At the Martial Arts School Entrance

On the day of the selection, before the sky was even bright, Li Xuan woke up.

He quietly sensed the state of his body.

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

The scratch on his left arm had already scabbed over, and a numb itchiness indicated that it was healing.

The others in the temple woke up one after another as well.

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

There was a tension in the air like a taut string on the verge of snapping.

As the sky grew faintly bright, Zhang the Cripple walked out from the back shed.

He didn't look at anyone, speaking directly to the three burly men: "Take the people and come with me."

The ten refugees were driven out of the ruined temple, following Zhang the Cripple and one burly man heading south. The other two burly men remained behind to keep watch.

Outside Black Stone City in the early morning, the cold wind was piercing. The ground had half a foot of accumulated snow that crunched loudly when stepped on. Li Xuan walked in the middle of the procession, his eyes constantly observing his surroundings.

This was his first time seeing the full appearance of Black Stone City in the daytime.

The city wall was about three zhang high, the dark grey wall bricks mottled, and the silhouettes of soldiers holding spears could be seen atop the wall.

Outside the city gate was a large open space where several crude sheds had already been set up.

Hanging in front of one of the sheds was a tattered wooden sign with three crooked characters written in charcoal: Iron Fist martial arts school.

Standing in front of the shed were two young men, both wearing grey martial arts uniforms with black cloth belts tied around their waists, standing as straight as ramrods.

They formed a sharp contrast with the refugees and passersby around them who were hunching their necks, blowing on their hands, and stamping their feet.

"Stand here." Zhang the Cripple had the refugees stop ten steps away from the shed, walking forward himself to cup his fists at one of the martial arts school disciples: "Senior Brother Wang, the people have been brought."

The young man addressed as Senior Brother Wang was around twenty-some years old, with a cold and stern expression, and he swept a glance over the refugees behind: "Ten?"

"Ten." Zhang the Cripple nodded.

"You all know the rules?"

"I know."

Senior Brother Wang said no more, carrying three stone locks out from the shed.

Twenty jin, thirty jin, fifty jin, lined up in a row. He then took out a broken incense burner and inserted half a section of thin incense into it.

"I imagine you know the process, so begin," he said.

Zhang the Cripple retreated to the side, crossing his arms to watch.

Ten refugees, coming up in order of registration.

The first was a thick-set man, around thirty years old, with chilblains on his face.

He chose the fifty-jin stone lock, gritted his teeth, and lifted it, barely passing his head ten times while his face turned beet red.

Then came the round-trip run, fetching a token from a withered tree three miles away.

The man ran desperately, and when he returned, only a small scrap of the incense remained, but he collapsed onto the ground gasping for breath.

"Stand straight." Senior Brother Wang frowned.

The man struggled to his feet.

Senior Brother Wang walked up in front of him and, without a word, struck the man directly in the chest with a fist.

Thud! A muffled sound.

The man let out a muffled grunt, retreated two steps, swayed, but didn't fall.

"Pass." Senior Brother Wang made a stroke in a tattered booklet. "Wait by the side."

The man looked as if he had been granted a great amnesty, staggering over to the edge of the shed and leaning against a pillar to breathe heavily.

The second, the third... people took the field one after another.

Some could not lift fifty jin and could only lift thirty jin, getting eliminated on the spot.

Some lifted it, but exceeded the time limit on the round-trip run.

Some passed both trials, only to be knocked flat by a single punch when receiving the strike.

Li Xuan carefully observed those who passed.

When it came to the seventh, he was a tall, thin fellow who lifted the fifty-jin stone lock only eight times before losing his strength.

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

The tall, thin fellow turned pale as paper and was dragged to the side by a burly man.

The eighth was Li Xuan.

He walked up to the stone lock and first loosened his wrists. The fifty-jin stone lock lay pitch-black on the snow.

He squatted down, grabbing the stone lock handle with both hands. It was icy cold to the touch, the rough wooden handle biting into his hands. Taking a deep breath, he exerted force from his waist and legs—

The stone lock left the ground, lifting to his chest. Just from this single step, he already felt the muscles in his arms trembling.

He clenched his teeth tight and pushed upward—

Past his head.

His arms ached as if being torn apart. One.

Lower it, lift it again. Two.

By the third time, he was already starting to breathe heavily. Sweat slid down from his forehead. Among the refugees watching from the side, some muttered in low voices.

"Is this punk gonna make it..."

"He looks weak."

Li Xuan turned a deaf ear. Fourth. Fifth.

By the fifth time, his arms were so sore and numb they had almost lost sensation, his breathing heavy like a broken bellows.

He felt the stone lock growing heavier and heavier, every single lift feeling like moving a mountain.

He couldn't stop. Stopping meant it was over.

Sixth. His form was already deformed, relying on brute force to forcefully fling the stone lock up.

Seventh. His vision began to go black, his ears ringing.

