21st Year of Jiajing, winter month
Heavy snow blanketed the riverside plains outside Lin Family Fortress, cloaking everything in silver.
Dozens of farmers' thatched cottages and mud-brick houses lay scattered across the land, cooking smoke curling lazily upward.
On higher ground stood a fortress built against the mountain—the half-collapsed watchtower still bore scars from swords and blades, rusted arrowheads could be seen between the damaged battlements, and even the red paint on the gates had peeled away in patches, every corner revealing the bleak decline of the fortress lord's household.
This was Lin Family Fortress, the ancestral estate left behind by the late Assistant Regional Commander of the Yingtian Garrison, Lin Yuanshan. Lin Yuanshan had once guarded a Jiangnan pass through the might of his Iron Shirt hard skill; now, only his sole son, Lin Zhao, the next Heir Steward, remained to hold this place.
On the slope beyond the fortress, a Mystic Frost Fox whose fur nearly blended into the snow moved cautiously through the withered grass. Its pointed ears twitched now and then as it vigilantly probed the movements around it. This fox was fierce and alert, difficult for ordinary hunters to approach, yet its pelt could ward off bitter cold and was a prized military commodity.
Eighty paces away, beneath the shadow of an ancient honey locust tree, a figure stood silently—it was Lin Zhao, clad in a Mystic Fox Fur cloak and a felt-lined cotton cap.
He slowly removed the Kaiyuan Great Bow from his back. This was a standard hard bow of the Nine Border Garrisons, with a bamboo core wrapped in birch bark and ox horn at its tips. Its draw weight reached three shi and seven dou, and only those with strong sinews and bones could draw it.
He nocked an arrow and drew the bow, his movements flowing like drifting clouds and running water. In his hand was the Birch Shaft Armor-Piercing Arrow commonly used by the northern Border Army, its arrowhead sharp as a blade and made to pierce tough hide and flesh.
"Whoosh—" The arrow tore through the air, and the Mystic Frost Fox fell at once. The Armor-Piercing Arrow had precisely pierced its neck, its fletching still quivering.
[Archery Proficiency +1] [Archery: Mortal Tier (Complete)]
"This fox pelt can make a shoulder guard. It'll keep me warmer when I practice boxing in winter." Lin Zhao smiled faintly, and the Proficiency Panel surfaced in his mind:
Lin Zhao----- -Archery: Mortal Tier (Complete) -Riding Skills: Mortal Tier (Complete) -Military Formation Footwork: Mortal Tier (Complete) -Fist and Foot Combat: Mortal Tier (Complete) -Basic Swordsmanship: Mortal Tier (Complete) -...
"Even the hardest skill to train, Archery, has reached completion." Lin Zhao put away his bow with satisfaction. "Within the effective range of this Kaiyuan Great Bow, no prey I set my sights on can possibly escape. Among the sons of nobles in Yingtian Prefecture, anyone with this degree of skill using a hard bow could probably rival the divine marksmen of the Border Army."
Over two and a half years, he had trained all five foundational martial arts required of a garrison's Heir Steward to the utmost limit a mortal could attain—Archery required hitting a willow leaf from a hundred paces; Riding Skills required controlling a horse as though walking on level ground; Military Formation Footwork demanded an understanding of offense, defense, and deployment; while fist, foot, and sword techniques needed to be solid and steady. His progress had far surpassed the expectations of the clan elders.
His sinews, bones, and physique had now been thoroughly tempered, his vital energy and blood abundant. It was time to cultivate the method of Internal Cultivation: Breath. Only by learning the Internal School Breathing Technique and being able to circulate strength throughout the body could one be said to have truly crossed the threshold of martial arts. This technique originated from Daoist breathing methods but discarded superstitious claims, focusing solely on bodily guidance and coordinated breathing. It was the recognized foundation for entering the path in both the high-martial jianghu and the army.
In this chaotic age of war, where Mountain Spirits and Water Fiends stirred in secret, only true martial power would allow him to pass the martial assessment, inherit his father's post as Assistant Regional Commander, and preserve his life.
"After all, the original owner of this body was likely killed by some evil thing in the pond."
Lin Zhao was not originally of this world.
Three years ago, in the 18th Year of Jiajing, during the White Lotus Society Incident in the capital, his soul had crossed into the body of this legitimate son of the Lin family, and he had obtained this miraculous Proficiency Panel.
