Iron Cloth Shirt! A Vastly Increased Appetite!

Crack!

As the words fell, Su Haoran's fist came down with them. A dull crack of breaking bone sounded; Li Gui twitched twice, then fell silent forever.

The rainy night returned to dead silence.

Su Haoran's face remained expressionless, his eyes still as an ancient well.

He was not bloodthirsty, but neither was he softhearted.

Li Gui had colluded with outsiders, intending to murder him and seize his treasure. They had become mortal enemies.

Letting a tiger return to the mountain would bring endless trouble. Su Haoran understood that better than anyone.

Su Haoran did not leave at once. Instead, he crouched down and began searching the three corpses, which still retained a trace of warmth.

In this world, Human Lives Like Grass, but those still alive had to go on living.

Before long, he found a small booklet in Li Gui's robes, wrapped tightly in oiled paper.

Opening it, he saw three large words scrawled across the cover in crude handwriting—"Iron Cloth Shirt."

A copied martial arts manual.

Su Haoran's heart stirred. Li Gui had hidden himself well in ordinary times.

This Iron Cloth Shirt was a widely circulated external hard technique. Though it could not be considered profound, it was easy to learn, and when cultivated to great depths, its power was far from ordinary.

He carefully tucked the booklet into his robes, then turned to Scarface and One-Eyed Dragon.

The two of them were far poorer. Su Haoran found only six taels and five mace of scattered silver on them, with nothing else of value.

However, the two standard military sabers at their waists had been forged from hundred-tempered steel. Their cold gleam was sharp and dazzling.

Their scabbards were also decorated with a bronze pattern Su Haoran had never seen before, shaped like a pair of antlers.

"Fine sabers." Su Haoran weighed them in his hand. They were satisfyingly heavy.

These things absolutely could not be shown inside the temple, but if he took them to the black market Down the Mountain, they would surely fetch plenty of money and grain.

He put away the silver and steel sabers, then dragged Scarface and One-Eyed Dragon's corpses out of the woodshed, one in each hand, and headed toward the back mountain.

There was a cliff at the back mountain, bottomless and seldom visited.

The night rain became his greatest helper, washing away every trace left by the dragged corpses.

Standing at the cliff's edge, he did not hesitate in the slightest before hurling all three corpses down with all his strength.

Whoosh—

The corpses fell through the wind and rain into endless darkness, without even an echo returning.

Only after finishing everything did Su Haoran return to the woodshed.

The rain had already diluted and washed away the bloodstains in the courtyard, blending them into the mud. In another half hour, nothing would be visible.

He shut the broken wooden door, braced it with a ruined table, then examined the wound on his right fist by the dim oil lamp.

The punch that had collided head-on with Scarface's military saber had still left a half-inch bloody gash. Flesh curled back from the wound, exposing bone beneath.

For an ordinary person, the entire hand would likely have been crippled.

Yet Su Haoran merely frowned slightly and wrapped it simply with a strip of cloth.

With Arhat Fist at Major Accomplishment, his Qi and Blood were vigorous. Such a minor injury would heal within days.

After tending to the wound, he immediately took the copied Iron Cloth Shirt manual from his robes and eagerly began reading.

"Externally train a layer of skin; internally train a breath of qi..."

The opening general outline was concise and clear.

This technique focused on stimulating the skin and membranes through slapping, striking, and impacts, combined with a specific breathing method to draw forth Qi and Blood for nourishment, making the skin as tough as cowhide.

Wasn't this exactly what he needed now?

Arhat Fist at Major Accomplishment had allowed Su Haoran's Qi and Blood to flow freely and greatly increased his strength. He had already touched the threshold of the first martial realm, Skin Tempering.

But he had no clue how to truly step across it, as though viewing flowers through fog.

And this Iron Cloth Shirt was a pillow delivered just as sleep came!

A sharp light flared in Su Haoran's eyes, and every trace of sleepiness vanished from his heart.

As for those few taels of silver, they had relieved his urgent need.

Cultivating external Kung Fu consumed enormous amounts of Qi and Blood. Sufficient food was needed to replenish it; otherwise, one would only drain the body and leave hidden injuries behind.

This windfall would let him eat and drink to his heart's content for a while, providing ample energy for his cultivation!

The next morning, the rain had passed and the sky had cleared.

The dining hall of Prajna Temple's Labor Courtyard welcomed a strange guest.

"Five more bowls! No, ten!"

Su Haoran pushed an empty bowl toward the servant responsible for serving food and spoke in a deep voice.

The servant stared wide-eyed at the towering stack of empty bowls before Su Haoran, then stammered, "Su Hao... Senior Brother Su, with the four Steamed Buns included, this is already your fifteenth bowl!"

