. But as a mere manager, only the chief steward could make such appointments.

In noble households, each manager oversees a specific section—like Niu Dali, who ran the slaughterhouse. The chief steward, however, oversaw all daily affairs, from clothing to provisions.

The general manager had the easiest job, simply reviewing records submitted by the chief steward each month for the master’s inspection.

The servant hierarchy ran from junior, to intermediate, to senior servant, then manager, assistant steward, chief steward, and general manager.

Each level reported to the one above, and only managers could promote servants up the ranks. By promoting Wu Hong directly to senior servant, Niu Dali showed just how highly he valued him.