Chapter 2

As a newcomer who had died trying to claim supplies, Bai Lang had initially assumed that since they had taken in so many little servant boys, the Changle Gang had to be some enormous super-gang—but looking around, there did not seem to be that many people after all. Later, he learned that they had started using numbered tags for servant recruits over a decade ago. They recruited people every year, and by the time it was his turn, he was number 1024. Still, it was not bad. At the very least, now that this little beggar had been taken in, his chances of surviving had increased considerably.

First, they lined up to bathe. Then each person received two sets of coarse cloth clothes. After that came unlimited millet rice, vegetables, and tofu, along with soup that actually had glistening oil floating in it and even carried a faint meaty flavor. A few children who looked as though they came from wealthy families could not get used to it, but most of the little servants ate with great delight—these days, many children did not get enough to eat at all. Bai Lang ate his fill too. He had been starving for ages. Even though the vegetables tasted awful, the rice was too coarse, and the soup was salty, he still wolfed down a great deal.

Once they had eaten and drunk their fill, there seemed to be no immediate tasks for them. Their first day was rather comfortable. Having only just entered the Changle Gang, the children did not know one another. They were all between seven or eight and ten-odd years old, and for the moment, it was hard to strike up a conversation. These were not all the children recruited this time; there were only around ten children in this courtyard. Bai Lang did not bother talking to them. He found himself a bunk, pulled back the quilt, and fell sound asleep. First, he had been hit with the shock of transmigration, then he had run a long way, and only now had he eaten his fill. Of course he needed sleep.

"Sleep, sleep. Maybe when I wake up, I'll be back home." Bai Lang swiftly drifted into dreams. What he did not know was that after he fell asleep, a pair of eyes like a tattoo flashed briefly across his chest. Well, of course a transmigrator could not possibly be without a golden finger.

He slept well through the night. Before dawn the next day, a clanging sound rang out. Then heavy footsteps entered the room. The blankets of the drowsy children were immediately ripped away, followed by the crackle of rattan canes whipping down. "Get up, you maggots worse than pigs and dogs! Get the hell up!" Amid cries and wails, the children scrambled to their feet. "No crying! You brats are lucky to have been chosen by the gang! From today onward, you rise at the fifth watch! You'll temper your strength and train in martial arts! Strive to become useful to the gang as soon as possible!"

Bai Lang reacted quickly, so he only took one stroke of the cane before getting up. He did not cry either. It hurt badly, but he endured it. He was not particularly disappointed—although he had hoped before sleeping that he might return home, he also knew that was no longer possible. Having taken a whip, he resigned himself to his fate. As a modern man, Bai Lang accepted reality quickly. Looking at this burly man, he knew he was the instructor who would teach them martial arts.

Recruiting servant boys—especially servant boys of this age—was naturally not about making them work. They were being brought in as future gang members. Bai Lang had understood that when those burly men examined their bones and physiques at the recruitment site. Children like them were the gang's reserve force. They would first temper their strength and train their fists and legs; perhaps they would even be taught methods of Qi cultivation. Those with exceptional talent might then receive further training to become the backbone of the gang, while ordinary people would perhaps become its low-ranking members.

That was what Bai Lang had guessed, and it seemed he had guessed fairly well. After the children put on their clothes and went outside, the sky was still dark. Under the instruction of rattan canes, they formed three rows. Then came words Bai Lang found a little hard to understand. "Assume the horse stance, then imagine a stream of heat inside your Dantian." That part he understood, but visualization was truly difficult—because someone had pissed while visualizing, and was not the Dantian basically the bladder?

"Ultimate Bladder Sword! I shoot! I fucking social security!" Bai Lang thought, listening to the burly instructor laugh as he whipped the unlucky little brat with his cane. To be honest, he felt no sympathy and wanted to laugh too. Someone really did laugh, only to earn a lashing. The moment his mind wandered, every trace of that damned heat flow vanished. Instead, he felt an urgent need to piss. Yet he could only hold it in. Holding a horse stance like this was practically torture; before long, his legs no longer felt like his own. Worse, this stance was extremely effective at making one need to relieve oneself in the morning.

"Every last one of you has to shit or piss! You little bastards are all useless!" The burly man cursed loudly, his cane striking fast and viciously. Liu Heita really was ruthless. Bai Lang had an adult mind, so he managed to control himself. He gritted his teeth and endured, avoiding the cane. But that was only at first. Soon, Liu Heita's wild whipping struck him several times as well. Bai Lang's legs instantly gave out, and he collapsed to the ground—just like everyone else.

Only one person did not fall. A boy who looked to be around ten held his horse stance with remarkable stability, his breathing rhythmic and steady. Even after taking several lashes, he did not lose his form. Liu Heita glanced at the child, then turned and harshly ordered everyone else to get up and continue holding their stances. They had to breathe as he instructed and, in the end, visualize the heat flow in their Dantians. It was truly difficult. Bai Lang could not sense any heat flow at all, though perhaps because he had held the stance too long, his legs no longer felt quite so sore and weak.

Several other children, however, had legs so weak they kept collapsing. The rattan cane and shouted curses forced them back up again and again. For a time, subdued sobbing echoed through the courtyard. As time passed, Bai Lang saw a thread of purple-red light directly ahead—the sky was brightening. "Swallow Qi! Imagine swallowing this round of great sun purple Qi into your belly! Visualize the rising sun in the sky, shining over all directions!" Liu Heita roared.

Was this what it meant to nourish Qi? Bai Lang hurriedly did as Liu Heita instructed, but all he did was swallow a mouthful of cold air. He felt nothing else. He secretly looked around, guessing the other children were the same. Only that fellow seemed completely confident, as though he had truly swallowed a rising sun. He was probably just an acting type. Of course, that was merely Bai Lang's random guess to comfort himself. He knew that if the fellow was not a genius, then he must have studied this before and achieved something in it.

Bai Lang felt that he ought to have some talent too. After all, he had held the horse stance until now and was starting to find it bearable. Based on those martial arts novels he had read before, he simply imagined himself riding a real horse, rising and falling along with its gallop—but he had never actually ridden a galloping horse, so perhaps this was his own talent. It was genuinely quite effective. His muscles twitched faintly, easing his fatigue considerably. That was why he had only collapsed once after holding the horse stance for so long.