National Compulsory Basic Fist Technique

Four in the morning, Ping'an Middle School.

"Hey! Ha!"

In the school's back field in the dead of night, only one person's voice could be heard.

Meng Chuan arrived at school at this hour every day, coming early to practice his fists.

His fists and feet stirred the wind. He threw a thrust punch from a bow stance, stepped across and struck sideways, hit the waist and locked the throat. Every move was executed with imposing force. He was practicing the National Compulsory Basic Fist Technique.

The National Compulsory Basic Fist Technique was a fundamental form of boxing that every citizen of Great Chu had to learn from the tender age of four, unless they were born with a physical defect.

Normally, by around third grade, when they were nine, citizens of Great Chu would have practiced it to minor mastery.

Those with exceptional talent and excellent bone roots would then switch to more advanced martial arts.

At the latest, they would change to the third-rate techniques provided by their schools when they entered middle school at thirteen, abandoning the National Compulsory Basic Fist Technique.

That was because this method was merely the most basic way to strengthen the body.

Even if one mastered it completely, it had little power.

The qi-blood stimulation it provided during practice was also insufficient.

It was hard for students pursuing the martial path to fight their way through the crowd of competitors with it.

Yet Meng Chuan was already sixteen and had just started his first year of high school, and he was still practicing the National Compulsory Basic Fist Technique.

Among all the high school students in the entire school, anyone with even a sliver of hope of getting into a Martial University—

Those who practiced Xingyi were training in internal martial arts, Splitting Palm, or Pao Fist;

those who practiced Xiangxing were cultivating Tiger Roar Skill, Swallow Return Fist, or White Ape Hand.

Meng Chuan alone was still stubbornly practicing the basic fist technique.

As for the other kinds of boxing, whether Xingyi or Xiangxing, he didn't practice any of them.

His classmates couldn't figure out what Meng Chuan was thinking. His bone roots were clearly quite good; even compared with the whole school, he ranked among the upper tier.

Unfortunately, he was a bit slow on the uptake, wasting his days fooling around.

When new students enrolled, the school's professional bone-root testing instrument had classified Meng Chuan as having lower-middle bone roots.

That was already pretty good. In Great Chu, the vast majority of people had lower-tier bone roots.

Meng Chuan's lower-middle bone roots already put him far ahead of ordinary people.

If he properly trained in Xiangxing or Xingyi, he might not have much chance of getting in through early recruitment.

But if he made a push to improve his qi-blood before the high school martial arts exam, he had a good chance of breaking through the third Qi-Blood Pass.

By then, getting into the local Yong'an Martial Arts University would be well within reach.

His classmates, whose bone roots were worse than his, thought Meng Chuan had something wrong with his head.

He had such fine talent and refused to put it to use, spending all day practicing this childish Wawa Fist.

Those with stronger bone roots than him looked down on him even more, refusing to associate with him and bluntly saying, "That kid's got a hole in his head."

Meng Chuan didn't care about the rumors. People could say whatever they wanted.

He simply focused on working hard at his punches. At four in the morning, only one person knew what Ping'an Middle School looked like.

Although it was called the National Compulsory Basic Fist Technique, ordinary people couldn't master it without years of patient, steady practice.

Meng Chuan had been practicing since he was four. Wind or rain, he showed up on time and never slacked off.

In fact, by the time he was fourteen and in his second year of middle school, he had already mastered this basic fist technique.

Setting aside bone roots, in terms of his comprehension of boxing alone, Meng Chuan's training speed was already unrivaled at his school.

Even the principal of Ping'an Middle School had high hopes for him.

The principal believed that Meng Chuan would have "Yong'an Martial Arts University as a sure thing, and a great chance at Northern United University!"

"You've already mastered it, so surely you can start practicing third-rate martial arts now, right?

"If you really don't want to train in it because it's too low-level, second-rate techniques aren't out of the question either. I can help you apply to the education department!"

Yet, under the expectant eyes of the principal and teachers:

At fifteen, Meng Chuan was still practicing the National Compulsory Basic Fist Technique.

At sixteen, Meng Chuan was still practicing the National Compulsory Basic Fist Technique.

The teachers were worried, and the principal even more so.

But Meng Chuan himself wasn't worried. Back then, the school had summoned his guardian, his uncle, to come in and persuade him in person every other day.

Still, Meng Chuan did as he pleased.

In the end, the school was at a loss.

That day, the principal stood by the window and smoked three cigarettes in a row.

At last, he said helplessly:

"You can't stop someone from loving the basic fist technique. Let him be."

By six in the morning, Meng Chuan had already practiced for a full two hours, and students began arriving at the back field in ones and twos.

The students with some talent for martial arts who planned to choose the martial arts track when they picked their subjects in their second year of high school all came to school before seven to exercise and practice their fists.

Several close friends would gather to spar, learn from one another, and exchange pointers.

Only Meng Chuan occupied a corner of the field by himself, practicing the National Compulsory Basic Fist Technique.

"Meng Chuan, still over there practicing your childish Wawa Fist?"

Chen Jian came over with a few friends. He was the rich kid in their class; his father was an executive at a local pharmaceutical company.

Because his own bone roots were poor—among the lower tier, he was still near the bottom—

he especially couldn't stand people like Meng Chuan, who squandered their natural talent.

Meng Chuan glanced at Chen Jian and then ignored him, continuing to focus on his punches.

Although Chen Jian had mocked him, Meng Chuan couldn't be bothered to respond.

Kids were kids. There was no point getting worked up over it.

When Chen Jian saw that Meng Chuan was ignoring him, he scoffed a few times, then stopped bothering him and turned to leave with his lackeys.

Six thirty in the evening.

Ping'an Middle School had let out at six, and most students were heading home in pairs and threes.

"Xiao Chuan, still practicing your punches?"

"Mm. I'll head home after another half hour. Auntie, you two go ahead and eat. Don't wait for me."

"All right. Your uncle's working overtime today, so it'll just be the two of us for dinner. Auntie will wait for you at home."

Meng Chuan hung up on his aunt and focused his mind on practicing his punches.

Though autumn had arrived, the weather hadn't turned cold yet.

Meng Chuan had been practicing for a long time, and beads of sweat the size of beans dripped steadily down him.

"Two years, and not a bit of progress. Why is this last one percent so hard?"

Because Meng Chuan had been born with memories of his previous life, he had seemed far more mature than children his age ever since he was little.

On the day he turned four, when he first learned the National Compulsory Basic Fist Technique, a mysterious panel suddenly appeared in his mind.

At the time, four-year-old Meng Chuan focused his gaze on it.

[National Compulsory Basic Fist Technique: Beginner (1%) — Awaiting Limit Break]

[Limit-Breaking Trait: One Proof Eternal Proof (Super)]

After he read the contents, the small text on the panel promptly vanished.

At the same time, a message came to him from somewhere deep within his mind, telling him what it was.

[Martial Dao Limit-Breaking Panel]

Any martial art in the world can be cultivated beyond mastery and taken to its limit, unlocking its corresponding trait.

Four-year-old Meng Chuan blinked, focused his mind again, and the panel appeared before his eyes once more.

The top section recorded his current progress. It was just like a game status screen, so there was nothing interesting about it.

What Meng Chuan was really looking at was the bottom line: [Limit-Breaking Trait: One Proof Eternal Proof]

One Proof Eternal Proof meant that once you had something, you would never lose it.