Eighth. His waist also began to shake, his legs trembling.

Ninth. He used his shoulders almost to thrust it up, the stone lock barely clearing his head and almost smashing into himself.

Tenth.

Li Xuan felt the very last bit of strength in his body being drained away. He stared at the stone lock, his mind having only a single thought: lift it, lift it, lift it—

"Ah—!"

A low roar squeezed out from his throat.

The stone lock trembled, leaving the ground inch by inch, reaching his chest, reaching his shoulders, and then he used his final shred of explosive power to push fiercely upward!

Past his head! Lingering for half a breath—

Thud! The stone lock smashed into the snow, and he followed it by staggering forward two steps, nearly collapsing onto the stone lock.

He bent his waist, supporting his knees with both hands, panting heavily. Sweat dripped into the snow, pounding out small craters.

His arms were completely unable to lift up, his muscles twitching.

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

Li Xuan turned and ran.

He didn't desperately charge from the beginning like the people before him; his physical strength was already mostly consumed, and he had to allocate it reasonably.

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

The snow was difficult to trudge through, every step sinking in half a foot, but he maintained a steady rhythm.

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

The withered tree was right ahead, a wooden sign hanging from its branches. Li Xuan snatched it down and turned to run back.

The return trip was against the wind and much more strenuous, his lungs feeling like they were burning, his legs like they were filled with lead. Yet still he didn't accelerate, maintaining his rhythm.

When he caught sight of the shed in the distance, about a quarter of the incense remained.

He increased his speed slightly, and when he crossed the finish line, the incense happened to burn out.

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

Li Xuan bent over, supporting his knees with both hands, breathing heavily.

Senior Brother Wang walked up in front of him and looked him up and down: "Stand straight."

Li Xuan straightened up, though his body was still trembling slightly.

Senior Brother Wang did not immediately throw a punch, instead saying, "Zhang the Cripple said you could take three of his punches?"

"Yes," Li Xuan said in a hoarse voice.

"Did he hold back?"

"No."

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

Li Xuan didn't clearly see the movement at all, only feeling a pain in his abdomen as his entire person staggered back three steps, nearly sitting down.

Yet he steadied himself and didn't fall.

A flash of surprise crossed Senior Brother Wang's eyes, but it quickly vanished. Second punch, the chest.

This time Li Xuan saw a bit clearer, instinctively turning his side so the fist grazed past his chest to shed part of the force, but he was still knocked back two steps.

Third punch.

This punch was heavier, knocking Li Xuan half a turn in place. A sharp pain shot through his left shoulder, but his feet were nailed firmly into the ground, and he didn't fall.

The three punches ended.

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

Li Xuan let out a breath, walking over to the edge of the shed to stand with the other refugees who had passed. A total of six had passed.

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

Until the selection ended and Senior Brother Wang produced a small cloth bag and handed it to him, only then did he nod, weigh the cloth bag in his hand, and stuff it into his bosom.

Then, without even looking at these few refugees, he turned and left.

As for Senior Brother Wang, he said to the six refugees who had passed: "Follow me into the city."

The city gate of Black Stone City opened a crack, just enough for a person to pass through.

When entering the city, the gate guards glanced at the tattered clothes on their backs and waved disgustingly: "Hurry up!"

The scene inside the city was another world compared to the outside.

Although the streets were still muddy, at least someone was cleaning them.

On both sides, shops were open for business, selling grain, cloth, and sundries. Most of the pedestrians were dressed warmly, and though their faces also carried the yellowish hue of malnutrition, they were much better off than the refugees.

Li Xuan silently observed. This was his first time truly entering a civilized world since his transmigration.

After walking for about a quarter of an hour, they arrived at a street in the west of the city.

Standing at the entrance of the street was a stone tablet carved with the three characters "Martial Arts Street".

The Iron Fist martial arts school was right in the middle of the street, featuring two black-lacquered gates with copper knockers on them. Standing at the entrance were two disciples dressed the same as Senior Brother Wang earlier.

"We've arrived," Senior Brother Wang said. "Starting today, you are handymen of the Iron Fist martial arts school. Three rules: don't look at what shouldn't be looked at, don't ask about what shouldn't be asked, don't take what shouldn't be taken. Break any one of them, and you'll be beaten to death and thrown out."

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

"Go in."

Passing through the gates was a courtyard, roughly twenty zhang square. The ground was paved with bluestone slabs, the accumulated snow swept to both sides. On both sides of the courtyard were wing rooms, and directly ahead was a main hall with a plaque hanging that read "Martial Arts Hall".

There were already a dozen or so handymen in the courtyard doing chores, sweeping snow, chopping firewood, and carrying wooden pillars. They all wore grey cloth short-attire, much neater than the tattered clothes of the refugees.

An old man of about fifty with a goat beard walked over, and Senior Brother Wang called him "Steward Zhao".

