Who says throwing darts can't hurt someone?

Page 1/3

Chen Jue had always thought that only those professional players who filmed videos could skip stones in such an abstract way.

Who would have guessed that after just five days of practice, he could do the same!

“It really is a low-tier sport.”

“The skill ceiling is so low!”

He recalled reading a foreign paper online about stone-skipping. It stated that the number of skips and the distance a stone traveled depended on the stone’s material, its angle of entry, and its initial velocity after leaving the hand.

In terms of bodily technique, Chen Jue had already trained to the highest level, now on par with those professional players.

If he wanted to achieve world record feats—skipping stones over a hundred meters, or getting more than three hundred bounces—he’d have to work on the hardware.

First, he could buy petal-shaped, sculpted clay skipping stones online.

Second, he could improve his basic physical attributes: wrist, fingers, arm strength—all to boost the stone’s initial velocity.

But Chen Jue didn’t make a living from stone-skipping. Even if he filmed and uploaded videos, he doubted he’d attract as much traffic as the current world record holder.

After all, it was a niche pastime, with few followers. No one cared about second or third place except for the top dog.

Unless Chen Jue practiced a while longer, claimed the world record, and created some hype for himself.

But considering his introverted nature—and the fact that most people shrink from the camera—he didn’t seem cut out to be a content creator or short video influencer.

Though nowadays “internet celebrity” was synonymous with making big money, only a tiny fraction of people were willing to drop their pride and get into that business.

Most people avoided it like the plague, or looked down on influencers, just browsing videos for fun.

“Sigh!”

“To think I’ve mastered stone-skipping to the highest level.”

“It really is a skill with little practical use.” Chen Jue rested for a while on the lawn, then picked up a pebble and hurled it at a distant tree.

He used his right hand again, employing his top-level stone-skipping technique.

With a low “thud,” the stone spun rapidly through the air, striking the tree trunk with a heavy, muffled sound.

And to his surprise, the interface in his vision popped up with a notification!

——————

【Ding~】

【Action meets requirements】

【Dart Proficiency +1】

——————

“What?”

“Throwing stones also increases dart proficiency?”

“So… I don’t need a target board or metal darts?” Chen Jue was stunned, quickly scrambling up from the lawn.

He picked up another stone, aimed at the same tree, and threw it.

Another “thud”—he hit the trunk.

This time, the interface gave him an “Excellent” rating, and dart proficiency jumped by +2.

Chen Jue, unwilling to believe it, tried several more times. As long as he stood further away and threw accurately, even when using his right hand to throw stones, the interface still displayed +1 or +2 proficiency notifications.

“Wait… let me think this through…”

“Have I been mistaken all along? The ‘Dart’ skill on the panel isn’t just about internationally popular steel-tipped darts?” The thought dawned on him, and he quickly searched online.

He discovered that the definition of “darts” varied greatly across the world.

Especially in China, the ancient king of cold weapons, the word “dart” was linked to self-defense and martial arts.

There were endless types: plum blossom darts, swallow darts, meteor darts, tassel darts, and so on.

Literary works mentioned things like Little Li’s Flying Dagger, or Shaolin’s Plum Blossom Needle.

And of course, stones had been used as flying darts too.

In “Water Margin,” Zhang Qing, nicknamed “Featherless Arrow,” used flying stones as his weapon, defeating fifteen of Liangshan’s heroes with pebbles before taking the sixteenth seat at the stronghold.

Chen Jue’s stone throws, using stone-skipping techniques, were not unlike Zhang Qing’s flying stones.

But to the system panel, it seemed that no matter what was thrown—be it stones or other projectiles—it all fell under the “Dart” skill.

Just like the English-style steel-tipped darts he’d practiced before, which was merely a branch under the broad “Dart” category.

The difference was that steel-tipped darts had good promotion, professionalization, and a set of competition rules.

Whereas Chinese dart techniques were rarely practiced.

After all, without financial incentive, obscure sports rarely thrive.

“So, stone-skipping should be considered a variant of darts?”

“No wonder there was a ‘Skill Merge’ hint before.” Chen Jue sighed, putting away his phone, feeling he’d once again mastered an interesting yet practically useless piece of trivia.

