Cannot Detonate Thunder!

The Great Qi Dynasty, Third Year of Xihe, November.

The night was like spilled ink, heavy and pitch black.

In Jizhou, Yuhe County, Wazi Township, a humble dwelling stood alone by a field ridge. Its rotten wooden door, not quite shut, creaked and groaned with the wind, like an old man's dying breath.

Through the holes in the papered window of the second-floor loft, a crooked wooden table could be seen in the gloom. Cobwebs clung to the corners, and tattered rags swayed in the wind, casting shadows on the floor that stretched and shrank, like someone walking with their arms hanging low.

A pale-faced youth stood shivering in the corner, his terrified gaze sweeping across the room.

He lit a candle, placing it on the table. The flame flickered.

Whoosh!

A faint whimper, from some unknown crack in the window, could be heard. It was impossible to tell if it was the wind, or something hidden on the beams sighing. The very air was thick with a damp, musty smell, chilling as ice clinging to bone.

The candlelight flickered, plunging the room into intermittent darkness.

The youth jolted, darting under the bed as if the cramped space could offer him a sliver of security.

Could there really be a ghost?

Even if there is, if I hide here, it shouldn't find me.

Cold sweat beaded on his palms and soles, his back felt perpetually chilled. He muttered to himself, trying to bolster his courage.

Just then, a faint sound came from outside.

Thump! Thump! Thump!

It sounded like something was climbing the stairs.

After a moment, the sound of climbing stairs ceased.

The youth was puzzled. Why would a ghost make such rhythmic thumping sounds when walking? But before he could think further, he sensed that the ghost was at the dilapidated wooden door of the loft, peering into the room, searching for a living soul.

"Where are you?"

A dry, cold voice rang out, startling the youth.

The window had opened at some point, and a cold draft instantly filled the room.

With a "whoosh," the flickering candle finally went out completely.

The youth's clothes were soaked through with cold sweat.

His face was deathly pale. He held his breath, desperately trying to conceal himself, his eyes squeezed shut, silently praying for the ghost in the room to leave soon.

Thump, thump, thump.

The sound echoed through the room.

It seemed the ghost was searching every corner.

The youth's heart pounded in his chest.

But soon, the 'thump, thump, thump' sound slowly faded away.

The youth breathed a sigh of relief, feeling a surge of luck. It was good he had hidden under the bed; the ghost hadn't found him and had left.

Thinking the ghost must have gone, the youth felt significantly more relaxed.

"Eek, I found you. So you were hiding here."

A damp, cold voice suddenly spoke beside his ear.

The youth's hair stood on end. He snapped his eyes open.

The instant he opened them, he was horrified to see a gruesome, bloody face.

Wazi Township, Yang Family Village.

Yang Jing sat on an old stool by the entrance of the main house, staring blankly at the unfamiliar yet somehow familiar courtyard of his home.

The main house, along with the two side rooms, comprised five or six rooms in total. However, the paint on the doors and windows had long since peeled away, revealing the dark wood beneath.

Scenes flashed through Yang Jing's mind, leaving him momentarily dazed.

He had transmigrated. He'd had a stroke of luck on the road in his previous life, and then he had arrived in this world, similar to ancient China, becoming the son of a peasant who had joined a martial arts school.

Creak.

Just then, the courtyard gate was pushed open from the outside.

A slightly plump woman, dressed in coarse linen, walked in, carefully holding a lotus leaf. The aroma of meat wafted from between its folds.

"Jing'er, are you feeling any better?" the woman asked, seeing her son sitting by the door.

"Much better, Mother," Yang Jing replied.

This woman was his mother in this world, Liu Cuiling. Years of labor had left her skin dark and rough. Fine beads of sweat now dotted her forehead, glistening in the sunlight.

"Mother bought some pork ribs at the market. I'll make you something nourishing tonight," Liu Cuiling said, heading straight for the kitchen.

"Thank you, Mother," Yang Jing said, a smile on his face.

"Hmph, you brat. See if you dare to make rash promises again," Liu Cuiling muttered from the kitchen.

Yang Jing knew his mother was quite displeased.

However, as the saying goes, for every gain there is a loss. It was precisely the original body's recklessness that allowed him to transmigrate and occupy this body.

Half a month ago, the original body had asked for leave from the martial arts school's master to go home and get next month's expenses. By chance, his paternal aunt was visiting her maiden home.

His paternal aunt knew that the original body had joined a martial arts school in the county and was now quite skilled. She asked him to go to his uncle's ancestral home to see if it was truly haunted.

The original body, confident in his robust Blood Essence and not believing in ghosts, readily agreed after being praised a few words by his aunt, ignoring his mother's objections.

That very night, he was scared to death in his uncle's ancestral home.

Then Yang Jing transmigrated over.

So, to everyone else, Yang Jing had merely fainted from fright.

