Getting Started

By the time the sun had reached its zenith, Magistrate Liu finally emerged from the residence.

But Registrar Wang did not appear again.

Chen Zhuo silently carried the sedan chair, as if nothing had happened.

The same stretch of road often seemed slow on the way there, but much faster on the way back.

The reason was probably that he now had something to look forward to.

Chen Zhuo was hungry.

He wanted to eat.

Especially after they returned from the outer city to the inner city, where restaurants and taverns gradually became more plentiful along the roadside.

All kinds of delicious smells wafted out, burrowing right into his nose and stirring his hunger.

It was mealtime at the Yamen, and the four of them unconsciously quickened their pace in perfect tacit understanding.

About a quarter of an hour later, they arrived back at the Yamen without a hitch.

"Make way!"

Chen Zhuo fought his way through the crowd, forcing a bloody path through.

The Yamen's rules were strict. The officials with official rank were exempt.

Everyone else, whether a regular Yamen Runner or a temp like him, could only eat between the first and third quarters of the noon hour. No exceptions after that.

Of course, the temps and regular employees didn't eat from the same pot.

Chen Zhuo was different from most people.

While the others waited for the food to be served, he slipped straight into the kitchen.

"Why are you only getting here now? I saved you some food. Be thorough with the cleaning."

The kitchen had long since finished its work for the day. Only a few big iron pots remained, along with a mess strewn across the floor.

Chen Zhuo managed to force a smile.

"The Qiu Sisters didn't show up at all. They left me with a ton of work. I'll have to go lie down for a while when I get back."

"You're telling me. Don't the Qiu Sisters usually come early? It's rare for this to happen..."

As the kitchen hands chattered away, Chen Zhuo silently got to work.

Aside from his regular duties as a White-Uniform Runner, he also helped out in the kitchen.

The work might have been lowly and unremarkable, but because of it, he got two more steamed buns than everyone else.

Otherwise, who could get by on the meager portions they usually served?

After all that work, Chen Zhuo was so hungry his front and back felt like they were pressed together. He grabbed a steamed bun from the stove and wolfed it down.

Through the window, he caught sight of the fatty meat in the Yamen Runners' bowls. Chen Zhuo quietly wiped the drool from the corner of his mouth, then looked back at the steamed bun and pickled-vegetable soup in his hands, feeling deeply aggrieved.

He hadn't had a taste of meat in seven whole days.

The poor studied; the rich practiced martial arts.

Martial arts could give a person a chance to rise above their station, but poor families simply didn't have the means.

Skin-Peeler Wang was sure he had Chen Zhuo in his pocket. He was certain that someone from such a poor background could only learn a few flashy moves at best, even if he practiced martial arts.

Especially since the Iron Cloth Shirt was the sort of martial art that was easy to learn but hard to master.

Whenever Chen Zhuo thought of Skin-Peeler Wang's smug face, a chill of disgust ran through him.

The steamed bun in his hand, already bland and tasteless, became even harder to swallow.

"The Yamen's rules allow White-Uniform Runners an hour a day to practice martial arts. With my stamina, after working, I can only manage half an hour of high-intensity practice at most."

"Stance work, breathing, patting... The Iron Cloth Shirt is so complicated that half an hour is only enough to complete one round."

"One round only adds a little progress. It'll still take three days for the Iron Cloth Shirt to reach the entry level."

"I need to figure out a way to shake off Skin-Peeler Wang for a while."

Chen Zhuo silently calculated as he chewed his cold, hard steamed bun.

His progress was still too slow.

The heavy workload had already squeezed most of the strength from his body. On top of that, he ate too little and had no meat. He would never build himself up like this.

"I have to find a way to eat meat."

With the pickled-vegetable soup in his bowl, Chen Zhuo swallowed the last bite of his steamed bun.

He still wasn't full.

But he couldn't spare a thought for his growling stomach. He washed his bowl and chopsticks, then hurried to the Drill Ground.

The sun blazed overhead.

A few crooked trees stood droopily beside the Drill Ground, like the White-Uniform Runners practicing their stances there—tilted, listless, and barely upright.

White-Uniform Runners earned no monthly pay, and their duties were numerous and exhausting.

Yet the poor wretches stubbornly refused to leave, all for the chance to rise above their station.

Practicing martial arts was their only way out, and their only hope.

"Quiet your mind and steady your stance. You're so slack—do you call that standing in a stance?"

"Put some spirit into it!"

In the center of the Drill Ground, a burly middle-aged man over eight feet tall, with muscles knotted across his body and a rugged face, strode over.

"Squad Leader Yao? What wind blew you over here?"

