"Daddy ......"

The childish voice, before she could complete the pronunciation of "Daddy", was covered up by the sound of a harsh whip.

The bamboo whip that hit the wooden floor made the girl stop her voice and not even dare to move.

It was a wide dojo.

The glorious sunlight, in the afternoon emitting warmth, green leaves, scarlet flowers, warm light on the waxed wooden floor, in the faint fragrance of wood, reflecting a father and daughter's figure.

The father has a stern eye, like a falcon hovering 10,000 meters high in the sky, sharp insight into everything.

Beside him, is a little girl sitting on her knees in a regular manner.

Although still young, but between the features can be vaguely identified father's heroic posture, even though stubbornly tense face, but the cheeks of tears, has not been wiped away, in the rosy cheeks, leaving two wet water marks.

How long will I continue to sit on my knees?

Even though she realized that she had done wrong, the little girl still couldn't help but think about when the day's training would end, even though she wanted to get stronger, wanted to become more mature, and wanted to catch up to her father's heights.

But she is only a child after all.

The calf, which was already too numb to move, was only left with a tingling sensation that spread outward from the inside of the calf, and the thighs were sore and swollen, an unpleasant feeling that made the girl's little face turn red with suffocation.

She was on the verge of crying out.

But, but did not dare to cry.

Nor did she want to cry.

She had cried once before, I don't know how long ago, when she had just started to feel uncomfortable.

Her father responded by cracking a bamboo whip on the wooden floor.

Obviously it didn't hit her, but she was aware of the feeling of 'pain' and instinctively, stopped crying in order to protect her body from this 'pain'.

She knew that her father loved her.

Because the bamboo whip in her father's hand had never fallen on her.

Because her father always smiled lovingly after the training was over, with her playing.

Because her father always tickled her cackle and made her laugh while bathing.

Because her father always told her all kinds of funny stories before bedtime.

Because her father was an immensely powerful being, not just for her, but for everyone, he would protect her in spite of everything, and his back was always tall and grand making people feel safe.

So, she knew that her father loved her.

But, every time, the bamboo whip hit the wooden floor, the loud, scary, snap.

It made her tremble and not dare to move.

Even though she knew that her father loved her, and it was because she knew that he loved her, that.

So she would order herself, would push herself, make herself work hard to become the person her father wanted her to be.

She wanted to be as great as her father, who was helping her catch up with herself.

The afternoon sun gently pushed the time, rustling the leaves.

"What is the eighth section of the shooting method?"

Father turned his back on her, waiting for an answer.

It was not the first time her father had asked this question, and the young girl, who had spent many hours trying to memorize the awkward terms, even though she did not understand them at all.

"Step on the foot, frame the body, get on the arrow, lift, pull away, and focus ...... on separating ...... the residual heart."

Because of the physical difficulty, it made the girl's voice tremble slightly.

"Not fluent enough."

Father said, facing her, also sat down on his knees, the movement is very fluent, not the slightest shaking, firm as a rock. This made the girl unconsciously fascinated.

She also wanted to achieve this state.

There was nothing that the father she admired could not do, whatever it was, it was perfect.

"What is your goal."

"To become a ten-dan parishioner like my father."

The combined term ten-dan Fanshis, in childish words, lost the majesty that comes with being the top Kyudo shooter.

"Very good."

Hearing her father's approval, the girl showed some expectation, but instead of stroking her little head with his large, rough, yet generous hands, as she had hoped, her father rose to his feet in a fluid motion.

"Don't forget your goal, and stick to it until you achieve it."

The wide, bright, and puritanical Kyudo field, imprinted these words of her father firmly in the girl's heart.

The afternoon sun is always particularly gentle, although this gentleness can sometimes take away moisture and life.