The Amusing Adventures of a Directionally Challenged Dad and Daughter-Chapter 105

Though he knew something was off, he still had to obediently get to work.

What else could he do? He had no choice.

Isn’t this just how every doting parent behaves?

Grumbling with their words but never hesitating in their actions.

On the boat, Chang'an clenched her fists and stomped her feet excitedly, thinking about the big task ahead.

Old Gu Six watched his daughter lying on the deck, amusing herself with her tiny fists and rhythmic stomping on the wooden planks, looking utterly delighted.

A wolf lying nearby with its front paws propping up its head stared at her as if she were a fool.

Suddenly, Old Gu Six realized something was wrong—why was his daughter still so small?

She was already twelve this year, yet she hadn’t grown much taller since she was eleven, barely any difference from when she was ten. What was going on?

Did fleeing from famine somehow make her grow faster? Did a stable life fail to unlock her body’s potential?

Or was she sick?

He immediately threw down his fishing rod, rushed over, and lifted Chang'an up. "Sweetheart, do you feel unwell anywhere?"

Chang'an looked at his serious face, as if she were on the verge of dropping dead, and blinked in confusion.

"Dad, what are you doing?" She kicked her dangling legs, annoyed by the lack of solid ground beneath her feet.

Wait—why hadn’t she grown taller? Why could Old Gu Six still lift her so effortlessly?

Chang'an’s eyes widened in disbelief.

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Father and daughter exchanged glances, then simultaneously looked down—yep, those were still stubby little legs. She instinctively kicked her feet a couple more times.

Chang'an: So, when will I finally get those long, enviable legs?

Old Gu Six: Maybe it’s genetics? Her mother wasn’t tall—could she have taken after her?

Well, no big deal. If she were really sick, she wouldn’t be this lively.

"Don’t worry, sweetheart. You’re still young. You might shoot up in a couple of years. With a tall dad like me, there’s no way you’ll stay short."

Chang'an thought it made sense. Maybe the past two years of backbreaking farmwork had stunted her growth.

With such excellent genes, she couldn’t possibly end up a tiny pea.

Those long legs would come eventually.

After successfully reassuring his daughter, Old Gu Six went back to fishing.

The moment he picked up the rod, he felt a strong tug. His face lit up—had he actually caught something?

But no matter how hard he pulled, the fish refused to surface. Instead, their boat was being dragged forward.

With his strength, he should’ve easily reeled it in. Sensing something amiss, Old Gu Six decisively cut the line.

The boat lurched forward before gradually slowing down.

Well, no more fishing then. Time to cast the net.

Casting a net required both skill and strength. The large net unfurled, spreading wide over the sea.

Chang'an, seeing her dad at work, scrambled over to watch.

Only to see him haul up an empty net—not even a single scale.

Three tries, same result.

"Dad, maybe we should just give up. We’re not professional fishermen—it’s normal not to catch anything."

"I will catch fish," declared the stubborn Old Gu Six, convinced of his own prowess.

Father and daughter were locked in a battle against the sea, while far away in the mountains, the Yao family entered a tomb.

The ​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​​​​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​​​‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​​‌‌‌​​‌​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌‌‍tomb’s design wasn’t complex—no traps or mechanisms, just pests like snakes and rats. Such a tomb either held no treasures or belonged to someone who didn’t care.

After navigating the dark passage, they reached the main chamber. It was eerily empty, devoid of any burial goods except for a stone coffin at the center.

The treasure-seekers were bitterly disappointed. They weren’t here for immortality—what use was eternal life when they could barely survive now?

Seeing no profit, most of them left.

Those who remained were dreamers chasing godhood or divinity. The Yao family, however, fell into a third category: opportunists and spectators.

Someone solemnly lit a candle before rallying the group to open the coffin.

Seizing the moment, Yao Jixin sneaked over and blew out the candle, then casually wandered around, pretending innocence.

Just as they were about to lift the lid, someone noticed the extinguished flame and shrieked, "The candle’s out!"

A timid voice piped up, "Maybe it was the wind?"

"There’s no wind in this sealed tomb!"

Yao Jixin grinned to herself—I blew it out.

Another person suggested, "Just relight it. Maybe it wasn’t properly lit earlier."

The candle-lighter, doubting himself, rekindled the flame and watched until it stayed steady before stepping away.

When the group refocused on the coffin, Yao Jixin dashed past the candle again, swiping her sleeve.

The flame died once more. The candle-lighter turned and gaped.

"Th-the candle’s out again!"

"Forget it, leave it. Come help us!"

The man refused, backing away three meters. If the tomb’s occupant objected, they should respect the rules.

The others ignored him—one less person didn’t matter.

With a collective shout of "One, two, three—push!", they heaved.

A heavy thud echoed as the stone lid slid open.

Inside lay a skeleton—nothing else.

The crowd exchanged bewildered looks. All this effort for this?

No immortality, no treasures—not even a consolation prize. Some swayed on their feet, dizzy with frustration.

"How? The treasure map clearly marked this as a rich tomb!"

"Maybe there’s another mechanism?"

"Right, search! This could be a decoy!"

Frantically, they scoured the chamber, eyes bloodshot with desperation.

Elder Yao shook his head and led his family away. They weren’t meant for this.

The candle-lighter followed.

Halfway out, the tomb suddenly trembled violently, cracks splitting the air.

The Yao family exchanged glances—had those fools actually triggered something?

"Don’t look back. Keep walking. What’s meant to be yours will come; don’t force what isn’t."

Luckily, the Yaos were sensible people—content with their lot, never coveting what wasn’t theirs.

Though if anyone dared take what was theirs, they wouldn’t hesitate to teach them a lesson.

Back in the tomb, a hidden chamber had indeed opened—tiny, less than ten square meters. At its center stood a table holding a single bamboo scroll.

The crowd erupted in joy. They’d found it!

But now came the problem: only one scroll, over thirty people, all representing different factions.

How would they split it?