Yao Xiong waved off the baby-faced Yamen Runner, then looked over the White-Uniform Runners one by one, his brow furrowing. "How did things get this bad?"

"They really are bad."

The baby-faced Yamen Runner responsible for teaching martial arts merely agreed. He offered no explanation.

He was only responsible for teaching. How well they practiced had nothing to do with him.

"Watch me!"

Yao Xiong's shout boomed like thunder.

The White-Uniform Runners shuddered, their eyes immediately gathering on him.

His tall, powerful frame and sharp gaze put tremendous pressure on them.

Everyone held their breath and focused, not daring to let their attention wander.

"Could that be Yao Xiong, the Swift Squad leader and the one who uses the Monument-Splitting Hand? Why did he suddenly show up?"

Chen Zhuo felt a jolt of nervousness, along with some confusion.

Was he going to teach them himself?

Ordinarily, the daily martial arts practice of White-Uniform Runners wouldn't attract the attention of any important figure.

"Stances, stances. People are alive, but stances are dead. If you stand a dead stance, you'll end up dead too."

"Once you're dead, how do you expect to hit anyone?"

Yao Xiong stepped forward and bent his knees, lowering himself.

His chest drew slightly inward, his spine straightened naturally, and his elbows sank and pressed outward. He was like a pine tree standing tall, or a child embracing a great ball.

Stillness and movement—two utterly different states—appeared together in Yao Xiong, yet harmonized perfectly.

Chen Zhuo was on the verge of mastering the Iron Cloth Shirt and had already grasped some of its essence. Naturally, he could tell that Yao Xiong's Primordial Stance had reached the lofty level of being relaxed without going slack, tense without becoming rigid.

Yao Xiong had truly brought his stance to life.

"I wonder how far his martial arts have taken him?"

As Chen Zhuo silently speculated, Yao Xiong's voice rang out again.

"Don't let your mind wander. Keep your spirit within and empty your thoughts. Breathe deep, long, slow, and evenly. Your whole body must gather its strength into a single force."

Chen Zhuo stopped letting his attention wander. He made minute adjustments to his body, held himself steady, and sank his thoughts into his breathing.

Following Yao Xiong's instructions, the White-Uniform Runners adjusted their stances as well, though their levels of understanding differed greatly.

How much they grasped depended entirely on themselves.

The Drill Ground fell completely silent. Only the breeze stirring the leaves of the crooked trees made a soft rustling sound.

Before they knew it, half an hour had passed.

During that time, one person after another gave up, unable to hold on any longer.

Including Chen Zhuo, only three people were still standing.

The White-Uniform Runners' attention shifted to those three, and their different levels of aptitude became immediately apparent.

Their gazes changed.

"Enough."

Yao Xiong's deep voice suddenly exploded, making everyone's eardrums ache.

"I stood for half an hour? And I didn't run out of strength?"

Chen Zhuo came back to himself and saw that the incense in the burner directly in front of him had quietly burned down by half.

The stance work, after Yao Xiong's adjustments, took far less effort than before.

Just as Chen Zhuo was feeling surprised, several Yamen Runners carried in a large chest.

Soon, the contents of the chest were handed out to every White-Uniform Runner.

Chen Zhuo opened the wrapping paper and stared in confusion at the ointment inside.

"This is specially made Red Mud Paste, worth fifty copper coins an ounce. It's expensive."

Yao Xiong reminded them, "Spread it evenly over your palms. Don't just stand there. Do I need to remind you what comes after stance practice?"

Chen Zhuo did as instructed, spreading the Red Mud Paste over his palms and beginning the patting practice.

The last step of the Iron Cloth Shirt was the most crucial one: the Patting Technique.

The palms struck the body, applying a precise amount of force to knead, press, and squeeze every part of it without pause.

The greater one's skill, the greater the force.

At the beginning of the practice, the focus was on tempering the skin and flesh.

This was called Skin-Grinding.

"That burns."

At first, Chen Zhuo hadn't felt much, but after patting for a while, the effects of the Red Mud Paste showed themselves completely.

It was a heat more explosive than the blazing sun beating down on him.

Chen Zhuo could clearly feel himself turning into a ball of fire.

His skin and flesh seemed to be roasted over and over again, then beaten by his palms.

It looked a lot like forging iron.

This wasn't skin-grinding. It was reforging his body.

When the stick of incense in front of him finally burned out, Chen Zhuo's practice came to an end, and the burning sensation on his body gradually faded.

A line of small text abruptly appeared before his eyes.

[Iron Cloth Shirt +3]

Chen Zhuo's eyelid twitched.

"Just like that—I've reached the entry level?"