…

After discovering this new way to play, Chen Jue became absorbed, alternating hands, treating trees as targets and stones as darts for a while.

Eventually, exhausted, he returned to Changhe Community to rest.

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Wednesday, he went to work as usual.

He’d already taken a day off yesterday; skipping work again would be too much.

Reluctantly, Chen Jue clocked in on time.

After several days of intense exercise, he figured he should use some of his work hours to rest and recover.

Although the company’s funds had been siphoned off and salaries weren’t being paid for the moment, with so many shareholders and assets, he figured money would come eventually.

But that naïve hope didn’t last the morning. Chen Jue watched as colleagues were called one by one into the boss’s office for a talk.

Even his junior, Jiang Lin, was summoned to the general manager’s office.

When he emerged, Jiang Lin looked shaken, hurrying over to report to Chen Jue, “Brother Jue! The company’s not giving N+1 severance anymore!”

With some embellishment, Chen Jue pieced together the situation.

The bosses had conspired to come clean with the staff while the company was broke.

Since Taisheng Financial was set to close next month, and with the chairman having absconded, there was no way the shareholders would inject more funds.

So the bosses decided to cut employee severance from N+1 to one month’s salary.

With over fifty employees, N+1 would have cost several million in compensation.

But with the company broke, where would the money come from?

So Zhou Yong and the others played hard and soft: pretending to help employees find new jobs, while threatening that those who didn’t sign the amended agreement would get neither a job offer nor a month’s pay.

With the company dissolving and a scandal erupting, they could drag out unpaid wages for years with no consequences, washing their hands clean.

“You signed?” Chen Jue looked at his naïve apprentice, who nodded like a startled deer—clearly his first encounter with the dark side of the workplace.

“Everyone called in signed! And Manager Zhou said if we didn’t, we’d be blacklisted in the industry.” Jiang Lin replied bitterly.

He only made seven thousand a month; losing a month’s pay would put real pressure on him.

“You’re too young!” Chen Jue shook his head, unsure what more to say about this mess.

…

About half an hour later, it was Chen Jue’s turn in the boss’s office.

Zhou Yong was steeping tea on the sofa, with HR Manager Li beside him.

A stack of severance agreements, already pressed with fingerprints and signatures, lay on the coffee table. Chen Jue immediately realized most people had fallen for the bosses’ scheme.

“Chen Jue, you know the situation, right?”

“You’re a veteran here, always reasonable. The company has no money, so we’ve revised the severance agreement.”

“Take a look—if you agree, sign it. I’ll help you get a referral with a guarantee company I know; you’ll be able to start right away,” Zhou Yong said, appealing to sentiment.

Chen Jue skimmed the agreement, then replied helplessly, “Manager Zhou, you don’t need to find me a job. I plan to take some time off to recover my health.”

“Recover? Oh, right! Li told me you took sick leave for a checkup. What did the doctor say?” Zhou Yong’s brow furrowed, then he feigned concern.

“The outlook isn’t good. The doctor says I’ll need two organs removed. Treatment will be expensive, so I was waiting for the N+1 payout to have surgery,” Chen Jue shrugged.

If the boss played the sympathy card, he’d play the pity card.

And he was telling the truth; whether they believed him was their business.

“That serious?” Zhou Yong appeared concerned, then continued, “Chen Jue, the company really has no money. The winding-up process will cost a lot. Unless we recover the money Director Zhang took, which is up to the authorities, there’s no way we can pay N+1.”

Seeing Zhou Yong dodge responsibility, Chen Jue wanted to spit in his face.

When the incident happened, the authorities were present and the bosses swore salaries would be paid.

But as soon as the officials left, they broke their promises.

Such was the nature of financial firms: profit above all.

Whatever camaraderie existed—once you signed the severance, you were gone for good.

“Manager Zhou, if there’s no N+1, I won’t sign the agreement.”

“Your lack of funds is a shareholder issue; if I don’t get my compensation, I’ll file for labor arbitration. I’ve got my employment contract—company dissolved or not, you can’t escape,” Chen Jue said, spreading his hands in resignation.

“Labor arbitration?”

“If we don’t pay N+1, you’ll sue us?”

“Chen Jue, we’ve worked together for nearly four years—must you be so ruthless?” Zhou Yong feigned surprise.

