Entering the Pavilion

The middle-aged martial artist paused slightly, looking at Chen Mo again.

"What is the name of your fist technique? As long as it isn't too obscure, I have some knowledge of it."

The implication was clear: you cannot deceive me.

Chen Mo said solemnly, "I am learning the Fuhu Fist."

Inside the inner hall, several disciples dressed in training gear were crowded at the doorway.

"It's rare to see someone actually challenging the master."

A tall disciple teased, "Junior sister, how many rounds of questioning do you think this guy can last in front of the master?"

The young girl who had opened the door earlier was uninterested. "I have no interest. I'm going to find the senior brother to practice."

The girl walked away with light steps.

Another short, stocky disciple said loudly, "The master is famously strict. Last month, when he asked me about the essence of the fist techniques, I tripped up on the second question."

As he spoke, a bitter expression appeared on his face, as if the master's stern countenance were right before him.

The tall disciple nodded in agreement. "I share your sentiment. He won't last a single question before he has to leave in defeat."

Outside the door, moonlight spilled into the courtyard.

"The Fuhu Fist follows the orthodox path of Taoist boxing."

The master focused his gaze. "It consists of eight forms. How many have you taught yourself?"

"I have learned the Stone-Crushing Strike, and I have just begun learning the Wave-Intercepting Style," Chen Mo answered truthfully.

The master nodded slightly. "The Stone-Crushing Strike emphasizes the concentration of power, using a point to lead a line. When the punch is thrown, it strikes directly at the vital points. Let me ask you: to achieve optimal power, how many feet and inches should the fist be from the shoulder blade when thrown?"

"One foot and three inches."

Chen Mo blurted out, "But it varies from person to person. For someone taller, it should be about one foot six or seven inches."

The master glanced at Chen Mo's physique and understood; his answer was precise.

The master spoke again: "Breath control is particularly important in fist techniques. Between two breaths, how many punches is it most appropriate to throw?"

Chen Mo pondered for a moment and shook his head. "There is no fixed pattern. The Fuhu Fist may seem to have fixed moves, but in reality, one should adapt to the situation. The rhythm of breathing should not dictate the speed of the punches."

At this point, the master's expression softened slightly as he looked at the thin young man before him once more.

This question was a trap; had Chen Mo answered with a specific number of punches, he would have failed this question.

Inside the door, the stocky disciple asked suspiciously, "How many sentences have they exchanged?"

"Two or three, I suppose," the tall disciple said indifferently.

According to their expectations, Chen Mo should have already lowered his head in defeat, waiting for the master to say, "Come back after the start of autumn next year," so he could leave.

Yet, the thin youth remained standing tall and steady.

"Maybe he's a distant relative of the master, just exchanging pleasantries," the stocky disciple said, scratching his head.

Just then, a loud voice rang out from not far away: "What are you still gossiping about? Get to your training!"

"Yes, senior brother!" The two replied in unison and hurriedly moved away from the door.

In the courtyard, the master threw out the third question:

"With your current strength, if you held a deep grudge against me, given our current positioning, how would you take my life?"

Chen Mo was stunned. He had not expected such a question. In this world, the principle that a teacher for a day is a father for life meant that, at least on the surface, such a thing was absolutely forbidden. But as an examination question...

Chen Mo thought rapidly, and after a moment, he finally answered:

"Please forgive me, senior. I would start with the Wave-Intercepting Style, but that move would be a feint, followed by the Stone-Crushing Strike to attack your vital points."

The master shook his head slightly. "Enough. Theory is ultimately empty. Show me the Stone-Crushing Strike."

Hearing this, Chen Mo realized his third answer had not been ideal.

On another level, although he hadn't fully answered the third question, the master's examination of his theoretical knowledge was complete, which meant he had already succeeded for the most part.

As for the actual execution, the sweat he had shed over the past few days had not been in vain.

Chen Mo's expression remained calm. He slowly raised his hand, the moonlight flowing down, parting between his fingers and thinning into threads.

He clenched his fist abruptly, twisting his feet into the ground. Power rose from the earth, moving upward as his body arched like a full bow. When his fist was one foot and three inches from his shoulder blade, he thrust it forward.

The force of the punch carried the sound of tearing wind, lingering for a breath before dissipating, but the sound had been remarkably distinct.

The first form of the Fuhu Fist: Stone-Crushing Strike!

This move was known for its immense power; when pushed to its limit, it could indeed gouge rock and shatter stone.

Seeing this, the master nodded inadvertently.

He knew that for someone with average talent who was self-taught, achieving this was no small feat.

