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The next day.

Before dawn had fully broken, Chen Cheng had already arrived at Dragon Mountain Martial Hall.

In the training yard, those two most outstanding disciples had arrived even earlier.

Their coarse cloth shirts and trousers were soaked through with sweat, faint white vapor rising from them in the biting autumn wind.

Over by the kitchen, a silent middle-aged woman had already prepared breakfast. She then cleaned the bathhouse and latrine next door once more before quietly closing the door behind her and leaving.

Chen Cheng first tempered himself with the Crouching Dragon Stake Technique for a while. He was able to hold on several breaths longer than yesterday.

After merely one day, his improvement could not be called anything less than remarkable.

And that undoubtedly owed itself to that set of Health-Preserving Taiji.

After yesterday's training, which had drained every last scrap of his strength, his limbs should have been aching and heavy today, making every step difficult.

Yet in reality, after one night's sleep, his physical condition had nearly recovered to its original state.

This result clearly ran contrary to the common sense of his previous life.

He did not know whether perfectly practicing Health-Preserving Taiji had naturally produced such remarkable restorative effects.

Or whether the essence of this skill had always been some ancient secret martial art of extraordinary origin.

He had already cast this string of questions to the back of his mind on the way here.

Clearly, digging into the answer held no meaning for him right now.

The butcher's blade still hung over his head.

It was enough to know that Health-Preserving Taiji could bring him tangible benefits and give him one more chance to survive.

As everyone arrived one after another, they ate breakfast and began training on their own.

The sky brightened completely, sunlight spilling across the training yard.

Only then did Fatty Fang emerge from the side room with a stretch and a yawn. He washed his face by the water vat, then headed outside the Martial Hall.

Another crowd of impoverished boys had lined up outside.

This batch was clearly of even poorer quality. Before long, Fatty Fang's curses came from outside.

"Get lost... piss off... go home and eat shit..."

Before long, Fatty Fang returned alone, slamming the courtyard gate shut before walking toward the disciples training in the yard.

Even while offering corrections and guidance, he never failed to accompany them with a torrent of obscenity-laden shouting.

As for disciples who still failed to improve after being scolded several times, he would use a bamboo strip to whip their mistakes. They trembled from the pain, yet did not dare make a sound.

"Hm?"

After glancing at Chen Cheng, who was tempering himself with the stake technique, Fatty Fang's eyes visibly brightened. He casually tossed aside the little bamboo strip and sauntered over.

"Not bad, very good... I knew I hadn't misjudged you!"

He carefully sized Chen Cheng up.

His stance, breathing, spirit, key points, and transformations were all nearly as precise as the rules themselves, without a single flaw to pick apart.

When Fatty Fang settled his mind and felt more closely, he could even be affected by the artistic conception and aura Chen Cheng exuded from his very bones while standing in the stake.

For an instant, it was as though he were looking at an old grandmaster who had tempered the Crouching Dragon Stake Technique for decades.

Other than perfect, he could find no other words to describe it.

"Keep holding the stance. I'll demonstrate the Crouching Dragon Fist Technique for you once. Watch carefully."

Fatty Fang assumed his stance. As he performed the form, he explained it at the same time.

"The stake technique is the root. Your lower body must be as steady as a dragon spanning mountains and peaks, while your movement must be like a swimming dragon piercing clouds..."

"Force travels in the form of a dragon. When fists, palms, and fingers exert force, they do not come straight and direct, but carry twisting, drilling, penetrating power, specially made to break hard techniques and pierce armor."

"Seizing and locking come first. Dragon Claw strikes directly at an opponent's joints and tendons... Crouching Force comes after, hiding violent power within the body before bursting forth within the space of an inch..."

"Dragon Breath drives the force. With low, short Dragon Chant breaths, you shake the opponent's mind while mobilizing the combined strength of the organs to drive out Crouching Force."

"Hah!"

With a low shout from Fatty Fang, the fist edge he blasted into empty air actually produced a faint sonic boom. The bluestone bricks beneath his feet trembled sharply, nearly shattering apart.

Chen Cheng had already glimpsed the details and true essence of it yesterday, reaching the threshold of mastery.

But seeing Fatty Fang demonstrate it in person now gave Chen Cheng an entirely different feeling.

