Wei Dayong waved a hand, his voice carrying lingering exhaustion. "Go back to the barracks. I need to go home and check on my daughter." He glanced at Wang Quan and added, "If you're interested in the various places around the city, I can find some time in a couple of days to show you around."
Wang Quan shook his head. "Another day. Get some rest, Master Wei. When you have time, I'll go pay you a visit. I'll just wander around a bit by myself for now."
Wei Dayong said nothing more, merely nodding. Clutching his chest, he turned, limping away and slowly vanishing into the depths of the alley. His retreating figure stretched long and slanted in the morning light, exuding an indescribable desolation and bleakness.
Watching him walk away, Wang Quan finally turned and headed toward the row of low, dilapidated barracks. The room belonging to him and his former squadmates was now empty, save for his own plank bed spread with a moldy straw mat, alongside the lingering mixed scent of sweat and blood in the air.
He closed the door, shutting out the faint daylight from outside, and sat upon the hard wooden bed, carefully spreading the manual of the Bronze Armor Technique across his knees. The pages were yellowed and fragile, their ink partially blurred in places, accompanied by crude human diagrams marking the routes of breathing and force exertion. The text was coarse and straightforward, consisting of nothing more than formulas about sinking breath into the dantian, channeling force through the four limbs, and tightening the skin like a drum; it was indeed the most common of body-tempering methods.
In his mind, the system's description of the Bronze Armor Technique resurfaced: [Points can be consumed to directly improve mastery.]
He had only two points. Wang Quan did not hesitate. The life-or-death struggle of the previous night had made him realize with absolute clarity that in this damn place, staying alive was the top priority, and a physique tough enough to take a few more beatings was the foundation of survival. The Turtle Breath Vitality Art might be good for longevity, but right now, he needed something that could instantly translate into survival capability.
Add points to the Bronze Armor Technique. He silently chanted in his heart.
[Consume 1 point to elevate the Bronze Armor Technique to "Novice"?]
Yes.
The moment the thought fell, a faint but distinct warm current abruptly rose from his lower abdomen, then slowly and steadily flowed through his limbs and bones. It was not violent, yet it carried a solid, penetrating sensation. Wang Quan felt his skin tighten slightly, his muscle fibers seeming to gently vibrate, while a faint soreness and itchiness emanated from deep within his bones. At the same time, a vast amount of foundational understanding regarding the training essentials, breathing coordination, and force-application skills of the Bronze Armor Technique flooded into his mind, as if he had pondered and practiced this crude cultivation method for several months.
Continue, elevate it to "Success." He did not hesitate.
[Consume 1 point to elevate the Bronze Armor Technique to "Success"?]
Yes!
This time, the warm current became much more pronounced, like warm water instantly turning into boiling oil, surging and scouring through his body! A distinct tightness and slight prickling sensation washed over the surface of his skin, as though countless tiny cowhides were weaving and tightening beneath it. The expansion of his muscles grew stronger, and the soreness in his bones turned into a slight numbness and distension. He could clearly feel his strength increasing—not appearing out of thin air, but rather like potential slumbering deep within his body being forcibly awakened, consolidated, and condensed by this warm current.
In his mind, his comprehension of the Bronze Armor Technique deepened by a layer. How to more effectively mobilize blood qi to nourish skin, membranes, tendons, and bones; how to neutralize force when taking a blow through the instant tightening and slight vibration of muscles; how to combine simple punches and kicks with breathing and intent to unleash power that surpassed outward appearances... Various techniques and micro-level controls were branded into his bodily memory.
[Remaining points: 0]
[Current realm of the Bronze Armor Technique: Success]
Wang Quan let out a long breath, this exhalation longer and steadier than usual. He stood up and stretched his limbs. His body distinctly felt "sturdier"—not growing bulkier, but possessing an inherent solidity and compactness. He tried throwing a palm strike toward the air.
The rush of wind was much clearer than before, carrying the faint whistle of breaking air. He hopped lightly in place a few times, feeling his lower stance steadier upon landing, with a perceptible improvement in bodily coordination and control. He clenched his fist, his knuckles emitting a slight popping sound as the sense of power extended from his arms to his shoulders and back.
As expected, it's merely the foundation of foundations... Wang Quan felt the changes within his body and shook his head slightly. The improvement was real and solid; his physique, strength, and impact resistance had all increased by a notch, enough to let him surpass ordinary strong men and even approach some experts who had bitterly practiced external martial arts for years. Yet compared to the terrifying defense and immense strength of last night's pig demon, this successful Bronze Armor Technique probably only made the difference of being able to take one or two more blows without dying, or landing a bit lighter when batted away.
