Breakthrough

The Sun Clan Martial Arts School, Front Courtyard.

Yang Jing's punches grew heavier and heavier. Sweat dripped along his jawline and struck the bluestone slabs, spreading into small patches of dampness.

He was utterly oblivious, repeating the moves of the Mountain Collapse Fist over and over. Every punch seemed like a contest against himself.

By the wall, several disciples taking a break spoke in hushed voices, their gazes settling on Yang Jing as he practiced with complete concentration.

"Look at Senior Brother Yang. He's really giving it his all. He got here before dawn and hasn't stopped since."

A newly arrived young disciple sighed softly, admiration in his eyes. "If that were me, I'd have given out ages ago."

Someone beside him snorted. He was an older disciple who had been at the school for three months. Folding his arms, he gave Yang Jing a sidelong look. "What damn good does hard work do? The Martial Path is all about talent and root bone. He's been here almost half a year, and he's still going in circles at the initiation stage. He hasn't even made a single breakthrough attempt. That shows how abysmal his root bone is. No matter how much he trains, he's just wasting his strength."

"Exactly," another disciple chimed in, his tone full of disdain. "I heard Senior Brother Zhang Kehan say this Yang Jing used to hang around with them. Now he's putting on this whole act. Does he really think training like his life depends on it will let him break through? Hasn't he noticed that most of the people more talented than him have already left?"

"I bet he won't last these next two weeks. He might not even get to attempt a breakthrough before the pressure becomes too much and he slinks away with his tail between his legs."

Yang Jing paid no mind to what others said.

After all, he had lived two lives and even experienced transmigration. Naturally, he had a heart that could weather a storm.

Over the past few months, he had endured every sort of sneer and cutting remark. None of it could shake him in the slightest.

Yang Jing continued practicing earnestly, his punches as fierce as ever.

The school's master, Sun Yong, emerged from the Inner Courtyard. He merely glanced at Yang Jing from a distance, then shook his head and walked away to guide Lin Yue's training.

At this Martial Arts Hall, root bone was more precious than sweat. Most people had long since grown accustomed to judging everything by results. No one wanted to believe that someone with ordinary root bone could work a miracle.

Only the newly arrived boy remained where he stood, watching Yang Jing's sweat-soaked back as he clenched his own fists.

In the shadows beside the courtyard wall.

Zhou Lin nudged Zhang Kehan with her elbow and tipped her chin toward Yang Jing. "Look at him, still training like an idiot. He's like a spinning top, going round and round without even knowing how to get tired."

Zhang Kehan followed her gaze. Seeing Yang Jing hammer the wooden post punch after punch, veins bulging on his forehead, he let out a quiet laugh. "Isn't he just? Even now, he won't let go of that little fantasy. Does he really think effort alone can defy heaven and rewrite his fate? If he doesn't hurry up and pull some strings, find some connections, and see whether he can stay in the city, he'll probably have to roll up his bedding and go back to Wazi Township to farm."

"We can tell Lu Yang all about it over dinner tonight. I guarantee he'll laugh until his stomach hurts." Zhou Lin curled her lip, a trace of mockery in her voice. "I really never expected him to become a martial arts fanatic back then. Too bad his obsession's aimed at the wrong thing."

Lu Yang had passed the six-month mark since joining the Martial Arts Hall without reaching the bright strength realm and had left a month earlier. The three of them still occasionally got together, though their meetings had grown increasingly infrequent. Tonight, however, they had arranged to have dinner together.

Zhang Kehan nodded and chuckled, keeping his laughter low, though it brimmed with delight at another's misfortune.

He and Zhou Lin did not have many days left at the Martial Arts Hall themselves. Watching Yang Jing "struggle" like this had become a rare source of amusement.

On an open patch of ground on the other side.

Qi Yun was sparring with Lin Yue.

She had already attained hidden strength, and her skill far surpassed Lin Yue's. Yet she deliberately held back, giving him only a gentle deflection whenever a gap appeared in his moves, while offering guidance in a warm voice. Her friendly manner was utterly unlike her usual self.

Clearly, she was deliberately cultivating a friendship with this exceptionally talented junior brother.

"Master." Lin Yue's sharp eyes spotted Sun Yong approaching first, and he quickly stopped.

Qi Yun also turned and bowed respectfully.