"How long have you been teaching yourself the Fuhu Fist?"

"Eight days." Regarding whether he could successfully join the martial arts school, Chen Mo did not hide a single thing.

The master's face revealed a hint of surprise for the first time. "Eight days... not bad. You have met the qualifications to enter Tianqing Martial Hall to study martial arts. There are a few things I must make clear to you beforehand."

Chen Mo could not hide the joy on his face and bowed readily. "Thank you for the opportunity, Senior!"

"I am Yin Tianqing, master of Tianqing Martial Hall. You may call me Master."

"Thank you, Master!"

Chen Mo felt a surge of anticipation. In this world where martial arts reigned supreme, what would it be like to apprentice and learn?

Did the martial arts from the books of his past life—those that allowed one to soar through the skies and turn internal energy into blades—truly exist?

Yin Tianqing spoke slowly, "There are two points you must remember. First, while the martial hall does not charge tuition, if you take a job outside in the future, you must hand over thirty percent of your earnings. Once you have completed your training, this fee is waived."

"Second, before you take an outside job, all disciples must spend at least half a day at the hall every day."

Chen Mo nodded in agreement.

Tianqing Martial Hall did not charge tuition, so taking a cut of the disciples' outside earnings was reasonable and fair.

Since he had already joined the hall to study, he would no longer need to go to the Iron Furnace Room every day; there were precedents for this.

Yin Tianqing looked up at the space above the courtyard wall. "It is getting late. Go back for now and return tomorrow. I will explain the specific details of joining the hall then."

Chen Mo suppressed the joy in his heart and suddenly bowed. "Master, this disciple has a presumptuous request."

Seeing him act this way, Yin Tianqing frowned slightly. "What is it?"

"My family is required to pay the grain tribute every month, and tomorrow is the final deadline. I have heard that joining a martial hall can grant an exemption, so I hope Master can write a note to serve as proof."

Yin Tianqing naturally knew what the grain tribute was, and a flicker of barely perceptible apprehension crossed his eyes. "That is no problem."

He then entered the room, retrieved paper and brush, and swiftly wrote out the certificate and signed his name.

Chen Mo thanked his master and hurried toward his home.

In a short while, he was already looking across the alley at his house, but when he saw the scene before him, his hands clenched tightly and he sprinted forward.

The door to the dilapidated house was wide open. Huang E was forcing his way inside, while Chen Lan was desperately holding him back with a wooden chair.

Clearly, Huang E had just arrived, otherwise, the situation would not be like this. Before he had even exerted much force, Chen Lan stumbled and fell to the ground.

Huang E bared his yellow teeth. "Tomorrow is the deadline for the grain tribute. I assume you won't be able to pay it. That brat Chen Mo must have become slag in the furnace by now. As for you, you might as well let me..."

"Stop!"

Hearing the shout from behind, Huang E instinctively stopped and looked back. He saw Chen Mo closing in on him. Just as he moved to strike, Chen Mo nimbly dodged and circled around him.

Chen Mo immediately entered the house, helped Chen Lan up, and shielded her behind him.

Huang E laughed instead of getting angry. "So Master Chen has returned. That saves me the trouble of looking for you myself."

Chen Mo did not waste words. He took out the certificate written by Yin Tianqing and spread it open before Huang E's eyes. "I have joined Tianqing Martial Hall."

Huang E froze instantly. He didn't know many characters, but he recognized the bold, powerful signature of "Yin Tianqing."

Chen Mo was clearly just a frail pauper; how could he have been admitted to study martial arts?

However, the certificate did not look fake, and no one would dare to forge one.

According to custom, if someone in town joined a martial hall, or was recruited by a family as a guard or advisor, the grain tribute could be waived.

Moreover, Yin Tianqing was a prominent figure in town; at the very least, a lackey like Huang E dared not harm his disciple without cause.

Huang E wiped the smile off his face and brushed the dust from the wooden chair off his clothes. "So little brother Chen Mo was hiding your true strength. I apologize for my poor judgment. Since you have joined Tianqing Martial Hall, I will report this to the hall master."

Reporting to the hall master was actually a veiled threat. If you behaved, there would be no trouble, but if you didn't, the name of the Black Tiger Hall master was a nightmare for everyone in town.

Chen Mo remained silent.

Huang E stepped back slowly. Once he reached a distance of ten feet, he turned and left. As he walked behind a wall that blocked him from view, he spat toward the corner.

"Damn it, since when was Tianqing Martial Hall so easy to get into..."

Chen Mo put away the certificate and looked in the direction Huang E had left, his eyes turning cold.