The Missing

In the morning, dawn pierced the thin mist above Liangshui City, gilding the Fang Clan's vast bluestone Martial Arts Arena with a crisp golden sheen.

Autumn had already arrived, and the morning breeze carried a faint chill.

Fang Han stepped into the Martial Arts Arena, where the familiar scent of Blood-Qi Soup permeated the air.

The fire beneath the coarse clay cauldron burned brightly, and the dark-red broth within bubbled and roiled with a "glug glug," giving off a rich medicinal fragrance.

Without a word, he walked to the line and accepted the porcelain bowl a servant handed him, filled to the brim with Blood-Qi Soup.

The warm bowl pressed comfortably against his palm, warming his hand. He tipped back his head, his Adam's apple bobbing as he drained the slightly bitter medicinal broth in one gulp.

A searing current instantly burst open in his abdomen, as if he had swallowed a tiny newborn sun. Its heat swiftly spread through all four limbs and every bone, driving away the last trace of morning chill.

He slowly exhaled a stream of white breath tinged with medicinal fragrance, feeling that hot current surge through his body.

"Tap tap—"

Accompanied by footsteps, Instructor Fang Zhen's burly, iron-tower-like figure appeared in the Martial Arts Arena.

His hawk-sharp eyes slowly swept over the lined-up descendants below. Wherever his gaze fell, the somewhat lax atmosphere instantly tightened.

Yet today, after his gaze passed over them, his sharply contoured bronze face showed the faintest furrow of his brow.

A few people were missing from the line.

"Huh, where are Fang Xuan and Fang Zi? Why didn't they come today?"

A short, plump descendant could not help turning his head and asking his companion in a lowered voice.

"What else could it be?"

The tall, skinny youth beside him curled his lip, his tone carrying a touch of schadenfreude, yet also the sorrow of a rabbit mourning a dead fox.

"Count it on your fingers—there are only a little over twenty days left until the assessment. They haven't even touched the threshold of Flesh Refining. Continuing to waste time would be pointless."

"They might as well know their place and scram on their own, so they won't be thrown out in public and humiliated when the time comes."

Another person chimed in.

"Sticking it out is humiliating too. Leaving early is better. If I hadn't already reached the limit of Skin Refining and still had the slightest bit of hope, I'd want to give up as well."

Understanding that these descendants had given up, Fang Zhen withdrew his gaze without commenting.

Martial cultivation depended most heavily on talent. Only those with talent had the ability to climb this path. Without talent and without hope in sight, giving up early to seek another road was not necessarily a bad thing.

"The time has come! Crane Stance, assume the stance!"

Without any unnecessary preamble, he spoke.

His voice was booming, carrying the piercing force of clashing gold and stone as it echoed across the empty grounds.

"Ha!"

Dozens of descendants shouted in unison. As though drawn by invisible threads, they instantly lowered their waists and planted their feet, their legs forming a ding-eight stance and their arms spread wide as they assumed the opening posture of the Fang Clan's foundation—Crane Stance.

The previously somewhat disorderly Martial Arts Arena was, in an instant, left with only steady breathing and the faint rhythm of muscles tightening and relaxing.

Fang Han took a deep breath of the cool morning air and slowly let it out. His mind settled, and his awareness instantly sank deep into his body.

The stance posture had already been branded into him. There was no need for deliberate adjustment; it came naturally and seamlessly.

As his Stance Training began to circulate, a current of qi and blood far more active and vigorous than yesterday morning surged forth without the slightest obstruction from the depths of his limbs and bones.

Bolstered by his 2x Root Bone Talent, this tide of qi and blood roared like spring waters newly risen, turbulent and surging, far surpassing anything from before.

It was no longer a trickling stream, but a rushing brook. Under the exquisite guidance of Crane Stance, it violently scoured the skin membrane across his entire body.

"Hiss..."

An intense numbness and scorching sensation instantly spread across his body. Fang Han could not help sucking in a breath through his teeth, and his knees nearly swayed imperceptibly.

Even on his second experience of his Root Bone Talent being doubled, he still had not fully adapted to it.

Forcing himself to focus, he steadied his stance and locked his mind tightly onto the surging qi and blood.

Pain!

The burning qi and blood was like countless fine yet tough brushes, tirelessly scraping and tempering the skin membrane all over his body again and again.

Every wash brought needle-pricking pain, as if it intended to grind away the old, insufficiently dense skin membrane completely.

Exhilarating!

Beneath that intense stabbing pain, an indescribable sense of exhilaration welled up from within.

The membrane of "limit" that had obstructed him for two months was trembling violently beneath that savage scouring.

He could clearly "hear" the faint creaking coming from deep within his skin membrane. It was the sound of his fascia becoming denser and tougher.

With every passing surge of qi and blood, his skin membrane tightened another fraction and toughened another fraction, like refined iron repeatedly hammered and forged, shedding impurities and condensing its essence.

A sense of newly born strength was faintly emerging from beneath his skin membrane.

"Two hours already!"

In the past, after drinking Blood-Qi Soup and practicing Stance Training, he would feel his qi and blood run dry after one hour, his muscles and bones aching and weak, unable to continue.

But today, two hours had passed. Sweat had long soaked through his thin training clothes and gathered into a small wet patch beneath his feet. His body was also weighed down by deep fatigue, yet the current of qi and blood within him still surged powerfully.

It supported him, dispelling his fatigue.

"Breathe... in... out..."

He adjusted his breathing and struggled to maintain the circulation of his Stance Training. The hope that had already been firm because of the system now burned like a blazing fire within his heart.

Every tremor and strengthening of his skin membrane silently proclaimed: breaking through to Flesh Refining within a month was absolutely no wild fantasy!

At last, only when his body truly sent him signals that it could no longer bear the burden did he stop his Stance Training.

As he slowly withdrew his stance, an intense wave of exhaustion instantly struck him. Yet beneath that exhaustion lay an unprecedented sense of fullness and satisfaction.

"Pa—"

He raised his arm and tensed his muscles. The thin skin membrane clung tightly to the contours of his muscles, and the resilience faintly revealed beneath it was tougher than yesterday's.

This clear, tangible progress was like the sweetest honey, nourishing his nearly dried-up confidence.

"Time to collect your meal!"

It was already noon, and the servants arranged by the Lineage had brought the food.

Fang Han walked over and joined the line, receiving a meal.

Several large chunks of fish and slices of fatty meat were clearly visible inside, along with some medicinal ingredients that nourished the body. It could be called medicinal cuisine, an exceptionally high standard of fare.

The Fang Clan's treatment of descendants like them was beyond reproach.

It made him feel fortunate once more that he had not begun as a servant or beggar, but as a descendant of the Lineage.

"Next, practice your martial skills on your own!"

After the meal, Fang Zhen's voice rang out again.

The crowd immediately dispersed, each hurrying toward a familiar corner. On the weapon racks, sabers, spears, swords, and halberds reflected the sunlight.

Fang Han walked toward the weapon rack holding the longswords, reached out, and picked up an unsharpened Refined Iron Longsword that felt balanced in his hand.

The blade was icy cold, while the rough wrapping around the hilt abraded his palm.

While tempering their muscles, bones, skin, and flesh, Fang Clan descendants could also choose a basic martial skill to cultivate as a means of fighting in the future.

Fang Han had chosen the Breeze Sword Art, renowned for its agility and swiftness.