At the Martial Arts School Entrance

The day of the selection arrived. Before dawn, Li Xuan was already awake.

He silently felt the state of his body.

The high fever had completely subsided, and his leg injury was ninety-five percent healed, leaving only a faint ache.

The scratches on his left arm had scabbed over, and the itching sensation indicated they were healing.

The others in the temple also woke up one after another.

The ten refugees participating in the selection today sat in silence, no one speaking.

The air was thick with a tension like a taut string about to snap.

As dawn broke, Zhang the Cripple emerged from the small hut behind them.

Without looking at anyone, he directly told three Burly Men, "Take the people and follow me."

The ten refugees were herded out of the dilapidated temple and followed Zhang the Cripple and one Burly Man southward. The other two Burly Men remained to guard.

Outside Black Stone City in the early morning, the wind was bone-chilling. The snow on the ground was half a foot deep, crunching with every step. Li Xuan walked in the middle of the group, but his eyes constantly scanned their surroundings.

This was the first time he had seen the full appearance of Black Stone City in daylight.

The city walls were about three zhang high, the greyish-blue bricks mottled, and shadows of soldiers holding spears could be seen on the ramparts.

A large open space outside the city gate now had several simple tents erected.

In front of one of the tents hung a tattered wooden sign, with three crooked characters written in charcoal: Iron Fist martial arts school.

Two young men stood in front of the tent, both wearing grey martial arts uniforms and black sashes, standing ramrod straight.

This was a stark contrast to the refugees and pedestrians around them, who were hunched over, warming their hands and stomping their feet.

"Stand here." Zhang the Cripple had the refugees stop ten paces from the tent. He walked forward himself and cupped his fists towards one of the martial arts school disciples, "Senior Brother Wang, I've brought the people."

The young man called Senior Brother Wang, around twenty years old, had a stern face. He glanced at the refugees behind him, "Ten people?"

"Ten," Zhang the Cripple nodded.

"You know the rules?"

"Yes."

Senior Brother Wang said no more and brought out three stone locks from the tent.

Twenty jin, thirty jin, fifty jin, lined up in a row. He then took out a broken incense burner and stuck in half a stick of thin incense.

"I assume you know the procedure, let's begin," he said.

Zhang the Cripple stepped aside, arms crossed, watching.

The ten refugees went in order of registration.

The first was a stout man, about thirty years old, with frostbite on his face.

He chose the fifty jin stone lock, gritted his teeth, and managed to lift it over his head ten times, his face turning beet red.

Next was the return run, fetching a token from a dead tree three li away.

The man ran with all his might. When he returned, only a small stub of incense remained, but he collapsed on the ground, panting heavily from exhaustion.

"Stand properly." Senior Brother Wang frowned.

The man struggled to his feet.

Senior Brother Wang walked up to him, said nothing, and directly punched the man in the chest.

Bang! A muffled sound.

The man grunted, took two steps back, swayed, but did not fall.

"Pass." Senior Brother Wang made a mark on a tattered notebook. "Wait over there."

The man looked as if he had been granted a great pardon. He stumbled to the side of the tent and leaned against a pillar, gasping for air.

The second, the third... one after another, people took their turn.

Some couldn't lift the fifty jin lock and could only manage the thirty jin, being eliminated immediately.

Some lifted it, but were too slow on the return run.

Some passed both tests, but were knocked down with a single punch when receiving the blow.

Li Xuan carefully observed those who passed.

When it was the seventh person's turn, a tall, thin man, he could only lift the fifty jin stone lock eight times before collapsing from exhaustion.

He knelt on the ground, still trying to struggle and lift it again, but Senior Brother Wang coldly said, "Next."

The tall, thin man's face turned ashen, and he was dragged to the side by a Burly Man.

The eighth person was Li Xuan.

He walked up to the stone lock and first stretched his wrists. The fifty jin stone lock lay black and heavy on the snowy ground.

He squatted down and grabbed the handle of the stone lock with both hands. The grip was ice-cold, the rough wooden handle digging into his hand. Taking a deep breath, he exerted force with his waist and legs--

The stone lock lifted off the ground, raised to his chest. Just this one movement made him feel the muscles in his arms trembling.

He gritted his teeth and pushed up—

Past his head.

His arms felt like they were being torn apart. One.

He lowered them, then raised them again. Two.

By the third rep, he was already gasping for air. Sweat trickled down his forehead. Among the refugees watching nearby, some muttered.

"Can this kid even do it…"

"He looks weak."

Li Xuan ignored them. Fourth rep. Fifth rep.

By the fifth rep, his arms were so numb he could barely feel them, his breathing as heavy as a bellows.

He felt the stone lock getting heavier, each lift like moving a mountain.

Can't stop. If I stop, it's over.

Sixth rep. His form was breaking down; he was just brute-forcing the stone lock up with sheer power.

Seventh rep. His vision started to blur, his ears ringing.