And for the past half month, his aunt and uncle had not visited, despite knowing Yang Jing had been recuperating. This naturally angered his mother.

"That thing was a bit strange. Was it really a ghost?"

In Yang Jing's mind, the blurry, bloody ghost face from the original body's memories resurfaced.

No wonder the original body had been scared to death; that face was truly disgusting and terrifying.

As he recalled, more and more scenes appeared in his mind.

The original body's family owned over twenty mu of land and lived quite comfortably. This spacious farmhouse courtyard was a testament to that. However, to support the original body's martial arts training, the tuition fees, medicinal expenses, and living costs had caused them to sell off everything they could. This left the courtyard appearing empty, the paint peeling on the doors and windows, with no money to repair them.

"Sigh."

Yang Jing sighed inwardly.

He had received the original body's memories and knew his entire family had exhausted their resources to support his martial arts training. In his family's eyes, the original body was a prodigy, the pride of the whole family.

But Yang Jing knew the original body's aptitude was mediocre, and he didn't work hard at the martial arts school. He spent his days drinking and having fun with a few other lazy disciples, only to lie to his family about how hard he was training, the progress he had made, and the respect he had earned from his teachers and peers whenever he went home for money.

Yang Jing was speechless.

His paternal grandparents, father, and mother all hoped the original body would succeed in the imperial examinations, even a minor official position would be a tremendous stroke of luck for the entire Yang family, bringing honor to their ancestors. Most importantly, an official position would exempt them from taxes and corvée labor.

Taxes alone were already high, with the imperial court collecting 20% of the harvest annually. In reality, besides the main taxes, local authorities imposed many surtaxes and miscellaneous taxes, bringing the total to fifty to sixty percent of the harvest.

It was rumored that rebel armies had appeared in some eastern prefectures. To suppress the rebellion, the court might even impose additional levies on farmers for military pay and training expenses.

These various taxes were like a mountain, weighing heavily on the farmers' shoulders.

Therefore, the entire family had placed all their hopes on the original body.

Even if the family had to sell their pots and pans and eat coarse grains, they would still support his martial arts training.

One had to understand that the cost of practicing martial arts was unimaginably high.

Among the more than twenty villages in Wazi Township, there were not many farming families whose sons practiced martial arts.

"He's a real beast," Yang Jing cursed inwardly.

The original body knew the family's financial difficulties but still indulged in extravagance outside, never striving for self-improvement.

This reminded Yang Jing of news he had seen in his previous life about a high school student who skipped classes daily, slept through them, and ranked last in academics, yet told his family his grades were improving rapidly, only to spectacularly fail the college entrance examination.

In comparison, the original body was still maintaining his facade quite well; the "explosion" hadn't happened yet.

"If things continue as they were for the original body, the 'explosion' isn't far off. This fainting spell at his uncle's ancestral home was a catalyst. If someone were observant, they might guess the original body is just a pretty face with no substance. The 'explosion' is right around the corner," Yang Jing thought to himself.

As the old saying goes, "Poverty breeds scholarship, wealth breeds martial arts."

Practicing martial arts requires capital, and a lot of it.

Even just the auxiliary medicinal herbs and a diet rich in Blood Essence represented a huge sum.

And the Yang family had no money left.

The original body's aptitude was mediocre, placing him among the most ordinary disciples in the martial arts school.

If the Yang family couldn't afford to support him any longer, he would have to return home in disgrace.

"However, even if the original body couldn't do it, it doesn't mean I can't," Yang Jing narrowed his eyes.

The next moment, a line of text appeared in his mind.

[Mountain Collapse Fist - Novice (30/200)]

When Yang Jing first discovered these two lines of text in his mind, he worried he might have a mental issue.

However, inexplicably, he also gained some information about this text in his mind.

Yang Jing decided to call it a panel.

The ability of this panel was that Yang Jing would not encounter any bottlenecks when practicing any cultivation technique or martial art.

This meant that breakthroughs, which were extremely dangerous for others, carried no risk for Yang Jing.

As for whether it was truly reliable, Yang Jing couldn't confirm it yet and needed to test it slowly.

But if it was true, he could completely reach the highest echelons of martial arts, the very pinnacle of what was visible!

One had to understand that the most difficult part of ascending the martial path was breaking through bottlenecks.

The reason most martial artists couldn't advance to higher realms was the obstruction of bottlenecks.

But he had no bottlenecks!

"Hoo!"

Yang Jing let out a long breath, suppressing the restlessness in his heart as he began to calculate.

He had been frightened that night, but he had recovered over the next few days.

However, Yang Jing still needed time to slowly sort through the many memories he had received from the original body.

He had almost finished sorting them out by now.

'In this world, if you want to make a name for yourself, the only way is to practice martial arts well.'

'It's time to go back to the city.'

'The original me could have blown myself up, but now that I've taken over this body, I can't!'

Yang Jing calculated silently in his heart.