The original owner's final memory was of fishing at Wulong Pond. The fishing line had suddenly sunk, and thinking he had hooked a great fish, he had hauled it up with all his strength—only to pull up a bizarre Bronze Coffin. The coffin was merely three chi long, its surface carved with ancient Witchcraft Patterns. Though it had soaked in water for years, it bore no rust, instead gleaming with a cold blue-black light beneath the moon.
Just as the original owner was struck with terror, the coffin lid suddenly slid open a crack, and a pale, bloated hand reached out from within—it was exactly the scene described in rural tales as "Pond Fiend Soul Snatching." His vital energy and blood surged backward on the spot, and he fainted from fright. When he awoke again, Lin Zhao, a traveler from another world, had already taken his place within the body.
Later, Zhao Tieying, one of his father's old subordinates, found him unconscious beside the pond, surrounded by piles of foul-smelling waterweed, fish, and shrimp, muttering nonsense. This old general, who had once served in the Imperial Guard and been hailed as a "Night Watcher" for his hard skills, had always assumed the Young Master had failed to catch any fish and, in his impatience, entered the water to feel around for them, only to end up in such a bedraggled state.
Lin Zhao had never dared reveal the truth about encountering the Bronze Coffin—in this world, most mystical talk was merely jianghu swindlery. Who would believe that someone could survive after encountering an evil fiend? That strange Bronze Coffin became a shadow in his heart, and even now he did not dare approach Wulong Pond.
Yet what he had learned over the years convinced him that tales of fiends had existed since ancient times. Just as common folk claimed that masters of Songxi Internal Boxing could strike acupoints and seal meridians—even Zhao Tieying, who had traveled far and wide, considered that an exaggeration, but Lin Zhao believed it without doubt.
"Since the evil thing within the Bronze Coffin truly exists, then internal masters may not be mere legend either."
But he knew clearly that he was now merely the descendant of a fallen military household. Seeking out renowned martial masters was no different from a fool dreaming in broad daylight. Before gazing at the stars, he needed to keep both feet planted firmly on the ground.
Thus, from the age of ten, when he had crossed into this world, Lin Zhao had diligently trained in the five foundational martial arts. With the Proficiency Panel, he had brought every one of them to the Mortal Tier's ultimate limit in less than three years. He was confident that even serving garrison officers might not surpass him in these basic skills—especially in Archery. Using this Kaiyuan Great Bow to fire Armor-Piercing Arrows, he could penetrate two layers of padded armor within thirty paces. That was his greatest pride.
At twelve years old, Lin Zhao already stood six chi tall, broad-shouldered and thick-backed, with the powerful build of a tiger. Aside from the childishness still lingering on his face, he was sturdier than many grown men. In these times, when most commoners were sallow-faced and emaciated, a robust body brimming with vital energy and blood was the greatest asset on the battlefield.
Now everything was prepared; only the Internal School Breathing Technique remained. He also knew that internal techniques could not be cultivated too early. One had to wait until the sinews and bones were strong and the vital energy and blood steady before beginning, or else one could easily suffer stagnant blood and energy, damage the five viscera, or even become crippled for life. That was precisely why a garrison's Heir Steward had to temper his physique first.
In high spirits, Lin Zhao lifted the Mystic Frost Fox and turned to head down the mountain.
At the foot of the slope, a figure was watching him with a smile—around forty years old, frost at his temples, dressed in a faded indigo archer's outfit with a Ring-pommel Sword at his waist. It was Zhao Tieying. This former Imperial Guard veteran had once slain Tatar horsemen in the northern frontier with his Iron Shirt hard skill. He was the trusted confidant entrusted to him by his father before death, and the person Lin Zhao trusted most now. Years spent together day and night had made the bond between master and disciple, and the loyalty between lord and servant, deeper than blood kinship.
Seeing Lin Zhao descend the mountain, Zhao Tieying strode forward, his voice brimming with gratification. "Excellent archery, Young Master! This Mystic Frost Fox is the most alert and difficult prey to shoot. Yet you pierced its neck from eighty paces with the Kaiyuan Great Bow—such accuracy rivals the Border Army's Night Watchers! If the late Assistant Regional Commander were still alive, seeing your martial attainments, he would surely laugh with delight and say that the Lin family's Heir Steward has a worthy successor, and its martial legacy will never be severed!"
Before you continue