Switched Life:I Went Viral on a Family Variety Show-Chapter 102: The Calf Will Die Young

Before Song Shiye could run up, the old man had already turned around leisurely, still maintaining the pose of his left hand behind his back and his right hand pointing to the sky.

Sang Ning: "..."

Was it just her imagination? Why did she feel like this old man turned specifically to look at her, locking his gaze directly onto her?

Song Shiye was caught off guard and startled, immediately stopping in his tracks.

[Holy crap, this is terrifying! What kind of nonsense is this old man pulling? It’s the first time I’ve seen someone whose beard is so lush that you can’t even make out their face apart from the eyes and nose.]

[What is he up to? His eyes are bulging like copper bells—he looks like he’s about to deliver a dramatic performance any second now.]

[An old man suddenly popping up in the mountains for no apparent reason is honestly creepy. Could he be one of the mysterious guests invited by the production team?]

[Nah. Director Sun might be unorthodox, but he’s still a serious guy. This old man clearly doesn’t seem mentally stable, so there’s no way he’d be invited as a guest.]

Everyone stared at the old man in astonishment, yet the old man remained fixated on Sang Ning.

Sang Ning was dumbfounded. "Mister, do I know you?"

If you do know me, at least say hello—why stare at me with such creepy eyes?

Sang Ning couldn’t stand it anymore. Out of all these people, he chose not to look at anyone else but her. She reasonably suspected this man might be some sort of old pervert.

At this thought, Sang Ning’s face darkened as she prepared to confront him.

But before she could speak, the old man spoke first. This time he withdrew his right hand, turning his palm upward and pushing his arm forward, parallel to the ground.

"A perilous tower rises a hundred feet—"

The old man’s deep, emotional voice rang out, rendering everyone momentarily stunned. They all turned to look at Sang Chuan.

Inner monologue: Isn’t this your signature verse?

Sang Chuan’s eyes lit up—this old man was quite intriguing.

As he got up from his seat, the old man, still staring passionately at Sang Ning, recited the next line with fervor: "With a hand, one picks the stars—"

Sang Ning: "..."

This guy is definitely bonkers.

[What the hell?! I’m baffled. Did this old man climb all the way up here just to recite these two lines of poetry?]

[Did Sang Chuan possess this old man somehow? Sang Chuan just recited this poem earlier, and the way these two are delivering it is way too similar. It’s uncanny!]

Sang Ning, under the unwavering gaze of the old man, fell into silent frustration and continued to remain unresponsive.

Just as the old man was about to recite the remaining lines of poetry, Sang Chuan’s voice suddenly cut in: "To view a thousand miles ahead—One must ascend another height—"

This time, Sang Chuan’s voice was even more emotive than when he had recited the verses at the base of the mountain. As he spoke, he started striding toward the old man.

Bright-eyed and giddy, Sang Chuan looked at this old man and felt an instant kinship, as though he had encountered a long-lost soulmate.

[Why doesn’t Sang Chuan ever learn? He got it wrong earlier, and now he’s daring to recite it again—is his skin itching for punishment?]

[It seems Sang Chuan has completely ingrained this mismatched version of the poem in his DNA.]

"Ten more passages of the assigned text for today’s recitation," Sang Ning’s voice rang out coldly, devoid of warmth.

Sang Chuan snapped back to reality.

Damn it—did this old man cast some kind of spell on him earlier? He had somehow unconsciously wanted to recite the next line.

The old man hadn’t expected his poetry recitation to be interrupted by a young man. He was visibly displeased.

The dignified composure he had painstakingly maintained crumbled instantly. To mask his embarrassment, he clenched his fist, held it near his mouth, and coughed softly a few times.

Shooting Sang Chuan an indignant glare, the old man resumed his previous stance and began reciting again: "A perilous tower rises a hundred feet—With a hand, one picks the stars—"

As he was about to finish the remaining lines, Sang Chuan, seemingly possessed, passionately interrupted the old man again, carrying on: "To view a thousand miles ahead—One must ascend another height—"

"Forty passages!" Sang Ning’s voice grew even colder, as icy and mechanical as an artificial intelligence.

Sang Chuan snapped back to his senses again and sheepishly apologized: "Sis, I messed up. My memory’s gotten into a rut; I couldn’t help but finish the verse. Can you please make me drink some Mengpo Soup so I can erase this humiliating memory completely?"

Twice interrupted during his recitation, the old man finally erupted in fury, shouting at Sang Chuan: "Young man, let’s talk about the virtue of martial arts—can’t you let me recite the poem in peace?!"

Everyone: "..."

The group collectively concluded that the old man must be deranged. Dealing with someone mentally unstable, it’s best not to provoke him—what if he snaps and kills you? He wouldn’t even be held legally responsible.

Sang Chuan, terrified that he might impulsively recite again, pinched his lips shut with his fingers, transforming his mouth into a duck-bill shape.

The old man seemed satisfied. Finally, no one would interrupt him.

Reassuming his pose, he began again: "A perilous tower rises a hundred feet..."

[I’m going to die laughing. This has to be someone the production team hired, right? Where on earth did they find this comedic old man? He and Sang Chuan are truly the Wolong and Feng Chu of poetry recitals.]

[The old man finally finished his poem, but the mental states of the guests don’t seem to be holding up well.]

Once finished, the old man’s movements took a bizarre turn. He continued pacing forward with tiny steps, showing no intention of stopping.

Sang Ning’s eyelids twitched uncontrollably. Song Shiye’s joke about the old man jumping off a cliff was starting to feel eerily plausible.

Was the poem he recited his parting words before death?

Falling off this small peak wouldn’t be fatal, but it’s still about two or three meters to the ground. Judging by her estimation, the old man was probably around the same age as Grandma Song.

If someone of his age fell, even if he didn’t die, he’d likely sustain devastating injuries. Hello, compound fractures?

Sang Ning couldn’t care less about other concerns anymore—she couldn’t just stand by and watch the old man fall.

She promptly deployed her Qinggong, dashing toward the old man.

Her heart skipped a beat mid-sprint—the old man truly showed no sign of stopping.

His gaze remained fixed straight ahead, without a single glimmer of fear in his eyes, as if he had foreseen that he definitely wouldn’t fall.

Just as one of his feet hovered precariously in the air, poised for descent, Sang Ning rushed in just in time, leaping onto the cliff and grabbing the old man’s arm to pull him back.

"Sir, what are you trying to do?"

There was a tinge of anger in Sang Ning’s voice. If he wanted to die, that was his decision, but couldn’t he avoid doing it in front of her?

She truly couldn’t stand by and simply watch—she was the type to step in and act.

After being pulled back and steadied, the old man suddenly collapsed onto his knees, his tears bursting forth as though a dam had broken.

Sang Ning: ?!

Had the tone of her voice been too harsh? Did she hurt the old man’s feelings?

Just as she was about to explain herself, the old man unexpectedly kowtowed to her.

Sang Ning’s heart dropped with a thud. She was doomed—surely this was enough to shave a significant portion off her lifespan.