HR Manager Li chimed in, saying the bosses had it tough, with the chairman running off with the money; giving one month’s salary was already generous. She hoped, as a veteran, Chen Jue could be understanding.

But Chen Jue wasn’t buying it, insisting he had his own difficulties too.

And he could guess that Manager Li was sure to get her N+1—and likely promised even more behind the scenes, or she wouldn’t be helping them like this.

“If that’s the case, there’s nothing more to discuss. Go ahead and sue!”

“In the company’s situation, the lawsuit could drag on for years, maybe a decade, and you’ll never see a penny.”

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“If you dare sue us, we shareholders have enough clout in Hangzhou to make sure no guarantee company in the city will ever hire you!”

Seeing Chen Jue unmoved, determined to get the original severance, Zhou Yong dropped all pretenses, resorting to open threats.

His tone was heavy, as if he held tremendous power, capable of blacklisting Chen Jue across the industry with a word.

Anyone else might have been scared into signing.

But Chen Jue, approaching thirty, was no stranger to the workplace and wasn’t fazed by such threats.

“Manager Zhou, it’s just tens of thousands. No need to make things so ugly.”

“And people should be like this pen—smooth when necessary, sharp when needed.” With that, Chen Jue picked up the pen on the table, twirling it in his left hand.

“What do you mean? Are you agreeing to sign?” Zhou Yong frowned, not following his line of thought.

But in the next instant, with a sudden “pop,” Zhou Yong’s hair stood on end; startled, he spilled his teacup across the table.

For Chen Jue had thrown the pen like a dart, and it whizzed past Zhou Yong’s cheek, embedding itself deep in the leather sofa behind him.

The pen pierced the upholstery, half its length buried inside.

Such force and accuracy!

Even Manager Li, who’d been backing Zhou Yong, shivered and shrieked.

“You… you…”

“What are you trying to do?”

Zhou Yong, though a seasoned forty-something who’d clawed his way up, quickly regained his composure, his voice trembling as he questioned Chen Jue.

He’d never expected the usually mild-mannered, introverted employee to act so boldly.

Had the pen flown a bit off, it would have hit him in the face!

The thought chilled Zhou Yong to the core.

This wasn’t a pen—it was a deadly dart!

“I’m not trying to do anything, just to get the severance I deserve.”

“Since you threatened me, I figured I’d scare you back. I didn’t hurt you, so we’re even,” Chen Jue said, relaxing back into the sofa, crossing his legs.

He felt much better after that throw.

Even the “+4 proficiency” notification on his panel was pleasing to the eye.

“……”

Zhou Yong, though still dazed by Chen Jue’s words, felt secretly relieved.

He’d really been afraid Chen Jue would actually strike him.

With his wealth and status, it wasn’t worth risking injury or worse over a dispute with a low-level employee.

“Heh…”

“You’re right—it’s only a few tens of thousands, no need for things to get ugly.” Zhou Yong forced an awkward smile, hurriedly cleaning up the table.

“But the company truly has no cash to offer.”

“How about this, Chen Jue—I’ll find you a compromise. Go to the loan office and take a car from our inventory, worth about the same as your severance.” Zhou Yong switched to a more conciliatory tone.

Hearing that severance would be paid in vehicles, Chen Jue was taken aback, then nodded in understanding. “Fine. That’ll do. Manager Li, revise the contract and let me know when to sign.”

Manager Li, still shaken, didn’t dare say more and nodded in agreement.

…

After leaving the office, Chen Jue remembered a conversation with Lin Ling at the gym.

Who says darts are only for hitting targets?

Just tossing a pen like a dart had made that man behave—much more effective than playing the pity card!

As for Zhou Yong and Manager Li, after Chen Jue left, they stared in shock at the pen lodged in the sofa.

“Unbelievable!”

“Really unbelievable!” Zhou Yong pulled the pen free and tried throwing it himself, but it bounced harmlessly off the upholstery.

Seeing this, Zhou Yong was more convinced than ever that Chen Jue was hiding his true abilities. “Li, when we hired Chen Jue, did his resume say anything about martial arts?”

“Martial arts? Never heard of it!”

“We’ve worked together for four years…” Manager Li shook her head, utterly bewildered.