Inside the martial arts school.
Lu Chen took out a copper key and unlocked the west wing's medicine room.
The room was narrow, with several rows of wooden cabinets fixed to the wall. Lu Chen pulled open a drawer and found several yellow paper packets tied with hemp string. Tiny words had been written on them in ink: Secret Medicine. One packet daily. Boil, then dilute with water.
He opened a packet. Inside was dark red powder mixed with bits of minced meat, its rank smell rushing into his nose.
He pinched a little between his fingers and rubbed it. The ingredients had been ground so fine that their original forms were impossible to make out. The powder was smooth yet gritty, as though bone and blood had been ground together with the herbs.
Blackened residue from previous batches still clung to the clay pot on the kitchen stove.
Lu Chen shook a packet of powder into the pot, added water, brought it to a boil, and poured it into a wooden bucket.
A few big ladles of cold well water, and the Secret Medicine was ready.
He took the gourd he had just bought from inside his clothes, pulled out its wooden stopper, filled it with the thick black brew, sealed it tight, and tucked it away again.
He ladled himself a bowl and drank it before pushing the bucket out of the kitchen.
In the courtyard, the disciples had just finished practicing their punches and were resting. When they saw Lu Chen bring out the bucket, they lined up for their medicine.
No one wondered why Lu Chen was handing it out today.
To them, it was only natural.
Lu Chen dressed shabbily. One look told them he came from a poor family.
Someone of his station ought to do a servant's work.
Just as mules and horses were born to pull carts, the poor were meant to serve others. That was the way of the world.
Afraid someone would notice he had kept some Secret Medicine for himself, Lu Chen quietly added more well water.
The brew sloshed in the bucket, a little paler now, but there was just enough to go around.
That evening, when he returned,
Lu Chen shared the jujube-paste cakes Master's Wife had given him with his brothers.
He also pressed the gourd of Secret Medicine into Blind Man's hand.
Lu Chen had already taught Blind Man the three moves of Plum Blossom Fist. All he lacked was Secret Medicine to temper his body; no matter how much he practiced, his skill remained just short of the mark.
Today, Lu Chen had finally found a chance to get a gourdful. At last, he could help Blind Man truly begin.
Blind Man was Lu Chen's strongest right arm.
To stand firm in this man-eating world, relying on himself was nowhere near enough. He needed to sharpen the blade that was Blind Man.
Late at night. The oil lamp burned dim and yellow.
Lu Chen counted the copper coins he had saved recently. They came to two taels and eight qian in all.
He tapped the Proud Snow Cold Plum card pool. Light burst outward: six white, three green, and one purple.
Six white cards: Plum Blossom Fist experience +1%, strength +2, Treading Snow Seeking Plum experience +1%, Treading Snow Seeking Plum experience +1%, critical hit +1, vitality +2
Three green cards: Plum Blossom Fist experience +2%, Plum Blossom Fist experience +2%, Treading Snow Seeking Plum experience +2%
One purple card: luck +1
He had actually drawn a purple card!
Warmth surged through Lu Chen's chest. He reached out to draw again, then forced himself to stop.
I need to keep some copper coins for food and spending money. I can't draw with all of them.
He blew out the oil lamp and fell fast asleep.
Over the next few days,
Lu Chen naturally took on the job of brewing and distributing the medicine.
When Master's Wife needed rouge or tea bought, he even rushed to run those errands.
The disciples often saw him carrying things to the rear residence, and some began to wag their tongues:
"Look at that bootlicker. Off to curry favor with Master's Wife again."
"He won't practice proper martial arts, only these crooked tricks," someone spat.
Another sneered, "Poverty makes a man small-minded. No wonder all he does is fawn over people."
It was easy for those disciples to talk when they had never known hardship.
Their families were well-off, with shops and farmland. They had never known what it meant to be short of money, and they had parents and elders to cherish and support them. How could they know the struggles of a poor household?
When had they ever suffered the misery of having not a coin to their names, hungry and cold?
