Early the next morning, Nezha was still sound asleep when Chiron dragged him out of bed.
"A true warrior must be disciplined and never waste even a moment of time. Hurry up, eat your breakfast, and we'll train together!"
In a daze, Nezha was handed a big bowl of grass soup by the Centaur. He took a sip instinctively—hmm, it tasted like grass.
"I want meat!"
Chiron downed a massive bowl of grass soup with a blissful expression and then got into a combat stance.
"Alright, Hercules, defeat me, and I'll let you have some meat to eat."
Nezha casually set his bowl on the ground and stood up. Chiron asked with a puzzled face, "Oh? Aren't you going to finish it first? It'll get cold otherwise."
"I don't mind."
Three seconds later, Chiron, battered and bruised, was busy slaughtering a sheep, while Nezha sipped his grass soup with a contented slurp.
Chiron's mind was full of question marks. How could this happen? Impossible!