True qualitative change was still far out of reach. However, this was already a good start, giving him at least a tiny bit of capital to establish a foothold in this perilous world. Furthermore, the existence of the system's deduction function gave him a vague anticipation for the future of these two mortal-grade cultivation methods.
Carefully putting away the Turtle Breath Vitality Art as well, Wang Quan pushed open the door and walked out. The day was already bright, but the clouds above Anping County remained thick and the sunlight thin.
He had no specific destination, simply walking slowly along the dirt road outside the barracks in the direction that looked like the main street. On the one hand, he wanted to familiarize himself with an environment the previous owner of this body might not have understood very well either; on the other hand, he also wanted to see with his own eyes what this city—which sheltered thousands of commoners yet lingered in the shadow of demons—actually looked like.
The streets were slightly wider than he had imagined, paved with uneven bluestone slabs, many of which had cracked and sunken, pooling the previous night's rain. The houses on both sides were low, mostly earthen walls or mixed wood-and-stone structures, with roofs covered in thatch or old gray tiles, appearing dilapidated and devoid of vitality. Some houses facing the street had their doors open, serving as storefronts displaying needles and thread, coarse pottery bowls, or dejected vegetables.
Hawking cries existed, but they were sparse and feeble, carrying a kind of resigned fatigue.
"Newly ground bean flour... mixed with very little..."
"Woven baskets... sturdy willow branch baskets..."
"Buying pelts, rabbit pelts, fox pelts all bought here..."
Pedestrians coming and going were few, mostly elderly folks walking with a limp, their faces etched with deep wrinkles carved by wind, frost, and sorrow. Occasionally, one or two young men could be seen, but they too mostly wore hurried expressions, their gazes sweeping the surroundings vigilantly, their faces bearing a desolation and numbness mismatched with their age. Children were even rarer; even when present, they mostly followed behind adults, timid, daring neither to frolic nor laugh, lacking that due innocence and vitality.
The entire city resembled a scarred, exhausted old ox, breathing slowly under a heavy yoke, lacking vitality.
Wang Quan walked through two streets, deliberately paying attention to the shops along the way. A blacksmith shop? He saw none. Occasionally, one with a crude ironware sign hanging outside could be found, but upon entering and asking, they only repaired farm tools and kitchen knives, at most hammering out a few rough firewood blades, let alone decent longswords or waist sabers. It made sense; weapon forging was surely firmly grasped in the hands of the government and military garrisons, and private forging of swords and sabers among the populace was a capital offense.
An alchemy workshop? Even less of a trace. There were instead two or three small apothecary shops with dim storefronts, drifting with a mixed aroma of herbs. Wang Quan pretended to buy Trauma Medicine and went in to look; the counter displayed nothing more than ordinary goods like dried hemostatic herbs and bruise plasters, and the quality was poor. As for elixirs that could assist cultivation and strengthen blood qi, the shop clerk looked at him as if listening to heavenly scriptures, shaking his head repeatedly.
Indeed, just as he had expected. The truly good things—whether cultivation techniques, weapons that enhanced strength, or elixirs that could aid cultivation, heal injuries, and save lives—were firmly controlled by officials, sects, and those with backing. A criminal soldier like him could only touch the lowest-level, crudest resources, and even these required risking his life in exchange, or using meager pay to buy inferior goods.
He turned through a few more alleys. The area close to the city wall was even more desolate; many houses had collapsed and were overgrown with weeds, clearly a result of severe population loss or past destruction. The wind poured in from the city wall battlements, carrying the dry chill unique to the northern lands and the earthy stench of the distant wilderness.
Standing upon a half-collapsed earthen wall, Wang Quan gazed out at the gray-yellow, hazy expanse outside the city, the thought in his heart growing increasingly clear and heavy:
To rely on following a routine, holding onto the meager resources of the garrison and two ubiquitous trash-tier cultivation methods to make a breakthrough in this northern frontier where humans and demons intermingled and the strong preyed on the weak, was practically a pipe dream. Surviving by a hair's breadth last night was pure luck; he could not be lucky every single time.
Wei Dayong had pointed out two paths: patrolling and trying one's luck, or going to the West City Ghost Market. The latter required money or goods to trade, and he, a newly arrived criminal soldier, had empty hands. The former... required patience, luck, and sufficient strength to seize that fleeting opportunity.
Points... I need more points. Wang Quan muttered to himself, his hand instinctively tightening around the hilt of the saber at his waist. Only by acquiring points could he rapidly upgrade his cultivation methods, or even deduce stronger techniques. And as for the means to acquire points, for now, it seemed limited to slaying demons or... fighting humans?
As evening approached, Wang Quan turned and walked back in the direction of the garrison.
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