"The six newcomers are handed over to you," Senior Brother Wang said.

Steward Zhao squinted his eyes as he sized up the six of them, as if appraising livestock. Then he said: "Go to the woodshed in the back courtyard, change your clothes, and eat. Start doing chores in the afternoon."

The back courtyard was smaller and more run-down than the front courtyard. The woodshed was a large communal sleeping quarter that could sleep twenty people. At the moment it was empty, with only a few tattered bedding rolls piled in the corner.

An old handyman carried over six sets of grey cloth garments and trousers, coarse linen cloth with patches, but clean.

"Change into these, throw your old clothes outside to burn," the old handyman said and walked away.

The six of them silently changed clothes.

The clothes were somewhat large, and Li Xuan used a straw rope to tie it tightly around his waist.

The tattered clothes they had changed out of were collected, and soon the smell of burning things drifted from outside.

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

"Eat, go do chores when you're done."

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

Hard, coarse, but solid food. The thin porridge was millet porridge, in which rice grains could be seen.

This was his first proper meal since his transmigration.

He ate very slowly, chewing every mouthful carefully. He felt the warmth and strength brought by the food entering his stomach.

When finished, the old handyman led them around the martial arts school, explaining the rules for each place.

"Chopping firewood, carrying water, cleaning the courtyard, moving sundries. Four hours a day, you can only rest after you're finished," the old handyman said. "On the first day of every month, martial arts are lectured in the outer courtyard, and handymen may listen in. Perform well, and you'll have a chance to obtain Body Tempering Powder; casting off the identity of a handyman in the future is not entirely impossible."

After explaining, he pointed to a mountain-like pile of firewood in a corner of the woodshed courtyard: "This afternoon, finish chopping all of these."

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

He raised the axe, aimed at the log, and brought it down.

The firewood split apart in response.

Once, and then again.

Sweat quickly soaked his grey cloth clothes, but he didn't stop.

With every single chop and swing, he felt his muscles adapting to a new strength. With every breath, he felt his constitution slowly recovering the physical stamina consumed during the morning selection.

When he was chopping the thirtieth piece of firewood, an old handyman beside him spoke in a low voice: "Kid, save some strength. This firewood just needs to be chopped before dark, nobody is watching you."

Li Xuan looked up. It was an old man of about fifty with a face full of wrinkles, leisurely chopping his own share.

"Many thanks," Li Xuan nodded, slowing down his pace.

The old man glanced at him: "New? You haven't done heavy physical labor before, have you?"

"Not very much."

"I can tell," the old man said. "Let me teach you a trick. Don't just use your arms; rely on your waist. When the axe comes down, thrust your waist forward a little."

Li Xuan tried to follow the advice.

Thrusting his waist forward indeed made the force flow smoother and saved some effort.

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

Li Xuan lay in the spot against the wall, staring wide-eyed at the roof.

He was finally settled in, but without any beasts to kill inside this martial arts hall, how was he supposed to acquire Potential Points?

Li Xuan constantly kept his zero Potential Points in mind. They were his capital for establishing himself and his greatest reliance.

He opened the panel and stared at the Potential Points, fretting.

He instinctively opened the panel and stared at the Potential Points, fretting.

[Potential: 0.01]

...No, wait.

The numbers seemed a bit off. He concentrated and looked closer—

[Potential: 0.01]

0.01?!

Li Xuan almost bolted upright from the platform bed. He forcefully suppressed the urge, his heart pounding wildly.

When did it come? How did it come?

He carefully recalled today's schedule: no slaughtering during the selection, no slaughtering after entering the city, and while splitting firewood... just ordinary labor.

Could labor... also grant potential?

During the second day of labor, he kept his eyes locked on the panel the entire time.

His waist and legs exerted force, the axe traced an arc, and it accurately split the wood grain. The moment he finished this axe stroke, he immediately looked at the panel.

[Potential: 0.00]

No change.

No... maybe it didn't happen every time. Did he need to reach a certain "standard" first?

Li Xuan took a deep breath and continued chopping wood.

This time, he no longer pursued speed, but rather the quality of every single axe strike—waist and legs coordinated, axe landing point precise, and force exertion smooth.

One strike, two strikes, three strikes...

When he chopped the tenth stroke, the panel flickered slightly once again.

[Potential: 0.001]

It works!!!

0.001—although little, it was a sustainable source of acquisition, far more stable than camping out for mice or the like.

Besides, just a single strike could yield 0.001. He was going to swing his axe countless times just in a single morning. This meant he was about to take off!

Great joy surged in Li Xuan's heart, but he kept his expression completely neutral, merely fueling his firewood-chopping with even greater drive.

He meticulously tested the force-exertion method, landing precision, and breathing rhythm of every axe strike... to see how he could make this number climb even faster.

If you can't find the book title, you can try searching for the author. Perhaps it just had a name change!