Sun Yong waved a hand. His gaze settled on Lin Yue as he pointed out the path of his previous punch. "You released your force too hastily in that 'Mountain Collapse and Rock Splitting.' You haven't settled the qi in your dantian. It should be like striking a bell: gather first, then release."

As he spoke, he raised a hand to demonstrate.

Lin Yue listened intently, nodding from time to time.

Qi Yun stood to one side. Seeing that she was no longer needed, she quietly withdrew.

As she passed through the courtyard, her gaze swept over Yang Jing. Seeing him still immersed in grueling practice, sweat streaming like water down his forehead, his fists striking the wooden post with dull, stubborn thuds, she gave a scornful laugh and turned away.

Hopelessly stupid.

He's about to be swept out the door, and he still wants to fight for that so-called sliver of hope, she thought. How laughable. How pathetic.

In her view, a wise person knew which way the wind blew. Persisting in something one knew was impossible was not perseverance, but foolishness.

As the sun climbed overhead, Yang Jing's movements gradually grew sluggish. His blood and qi surged violently, and beads of sweat rolled down his forehead ever more densely.

He was just about to adjust his breathing when a gentle voice came from behind him.

"Junior brother, sink your shoulders. Don't hunch them. The Mountain Collapse Fist emphasizes Waist and Horse as One. Your punches look fierce, but all your force is leaking away through your shoulders."

Liu Maolin walked over and lightly pressed a hand against his shoulder. A steady force flowed through it, and Yang Jing felt his taut shoulders and neck ease considerably in an instant.

"Thank you, senior brother." Panting, Yang Jing adjusted his stance as instructed. Sure enough, his punches felt smoother.

"Don't rush. Take it slowly. You can do it!" Liu Maolin patted his back, genuine encouragement in his eyes. "Breaking through isn't just about root bone. Spirit matters too. That drive of yours puts plenty of others to shame."

Yang Jing nodded, warmth filling his heart. He was about to say something more when Liu Maolin pointed out his footwork. "Steady your steps a little more, as though you're rooted in the ground."

Beneath the pagoda tree not far away, Qi Yun watched it all, a mocking curl forming at the corner of her lips.

She had just come from Lin Yue's side and still held a piece of osmanthus cake she had sent Zhang Kehan into the street to buy. It was Lin Yue's favorite, so she had specifically sent someone to get it.

What a perfectly matched pair of fools.

Qi Yun sneered inwardly.

Liu Maolin enjoyed considerable prestige at the Sun Clan Martial Arts School, and his strength ranked near the top. Yet his judgment was terribly poor. He was actually spending his time on a disciple like Yang Jing, who was destined to be eliminated.

Guidance? Encouragement?

What a complete waste of effort.

Yang Jing's root bone is mediocre, and he's already run right up to the deadline. Even an immortal's guidance couldn't change anything. Investing effort in him is nothing but throwing away every last bit of your capital.

She glanced at Lin Yue nearby, whom their master had called over to speak with, and a shrewd gleam flashed in her eyes.

Compared with that lump of scrap iron Yang Jing, Lin Yue was a true rising prospect. Moreover, the school's master now valued him highly. His future was boundless.

If I build a good relationship with him now, then when he soars into the heavens, as one of the first people to befriend him, how could the benefits I receive compare to anything a rotten fish or shrimp like Yang Jing could offer?

Qi Yun straightened her clothes and walked toward Lin Yue with the osmanthus cake in hand, her face wreathed in smiles.

As she passed Yang Jing and Liu Maolin, she did not spare them so much as a sidelong glance. Rather than waste time on fools, she would seize every moment to build her connections. That was the way to secure her footing.

Yang Jing turned a deaf ear to all outside chatter and concentrated on practicing his punches.

He had already trained the Mountain Collapse Fist to the very limit of the initiation stage. If, as the System Panel said, he encountered no bottlenecks in any cultivation method or martial art he practiced, then he should break through to the bright strength realm today.

Time passed, minute by minute, second by second.

Soon, two hours had gone by.

As noon approached, some people were already preparing to leave for lunch.

Yang Jing continued practicing with his whole heart and soul.

Many disciples had long since grown used to this. They lamented how poor Yang Jing's root bone was. Otherwise, with such perseverance, he would at least have had some hope of developing inner force.

In the courtyard.

Yang Jing's punches were flowing at their fullest when he suddenly felt a faint hum within his body, as though an invisible membrane had abruptly shattered.