Eighth rep. His waist began to tremble, his legs shaking.

Ninth rep. He practically shoved it up with his shoulder, the stone lock barely clearing his head, almost smashing into him.

Tenth rep.

Li Xuan felt the last bit of strength draining from his body. He stared at the stone lock, only one thought in his mind: lift it, lift it, lift it—

"Agh—!"

A low roar escaped his throat.

The stone lock trembled, inching off the ground, to his chest, to his shoulders—then with a final burst of explosive power, he shoved it upward!

Past his head! It stayed there for half a breath—

Bang! The stone lock crashed into the snow, and he stumbled forward two steps, nearly falling onto it.

He bent over, hands on his knees, gasping for air. Sweat dripped into the snow, creating small pits.

His arms were completely useless now, muscles spasming.

Senior Brother Wang glanced at him, said nothing, and lit the incense: "Run."

Li Xuan turned and ran.

He didn't sprint wildly from the start like the others; his stamina was already heavily depleted, and he needed to manage it.

After running a mile, he began to adjust his breathing.

The snow made the going tough, each step sinking half a foot, but he maintained a steady rhythm.

The people who had sprinted ahead began to slow down, and he overtook them one by one.

The dead tree was just ahead, a wooden sign hanging from its branches. Li Xuan snatched it down and turned back.

The return trip was against the wind, even more strenuous, his lungs burning, his legs feeling like lead. But he still didn't speed up, maintaining his pace.

When he saw the shelter in the distance, about a quarter of the incense remained.

He picked up his speed slightly, and as he crossed the finish line, the incense burned out.

"Time's up," Senior Brother Wang said.

Li Xuan bent over, hands on his knees, gasping for air.

Senior Brother Wang walked up to him and sized him up. "Stand straight."

Li Xuan straightened, but his body was still trembling slightly.

Senior Brother Wang didn't throw a punch immediately. Instead, he said, "Zhang the Cripple said you could take three of his punches?"

"Yes," Li Xuan rasped.

"Was he holding back?"

"No."

Senior Brother Wang nodded, then threw a punch without warning!

Li Xuan didn't even see the movement. He just felt a sharp pain in his abdomen and staggered back three steps, almost falling.

But he held his ground, he didn't fall.

A flicker of surprise flashed in Senior Brother Wang's eyes, but it quickly vanished. Second punch, to the chest.

This time, Li Xuan saw a bit of it and instinctively turned sideways. The punch grazed his chest, deflecting some of the force, but he was still knocked back two steps.

Third punch.

This one was heavier. Li Xuan spun halfway around, his left shoulder throbbing with pain, but his feet were firmly planted on the ground. He didn't fall.

The three punches ended.

Senior Brother Wang looked at him, then at Zhang the Cripple, and nodded. "Pass."

Li Xuan breathed a sigh of relief and walked to the side of the shed, standing with the other refugees who had passed. Six people passed in total.

Zhang the Cripple hadn't spoken from beginning to end, just watched with his arms crossed.

Only after the selection ended did Senior Brother Wang take out a small cloth bag and hand it to him. He then nodded, weighed the bag, and tucked it into his robes.

After that, he left without even looking at the refugees.

Senior Brother Wang then said to the six refugees who had passed, "Follow me into the city."

The gate of Black Stone City was opened just a crack, barely wide enough for people to pass through.

As they entered, the gate guards glanced at their tattered clothes and waved them away with disgust. "Hurry up!"

The scene inside the city was a world away from the outside.

The streets were still muddy, but at least someone had swept them.

Shops were open on both sides, selling grain, cloth, and sundries. Most pedestrians were dressed warmly, and although their faces showed signs of hardship, they were much better off than the refugees.

Li Xuan observed silently. This was the first time he had truly entered a civilized world since his transmigration.

After walking for about fifteen minutes, they arrived at a street on the west side of the city.

At the entrance of the street stood a stone tablet engraved with the words "Martial Arts School Street."

The Iron Fist martial arts school was located in the middle of the street, with two black lacquered doors and bronze knockers. Two disciples, dressed the same as Senior Brother Wang had been earlier, stood at the entrance.

"We're here," Senior Brother Wang said. "From today onwards, you are all handymen for the Iron Fist martial arts school. There are three rules: Don't look at what you shouldn't look at, don't ask what you shouldn't ask, and don't take what you shouldn't take. Break any one of these rules, and you'll be beaten to death and thrown out."

The six refugees all lowered their heads. "Yes."

"Go in."

Passing through the main gate, they entered a courtyard about twenty zhang square. The ground was paved with bluestone slabs, and the snow had been swept to the sides. On either side of the courtyard were side rooms, and the main hall at the front bore a plaque that read "Training Hall."

There were already over a dozen handymen in the courtyard working, sweeping snow, chopping wood, and moving wooden stakes. They were all wearing gray cloth tunics, which were much neater than the refugees' rags.