One day, after Lu Chen finished handing out the medicine, a burly disciple swaggered over to pick a fight. He deliberately kicked over the bucket, splashing dregs all over the legs of Lu Chen's trousers.
"Bootlicker, what did Master's Wife reward you with today?" he jeered.
The disciples roared with laughter.
The burly disciple was Wang Ding. His family ran a roast-meat shop on Meat Market Street in East City. Business was booming, and rich food had made him broad-shouldered and thick around the waist.
He had trained at the martial arts school for nearly two years and could smash three stacked blue bricks with one punch.
Everyone agreed he had the best chance of developing External Force.
Lu Chen silently bent to pick up the ladle.
Wang Ding was still grinning, ready with another taunt, when a dark shape lunged at his face.
Lu Chen twisted his waist and drove out a punch, the wind from his fist bearing straight down on Wang Ding's face.
"You dare!"
Wang Ding threw up an arm to block, but the impact left his forearm numb.
He had never imagined this bootlicker would dare strike him, much less that his punch would carry such freakish force.
An adult man's strength was around 10 points.
After drawing cards many times, Lu Chen's strength had reached 47 points. That blow was like four or five strong men striking together.
Before Wang Ding could recover, Lu Chen's second punch was already closing in on his ribs.
Wang Ding hurriedly turned aside, only for Lu Chen's fist to become a blur of leg halfway through. A vicious kick shot straight up at his groin.
That move had nothing to do with Plum Blossom Fist. It was plainly a dirty trick from a street brawl.
A chill ran down Wang Ding's back. He stumbled away, stepped on the spilled dregs, and slipped.
The instant he lost his balance,
Lu Chen drove a heavy kick into his lower belly.
Wang Ding grunted and doubled over. Lu Chen slammed an elbow into his back, and he crumpled to the ground like a torn sack.
Lu Chen planted a foot on Wang Ding's head and said coldly, "Try that again, and don't blame me when I break your legs."
Every disciple in the courtyard stood dumbstruck.
Wang Ding was tall and powerfully built, with brute strength few in the school could match. Master's Wife had once said herself that another year or two of hard training would surely bring out his External Force.
No one had expected the usually silent Lu Chen to put Wang Ding on the ground with just a few punches and kicks.
When the disciples looked at Lu Chen now, there was a new wariness in their eyes.
Fights were common at the martial arts school.
By its rules, the fighters had to accept the outcome themselves and were forbidden from seeking revenge.
But when Wang Ding's father, who owned the roast-meat shop, heard his son had been beaten, he slammed down his abacus and declared, "He dared touch my son? I'll find someone to tear off one of his arms!"
Yet three days after he put the word out,
not a single thug in South City dared take the job.
A regular customer who knew him offered a warning:
"Shopkeeper, Lu Chen is notorious in South City for being ruthless. The barefoot have no fear of those in shoes. Why make an enemy of him?"
Shopkeeper Wang's heart tightened. He sent someone to make a few inquiries.
Only then did he learn that Lu Chen had grown up on the streets, with a band of brothers who obeyed his every word. Rumor even had it... that he had killed someone.
Cold sweat broke out all over Shopkeeper Wang.
Early the next morning, he hurriedly selected ten jin of fine pork belly and carried it to the martial arts school himself to apologize.
Lu Chen did not give him a cold look. He accepted the pork politely, exchanged a few smiling pleasantries, and let the matter drop.
A businessman like Shopkeeper Wang knew better than anyone how to weigh the risks.
If the other party had been poor, without money or influence, he could have pushed him around as he pleased.
But a man like Lu Chen, with nothing to tie him down and martial skill to boot, was the one he had to fear most.
Shopkeeper Wang was a respectable man. His house was in the county, as were his shop, his friends and family—everything he had.
He held a porcelain bowl; the other man was a broken roof tile.
How could he dare clash head-on with a desperate man like Lu Chen?
He could only swallow his anger. Spending money to avert disaster and putting the matter to rest—that was the sensible way for a businessman.
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