The food provided to the temple servants was mostly Coarse Grain Steamed Buns and coarse rice porridge—enough to fill the stomach, but nothing more.

Even so, an ordinary person would be full after three to five bowls at most.

Su Haoran's way of eating was simply horrifying.

"Stop talking nonsense." Su Haoran took out a small piece of scattered silver from his robes and slapped it onto the table. "I'll pay."

At the sight of the money, the servant's expression finally eased. Muttering, "What a freak," he served Su Haoran another ten bowls.

The surrounding servants all cast astonished looks his way and began whispering among themselves.

But Su Haoran paid them no heed. He only kept his head lowered, sweeping bowl after bowl of millet into his stomach like a gale scattering clouds.

Once the food entered his belly, it was swiftly broken down by his powerful digestion, turning into streams of pure heat that replenished the massive depletion caused by his cultivation.

And so, day after day passed.

Su Haoran's life became extraordinarily regular.

During the day, he remained the same servant silently sweeping the back mountain, keeping his presence as low as possible and avoiding anyone's notice.

At night, his woodshed became his training ground.

Following the Iron Cloth Shirt method, he first used his palms to strike his entire body, from his arms to his chest, then his back and thighs, sparing not a single inch of flesh.

Smack! Smack! Smack!

Dull blows echoed through the tiny woodshed. He showed himself no mercy whatsoever.

At first, even gentle slaps would leave his skin red and swollen, burning with pain.

But he gritted his teeth and persisted, circulating the Meditation Scripture to guard his mind and reduce the pain to its minimum, while directing his Qi and Blood toward the struck areas.

The heat produced by Arhat Fist reaching Major Accomplishment was like the finest medicine. Wherever it passed, the redness and swelling swiftly faded, replaced by a warm, tingling sensation.

After adapting, he began striking himself with a Wooden stick.

Later, he began using his body to ram against walls and tree trunks!

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Every impact felt as though it would shake his body apart.

This was a training method that bordered on self-torture. It tested not only the flesh, but the will.

Yet Su Haoran endured.

In both his past life and this one, he had suffered enough from the taste of weakness.

He never wanted to experience again that feeling of having his fate controlled by others, of having his life and death beyond his own command.

If he wanted strength, he had to pay a hundredfold price!

And that price brought rich rewards.

Su Haoran could clearly feel that his skin was growing tougher and thicker through each cycle of injury and recovery.

At first, one strike from the Wooden stick would leave a bloody welt.

Half a month later, the same force left only a pale mark.

A month later, he could even feel a faint rebounding force arising from the surface of his skin.

During this period, the few taels of silver taken from Scarface had flowed away like water, all transformed into the food in his belly and the strength in his body.

Two months later, when the very last copper coin had been spent, another transformation occurred within Su Haoran's woodshed.

That night, he stood bare-chested in the center of the woodshed.

Moonlight streamed through the window lattice and fell across his body, reflecting an unusual dark gleam somewhere between flesh and metal.

His skin had taken on a faint bronze hue. His muscles were sharply defined, as though cast from molten iron, brimming with explosive power.

Su Haoran took a deep breath and fiercely urged his inner Qi and Blood into motion.

Hum—

The skin across his entire body instantly tightened, its bronze luster becoming even deeper, as though it had truly turned into a layer of bronze hide!

"It worked!"

A terrifying sharp light burst from Su Haoran's eyes.

Iron Cloth Shirt, Minor Accomplishment!

The first martial realm, Skin Tempering—breakthrough!

Bronze Skin Realm!

At that moment, he felt completely different from before.

An unprecedented sensation of power flooded through his Limbs and Bones, as though he could kill a bull with a single punch!

He was no longer merely a servant with somewhat greater strength. He was now a true Martial Artist who had stepped across the threshold of martial arts!

Entering this realm meant he possessed the basic strength to protect himself while traveling through the Chaotic World. Three to five ordinary strong men would be utterly unable to approach him.

More importantly, he finally had the qualifications to take part in the temple's Martial Monk selection!

Suppressing the excitement in his heart, Su Haoran's gaze sharpened as he spotted the military saber seized from Scarface in the corner.

He walked over, picked up the steel saber, and a fierce glint flashed through his eyes.

He wanted to test exactly how far his defense had reached.

He held the saber in his left hand and clenched his right into a fist. Drawing a deep breath, he sent his Qi and Blood surging; the skin on his right fist instantly turned a deep bronze.

Clang!

He used all his strength to smash his fist viciously against the blade!

A piercing explosion of clashing metal rang out!

Sparks flew in every direction!

Su Haoran lowered his head and saw that the blade of hundred-tempered steel had actually been smashed with a tiny notch!

Yet there was no bloodstain on his fist, no torn skin, not even the slightest swelling.