An old man in his fifties with a goatee approached. Senior Brother Wang called him "Steward Zhao."

"These six new ones are yours," Senior Brother Wang said.

Steward Zhao squinted as he examined the six, as if appraising livestock. Then he said, "Go to the woodshed in the back courtyard, change your clothes, and eat. You'll start working in the afternoon."

The back courtyard was smaller and more dilapidated than the front. The woodshed was a large communal room that could sleep twenty people. It was empty at the moment, with only a few worn-out quilts piled in a corner.

An old handyman brought in six sets of gray cloth clothes and trousers. They were made of coarse hemp, had patches, but were clean.

"Change into these. Throw your old clothes outside to be burned," the old handyman said before leaving.

The six men changed their clothes in silence.

The clothes were a bit big, so Li Xuan tightened his waist with a straw rope.

The discarded rags were collected, and soon the smell of burning came from outside.

After changing, the old handyman brought a large wooden basin containing six black steamed buns and six bowls of thin porridge.

"Eat up, then you can start working," he said.

Li Xuan picked up a steamed bun and took a bite.

It was hard and coarse, but it was solid food. The thin porridge was millet porridge, and you could see the grains of rice.

This was the first proper meal he had eaten since his transmigration.

He ate slowly, carefully chewing each bite. He felt the warmth and strength spreading through his stomach as the food entered.

After they finished eating, the old handyman took them on a tour of the martial arts school, explaining the rules of each area.

"You'll chop wood, carry water, sweep the courtyard, and move miscellaneous items. You'll work for four hours each day, and you can only rest after you're done," the old handyman said. "On the first day of each month, there will be a public lecture in the outer courtyard. Handymen can attend as observers. If you perform well, you might have a chance to get Body Tempering Powder, and it's not impossible to leave your handyman status in the future."

After explaining, he pointed to the small mountain of firewood piled in a corner of the woodshed courtyard. "This afternoon, you need to finish chopping all of this."

Li Xuan gripped the axe handle, feeling the grain of the wood.

He raised the axe, aimed at a log, and swung down.

The log split open with a crack.

Once, then again.

Sweat soon soaked his gray cloth shirt, but he didn't stop.

With each swing, he felt his muscles adapting to the new strength. With each breath, he felt his physique slowly recovering from the exertion of the morning's selection.

As he was chopping the thirtieth log, an old handyman nearby said in a low voice, "Kid, save some energy. Just finish this wood before dark, no one's watching you."

Li Xuan looked up. It was an old man in his fifties, his face full of wrinkles, slowly chopping his own share.

"Thanks," Li Xuan nodded and slowed down.

The old man glanced at him. "New here? Haven't done much manual labor before, have you?"

"Not much," he replied.

"I can tell," the old man said. "Here's a tip: don't just use your arms. Rely on your waist. When the axe comes down, push your waist forward a little."

Li Xuan tried to follow his advice.

Pushing his waist forward, the strength felt smoother, and it took less effort.

In the evening, the six newcomers dragged their exhausted bodies back to the woodshed.

Li Xuan lay down in his usual spot by the wall, his eyes open, staring at the ceiling.

Finally, I've settled in. But how am I supposed to get potential points if there are no beasts to kill in this martial arts school?

Li Xuan's mind was constantly on his potential points, which were at 0. This was his foundation for survival, his greatest reliance.

He opened his status panel and stared at his potential points, feeling worried.

He subconsciously opened his status panel and stared at his potential points, feeling worried.

[Potential: 0.01]

...No, wait.

The number seemed a bit off. He focused his gaze—

[Potential: 0.01]

0.01?!

Li Xuan almost sat up from the shared bed. He suppressed the urge, but his heart pounded wildly.

When did it come? How did it come?

He carefully recalled his day's schedule: no killing during the selection, no killing after entering the city, and during the wood chopping... it was just ordinary labor.

Could it be that labor... can also yield potential?

During the second day's labor, he kept his eyes glued to the status panel.

He engaged his waist and legs, the axe tracing an arc, precisely splitting the wood grain. After completing the swing, he immediately looked at the panel.

[Potential: 0.00]

No change.

Something's wrong... Maybe it's not every time? Maybe it only appears when a certain "standard" is met?

Li Xuan took a deep breath and continued chopping wood.

This time, he no longer pursued speed but the quality of each swing. His waist and legs worked in unison, the axe landed precisely, and the force was smooth.

One swing, two swings, three swings...

By the tenth swing, the status panel flickered slightly again.

[Potential: 0.001]

It works!!!

0.001, though small, was a sustainable source. It was much more stable than waiting around for rats or something.

And just one swing yielded 0.001. He had swung the axe countless times that morning—he was going to take off!

Li Xuan was overjoyed inwardly, but his expression remained unchanged. He just put more power into his wood chopping.

He tested carefully, examining the way he exerted force with each swing, the precision of his aim, his breathing rhythm... trying to figure out how to make the number increase faster.