Especially that final strike. Fatty Fang had clearly held back his strength, yet it still carried the momentum to collapse mountains and shatter boulders. The power of a true Martial Artist was evident at a glance!

"How much did you understand?" Fatty Fang asked.

"Hard to say..."

After pretending to think it over and recall what he had seen, Chen Cheng performed a rough version of the Crouching Dragon Fist Technique while deliberately concealing his abilities.

"Tsk. Your comprehension really is beyond words, but your natural physique is truly... Those few mistakes all came from sluggish tendons and channels, stiff joints, and weak muscles..."

After watching Chen Cheng's demonstration, the look in Fatty Fang's eyes had become obvious: three parts appreciation, seven parts regret.

"Have your family think of something. Buy some meat to nourish yourself. It would be even better if you could scrape together money for medicinal soup to strengthen the body..."

Seeing Chen Cheng remain silent, Fatty Fang let out a helpless sigh.

"Tempering the fist technique is the foundation for generating Blood Qi. This Crouching Dragon Fist of our Dragon Mountain Hall is a mid-grade martial art. Once practiced to minor mastery, it can generate Blood Qi, far faster than those low-grade martial arts..."

"But the problem is that tempering the Crouching Dragon Fist places immense strain and depletion on your stamina and physique! Those with above-average natural physiques can barely endure it. As for you..."

Fatty Fang sighed again.

"Without external nourishment, within half a year... not only will you fail to cultivate One-Incense Blood Qi, you may even completely wear your body down..."

"Thank you for the reminder, Senior Brother. I'll keep it in mind."

Hearing this, Chen Cheng could not hide the gloom on his face.

When he had just performed the Crouching Dragon Fist, he had deliberately concealed his abilities and had not made it perfect. Even so, he could already clearly feel the strain and depletion Fatty Fang had described.

If he tempered it perfectly, his body likely would not be able to take it after only one or two repetitions.

And that was without meat or medicinal soup to nourish him.

Even counting the restorative effects of Health-Preserving Taiji, continued training over the long term would inevitably lead to what Fatty Fang had said.

His entire body would be trained into ruin and worn down completely.

After lunch, everyone gathered together, chatting and laughing.

Chen Cheng, meanwhile, sat alone against the base of a distant wall with his eyes closed, resting. Afraid he might fall asleep, he could only keep stuffing things into his mind.

"Junior Brother Chen, someone's looking for you."

Shi Lei's voice came over. Chen Cheng opened his eyes in surprise, his mind instantly jolting awake.

"Did they say why they were looking for me?"

"No, but..."

Shi Lei scratched his close-cropped scalp and said awkwardly.

"When I left the hall yesterday, someone asked me about you. I only said you were a new disciple and that the teaching senior brother thought highly of you. I didn't say anything else. Who would have thought he'd come looking for you today..."

"Alright. I'll go take a look."

The moment Chen Cheng stood up, he had already figured it out.

A gang lackey like Laitou would never dare come knocking here.

As for Scar Bear, it was not yet time to collect the Peace Tax, so he would not make too much of a disturbance either.

As long as it was not either of those two threats, there was nothing to worry about if someone else had come looking for him.

Chen Cheng walked over and pushed open the courtyard gate.

He saw a furtive middle-aged man wearing a faded indigo padded jacket that was neither new nor old, though the cuffs had been worn shiny. His eyes were habitually narrowed, revealing the shrewdness and calculation polished by the streets.

"Manager Zhang?"

Chen Cheng recognized him. He was Zhang Ping, the steward who oversaw the menial workers in the outer yard of Yongsheng Trading Firm.

"A-Cheng! Brother A-Cheng! It really is you!"

Zhang Ping wore a smile Chen Cheng had never seen before, nearly fawning as he hurried over.

"Brother?"

Chen Cheng's face was full of surprise. Hadn't this guy always called him Little Cheng before?

"As expected of a talented disciple of Dragon Mountain Hall. Look at you—only a few days apart, yet your spirit and bearing are completely different! Given time, you'll surely become a great talent!"

As he spoke, Zhang Ping pulled a small coarse-cloth pouch from his chest.

"You left in a hurry that day. The Proprietor remembered afterward that this month's wages had not yet been settled for you."

"The Proprietor is benevolent. She specifically instructed me to deliver this money to your home... I went to Bitter Locust Village to look for you yesterday, but I couldn't find you."