There was only a shallow pale mark, which rapidly vanished as Qi and Blood circulated through it.

"Good! Good! Good!"

Joy immediately surged in Su Haoran's heart!

Two months ago, clashing against this saber head-on would still have left his flesh torn open.

Two months later, he could withstand tempered steel!

He could hardly imagine how terrifying it would be if such a pair of fists landed upon a body of flesh and blood!

At the same time, his Qi and Blood churned throughout his body, while his skin and membranes seemed to swell, as though some shackle had been broken.

Name: Su Haoran

Technique: Meditation Scripture (Minor Accomplishment 45%), Arhat Fist (Major Accomplishment 3%), Iron Cloth Shirt (Minor Accomplishment 1%)

Comprehension: 10 (Exceptional Talent)

His comprehension had risen from 8 to 10!

The description had also changed from slightly gifted to Exceptional Talent!

It appeared to be only a change of two points, but Su Haoran instantly felt his thoughts becoming clearer and sharper than ever before.

Some obscure parts of Iron Cloth Shirt and Arhat Fist that had puzzled him before now suddenly became clear, granting him entirely new understanding.

He even had a feeling that if someone gave him a new technique now, his cultivation speed would definitely be more than twice as fast as before!

Su Haoran clenched his fist, and a sharp gleam flashed through his eyes.

This was the right path!

Another half month passed.

Su Haoran's life returned to calm. With no money left, he could only return to his former appetite, barely filling his stomach.

But he was not anxious. Bronze Skin Realm had already been achieved; he had all the time and opportunities he needed.

That day, the sky was bright and clear, and a gentle breeze blew softly.

On the mountain path leading to Prajna Temple, Su Haoran still wore his dull gray servant's robes and held a large broom as he swept fallen leaves from the stone steps.

His movements were neither fast nor slow. Every motion carried a peculiar rhythm, as though he were not sweeping at all, but practicing some kind of cultivation.

Since his comprehension had risen to 10, he had discovered that even performing such chores allowed him to control his own strength with greater precision.

Just then, the chiming of jade ornaments, accompanied by soft footsteps, came from below on the mountain path.

Su Haoran looked up and saw two women climbing the steps.

Walking in front was a young woman in a pale green gauze dress. Judging by her attire, she seemed to be a young lady from some household. A thin veil covered her face, concealing her features, but the eyes exposed beneath it were like autumn waters holding ripples, clear and lively.

Following behind her was a maid in plain blue clothing, carrying a food box and earnestly trying to persuade her.

"Young Lady, I've told you a hundred times already. The world is so chaotic now, with Refugees and scattered soldiers everywhere. Please stop running outside all the time. How safe it is for us to stay at home! Yet you insist on coming to this mountain to seek incense and worship Buddha..."

The girl in green seemed somewhat impatient. She quickened her pace in a huff and snorted, "What do you know? Sincerity brings spiritual response. Besides, it's broad daylight. What danger could there possibly be?"

As she spoke, a mountain breeze swept through.

The corner of the veil over the girl's face was gently lifted. In that instant, an incomparably beautiful face, fairer than frost and snow and blessed by heaven and earth, flashed into view.

Even Su Haoran, whose heart was as firm as stone, could not help losing focus for a moment.

And at that very moment, the girl happened to notice the servant sweeping the steps.

Her footsteps paused slightly.

Sunlight filtered through the gaps between the leaves, turning into dappled specks of light that fell over the servant's body.

He wore the most ordinary monk's robes and performed the lowliest task, yet he stood as straight as a pine, with a spine like a spear. He possessed none of the listless, dispirited air of the other servants.

His gaze was focused and calm, as though the broom in his hands was not a broom, but a sword, a seal.

Every sweep carried a steady, condensed sense of power.

It was a bearing that radiated from within—firm, resolute, as though nothing could shake his mind.

A flicker of surprise passed through the young girl's eyes.

She had seen such a presence only in her father, the decisive general who guarded the frontier and slew without hesitation.

Yet the man before her was clearly only a young monk who swept the grounds.

The young girl stopped in her tracks. Her beautiful eyes quietly watched Su Haoran, tinged with curiosity.

Seeing this, the maid behind her also fell silent. Following her mistress's gaze, she saw only an utterly ordinary sweeping monk and could not help feeling puzzled.

Su Haoran noticed her stare, but merely cast her an indifferent glance before withdrawing his gaze and continuing his work.

To him, beautiful women were skeletons beneath painted skin, no different from stones by the roadside.

Only strength was the foundation for surviving and making one's stand in this chaotic world.

Yet his still, ancient-well-like indifference only made the young girl feel that he was all the more extraordinary, and the curiosity in her heart grew deeper still.