Switched Life:I Went Viral on a Family Variety Show
Chapter 172: Taking Tons of Critical Hits

Chapter 172: Chapter 172: Taking Tons of Critical Hits

Sang Youming shrank his shoulders in fright, clutching his chest as he turned around, only to see Sang Ning staring intently at him.

"Huh?" Sang Youming froze for a moment. Seeing that there wasn’t the slightest hint of humor in Sang Ning’s eyes, he quickly waved his hands vehemently in rejection,

"No, no, impossible! They’re professionals, I’m a mere amateur scraping by. I can’t compete, absolutely not."

Sang Ning didn’t hold any real expectations for Sang Youming; she just wanted to see his woodworking skills for herself. If they were passable, she could find something serious for him to do.

Ignoring his protests, Sang Ning directly pushed Sang Youming toward Grandpa Chen.

"Grandpa, my dad is also a woodworker, but he’s not from Jiangkou Village. Can he participate in your competition?"

Sang Ning felt that the people in Jiangkou Village were rather traditional, and she wasn’t sure whether Grandpa Chen would agree. While recommending Sang Youming, she wore a broad smile.

"No problem. I’m practically ready to pass my craft down to others. Whether someone’s from the village or not doesn’t matter; as long as they’re an apprentice with skills, it’s fine."

Grandpa Chen agreed very readily and even had someone prepare a set of competition tools for Sang Youming.

Worried that Sang Youming might slack off, Sang Ning stood right beside him, supervising.

As soon as he settled in, Sang Youming held a chisel in his left hand and a hammer in his right, looking bewildered, like a duck being pushed onto a perch against its will.

After sitting in a daze for a while, he still didn’t seem to get the feel for it. He raised his head and forced a sheepish smile at Sang Ning:

"Sweet daughter, you know, other people use hammers. Me sitting here, all I can do is play with a hammer. How about we avoid humiliating ourselves?"

"Ha!" Sang Ning smirked derisively. "Sir, you’ve embarrassed yourself more than once. Either you work with the hammer, or the hammer works on you."

Sang Youming didn’t quite follow Sang Ning’s train of thought and blinked in confusion. "How could a hammer work on me?"

"Ever heard of a hammer to the head?" Sang Ning said, pausing purposely for effect, then let out a cold chuckle and added,

"Either you carve up this lousy wood blank today, or I’ll carve up that lousy liquor-soaked brain of yours. The choice is yours."

Sang Youming: "..."

Who would’ve thought that Sang Ning’s penchant for violent coercion would eventually fall upon his head.

The Sang Family—no one could escape its reach.

Sang Youming started imagining himself as a pitiful laborer being oppressed by an unreasonable landlord, with Sang Ning playing the role of said landlord.

Sniffling and pouting, full of grievance, he reluctantly buried his head into the work and began to recall the sensations of his woodcarving days.

Once he got into character, his motivation noticeably increased. Given the choice between carving the wood blank or letting his head get hammered, Sang Youming decisively opted for the former.

At first, his technique was clumsy—several times, the chisel shifted out of position as the hammer struck.

Sang Ning’s eyelids twitched in frustration as she watched, feeling her father was completely unreliable. She worried that he’d end up smashing his own hand if he didn’t position the tools correctly.

After several misplaced strikes, Sang Youming finally began to find his rhythm, managing to carve thin and even slivers of wood from the blank.

His technique seemed chaotic at first glance, but surprisingly, as one wood slice after another was carved away, the wood blank began to take on a faintly discernible shape.

Grandpa Chen was wandering around, observing the contestants’ craftsmanship, and happened to stroll over to Sang Youming’s station.

He didn’t hold out any hope for Sang Youming; he’d only let him enter as a favor to Sang Ning.

Thus, he hardly glanced at him before moving on to the next contestant.

But just as he lifted his foot to leave, the corner of his eye caught sight of Sang Youming’s technique, and he froze in place. Retracting his step, he turned around to take a closer look.

The method Sang Youming was using now—was identical to a technique Grandpa Chen had pioneered in his youth!

"Where did you learn this technique?" Grandpa Chen immediately raised his hand to stop Sang Youming’s movements and asked with astonishment.

Sang Youming was momentarily stunned, then replied with a puzzled yet matter-of-fact tone, "Just winging it—do you really need to formally learn this kind of thing?"

His tone was reminiscent of a slacker asking a top student how they managed to score full marks on an exam, only for the top student to casually reply, "Just studied a little." The vibe was eerily similar.

In moments like these, one party in the conversation—either the slacker or the top student—was bound to suffer emotional damage. Needless to say, the one emotionally bruised here was obviously Grandpa Chen.

Watching Grandpa Chen clutching his chest, speechless for the time being, Sang Ning thought to herself that Grandpa Chen must be the unlucky slacker in this situation.

Fortunately, Grandpa Chen was adept at self-recovery. He took a deep breath and, only after ensuring his composure, spoke slowly to praise:

"Young fellow, your skill surpasses mine significantly. I spent years refining this technique in my youth, and yet it’s not as good as your casual attempts."

Sang Youming, clueless as ever, failed to catch the compliment and mistook Grandpa Chen’s remark for sarcastic jabs about his lack of manners. His expression shifted immediately, and he tried to patch things up with an awkward laugh:

"Haha... Well, it’s not exactly winging it—I guess my brain’s just sharp, able to grasp in an instant what takes others years to figure out."

Only after blurting this out did Sang Youming belatedly realize he’d said something inappropriate again. He hurriedly covered his mouth with the back of his hand.

Slacker Grandpa Chen, once more struck by emotional damage, silently lamented how he used to think his woodworking talent was impressive—until now. Turns out there’s always someone better.

"Dad, you could’ve just stopped explaining!" Sang Ning groaned in exasperation.

Grandpa Chen motioned to Sang Ning, pulling her aside. He pointed repeatedly without saying a word, wearing the frustrated expression of someone swallowing an insult.

Sang Ning let him gesticulate to his heart’s content; only after Grandpa Chen’s hand grew tired and he lowered his finger did she complain with a hint of grievance: "Xiao Sang, aren’t you being excessively modest? My father’s skills clearly outshine many woodworkers, and yet you say he’s useless."

"With your skills, you could easily be a master craftsman. But no matter how skilled you are, my dad’s got plenty of room to improve—"

Though her words were flattering, coming from Sang Ning, Grandpa Chen found them especially agreeable.

He gave her a helpless glance and, shaking his head, walked away.

After Grandpa Chen left, the smile on Sang Ning’s face gradually faded. She held her chin thoughtfully.

The original description of Sang Youming in the book had been: a third-rate, bumbling woodworker who loved drinking.

But could a third-rate, bumbling woodworker earn praise from Grandpa Chen?

Of all the contestants in the competition, Grandpa Chen had only complimented Sang Youming.

Sang Ning walked back over to Sang Youming’s side, finding him fully immersed in his world of chiseling and hammering, growing curiouser by the moment. She couldn’t help but ask,

"Dad, if your woodworking skills are this good, why do you always pretend to be so mediocre?"

Pretending to be mediocre?

Upon hearing these words, Sang Youming stopped what he was doing and looked up abruptly, his face breaking into an amused expression as he replied,

"Sweet daughter, your old man isn’t some supreme martial artist fleeing relentless assassins. Why would I bother to pretend?"