Zhang Ping's smile widened, as though he were covering something up.

"By chance, I passed by here yesterday and saw a figure from behind that looked like you... Only after asking around did I learn that you had actually entered Dragon Mountain Hall! So I rushed over to bring this to you!"

Chen Cheng accepted the coarse-cloth pouch.

With a slight weigh of it, he knew it contained a full month's pay: two hundred copper coins, unchanged for three whole years, neither increased nor reduced.

He could hear the watered-down parts of Zhang Ping's words, but he did not respond. He merely looked at him coldly.

"Brother A-Cheng, don't worry, the amount is correct!"

Zhang Ping's scalp prickled under Chen Cheng's gaze. A fine sheen of sweat appeared at his temples, and he gave an awkward laugh.

"The Proprietor said you've worked diligently all these years, and she has seen it all. That shipment being robbed was an accident, not your fault. This money is what you deserve."

When Chen Cheng still said nothing, Zhang Ping grew increasingly flustered. He repeatedly thought back, trying to figure out which words he had gotten wrong and where he had revealed a flaw.

That day, Chen Cheng had left without mentioning his wages. The Proprietor remembered afterward and told Zhang Ping to bring the money to Chen Cheng's home.

Zhang Ping had intended to delay. If Chen Cheng never came to ask again, the money would naturally end up in his own pocket.

But by coincidence, he had seen Chen Cheng leaving Dragon Mountain Hall last night. After asking around, he learned that Chen Cheng had already become a disciple of the Lower Academy.

Dragon Mountain Hall was one of the foremost great Martial Halls in Zhao City. Never mind whether Chen Cheng could make something of himself—merely being valued by the teaching senior brother was enough to scare Zhang Ping out of his wits.

Those who truly practiced martial arts and bottom-dwelling ants like them, who relied solely on physical labor, lived in entirely different worlds.

Zhang Ping absolutely could not afford to offend him. Even the slightest sprout of potential danger had to be pinched off as early as possible, or he would not be able to sleep soundly at night.

"Sorry to trouble you with making the trip, Manager Zhang."

Only after carefully considering it did Chen Cheng reply. His tone was calm, revealing neither joy nor anger.

"Please also convey my thanks to the Proprietor."

"As I should, as I should!"

Zhang Ping nodded repeatedly. Seeing that Chen Cheng had no intention of pursuing the matter, the great stone in his heart finally dropped.

"Has that crate of goods been recovered?" Chen Cheng asked casually.

"No..."

Zhang Ping shook his head and lowered his voice.

"The Proprietor was angry at the time. She specifically had Guard Zhao straighten this matter out. You know Guard Zhao—he's a proper Martial Artist who has cultivated One-Incense Blood Qi."

"When he found Laitou in Buckwheat Alley, the goods had long since been sold off cheaply, and the money had all been spent... By rights, a small lackey like that could have been beaten to death outright..."

At this point, Zhang Ping paused. A trace of confusion surfaced on his face, and he lowered his voice further.

"But in the end, Guard Zhao did not strike to kill. He only crippled one of Laitou's legs... And the Proprietor never mentioned the matter again."

Zhang Ping shrank his neck, as though he had brought up something he should not discuss, and hurriedly added,

"There's probably deep water beneath this. People like us, running errands and handling chores, can't figure it out either..."

"Brother A-Cheng, you're already a Martial Hall disciple now, with a bright future waiting ahead..."

"Laitou lost a leg, so that counts as receiving his retribution... Let's just let this matter pass. What do you say?"

"Manager Zhang is right."

Chen Cheng nodded. "Right now, I have my heart set entirely on martial arts. There really is no need to invite extra trouble."

"Well then, you keep busy. I won't disturb you any longer. Farewell, farewell!"

Zhang Ping grinned and quickly retreated.

Chen Cheng silently clenched the money pouch. The hard edges of the copper coins pressed into his flesh, their icy touch incomparably clear, making everything in his heart clear as snow.

The reason these wages had returned to him after being lost was not a reward for his hard work, much less a sudden awakening of Zhang Ping's conscience.

It was merely because he had crossed the threshold of Dragon Mountain Martial Hall and gained the faintest chance to gather great power into himself.

This world had never treated the weak at the bottom kindly.

Only by growing stronger without pause, climbing and struggling upward without pause, could he live like a human being.