As night fell, the onlookers had long since dispersed, yet Anjing Zhen remained in his "training ground."
The rain had stopped, but the grass was still muddy.
Without caring whether it was dirty or uncomfortable, he leaned against a metal pipe and sat in the mud.
Letting the field lights stretch his shadow long behind him, he looked over the course he had built with his own hands and panted heavily. It really has been too long since I trained, he could not help thinking as his chest heaved violently.
After all, he used to be able to keep up this level of training for an entire day.
Yet as he felt the soreness swelling through his muscles, his heart was filled with satisfaction. Images of himself being battered and bruised during all sorts of special training flashed through his mind, and a stubborn smile tugged at his lips without him even noticing.
After sitting for a while longer, once he felt some of his strength return, he casually reached beside his backside and used the metal pipe to pull himself to his feet.
Using the lights by the field, he opened the notebook he had just picked up and carefully reviewed the data he had compiled that day.
Returning to this familiar ground to train again, he certainly felt impulsive and passionate—more than a little of both.
But he had not forgotten what he needed to do.
He had begun training as soon as he finished assembling the course. Though he had not gone to eat with Kitasan Black and the others, he had still taken breaks.
During those breaks, he recorded everything he experienced firsthand.
And all of it was densely written across pages dampened by rainwater:
The friction coefficient of the metal pipes, the airtime at different