Personal Inspection

Li Ping'an recalled the opening stance of that set of punches, assumed the posture, and slowly began to practice.

He knew every move by heart.

After several decades, he could go through them with his eyes closed.

The wind from his fists stirred the thin mist in the courtyard, slowly dispersing it.

Halfway through, Li Ping'an suddenly froze.

Something was wrong.

He stopped moving and stood there blankly.

That move just now...

It had given him an indescribable feeling.

At the moment he withdrew his hand, turned his waist, and threw another punch, the spiritual power within him had actually followed the momentum of his fist through a complete circuit.

It had flowed exceptionally smoothly.

In the past, whenever he practiced this set of punches, spiritual power was spiritual power, and punches were punches—each went its own way.

But just then, the momentum of his punches had drawn his spiritual power along, guiding it through his meridians in a circuit. At the end, a small portion had even seeped into his flesh and blood.

Li Ping'an's heart stirred.

He assumed the stance again and repeated that move.

He practiced it slowly, feeling it out bit by bit.

Turning his waist, sinking his shoulder, throwing his punch.

At a certain point—

The spiritual power within him truly moved again, smoothly making a circuit before seeping in a little more.

Li Ping'an stopped and stood there in a daze for quite some time.

This set of punches...

He suddenly remembered what that outer sect senior brother had said years ago.

Back then, that senior brother had thumped his chest and boasted that this fist art was no ordinary thing, but something passed down through his ancestors.

He said his ancestors had once been illustrious figures in the immortal cultivation world, living in great splendor.

Unfortunately, his family had later fallen into decline; things had changed and people had gone. By the time it reached his generation, nothing remained but this set of punches.

And even this fist art was incomplete, with more than half of it missing.

At the time, Li Ping'an had taken it for nothing but bragging.

An outer sect senior brother, suffering hardship just like him—if he really had such formidable ancestors, would he have ended up in the chores division?

He had forgotten it as soon as he heard it and had never taken it to heart.

But now...

Li Ping'an lowered his head and looked at his fist.

The problem was not the fist art.

He had simply never grasped its true secret before!

He had practiced the movements of this set of punches for decades, thinking he had mastered them completely.

But in truth, every stance and every move had been slightly off.

A difference of a hair's breadth.

Before, his innate foundations had withered away and his spiritual power had been sparse to begin with. Such tiny deviations had been impossible to notice, making his practice futile.

But things were different now.

The Heaven-Tempering Hammer had tempered his innate foundations anew, remaking his body from the ground up.

That made those minute deviations stand out.

Only when he executed the movements with sufficient precision, perfectly in place, would this set of punches truly take effect.

Guiding spiritual power, tempering flesh and blood.

The more Li Ping'an thought about it, the more he felt there was something to it.

He began practicing again, this time even slower and more meticulous.

He repeatedly pondered and adjusted every movement, searching for the most correct point.

What angle to turn his waist to, how high to throw his punch, which move to match his breathing with.

After one complete round, he was drenched in sweat.

But the pent-up force trapped inside his body had dispersed.

His whole body felt wonderfully at ease.

Li Ping'an let out a long breath.

That breath carried a faint, barely discernible murky tint.

He wiped his face and discovered that the flesh on it was several shades rosier than yesterday.

It was not the superficial flush of weakness, but the vigor of blood and qi shining from within.

This fist art...

It was the real deal.

Li Ping'an finally had confidence in it.

Practicing this set of punches once or twice would not reveal much, and its effects would be limited.

But if he kept at it year after year, saving up a little each day, then with enough time—

The improvement would likely be no small matter.

More importantly, this thing consumed no spirit stones and required no medicinal pills. It relied entirely on his own strength.

For someone like him, with neither resources nor backing, it was practically a windfall for nothing. What a delight.

Li Ping'an grinned.

Yesterday, he had still been worrying over the lack of a proper cultivation method. Today, in this very courtyard, he had discovered the secret of this broken fist art he had practiced for decades.

What luck.

As he reveled in it, he suddenly remembered something.

This fist art had been passed down through that senior brother's ancestors, and he had said it was incomplete.

If one day he could restore the missing parts...

Li Ping'an shook his head, not daring to think any further.

For now, being able to fully understand the secret of this set of punches was already a heaven-sent fortune.

He withdrew his fists and had just relaxed his stance, intending to return to his room and consider how to go about today's work.

The two broken wooden doors of the abandoned hall creaked open as someone pushed them from outside.

Li Ping'an turned to look.

In the morning light, a figure walked in with the sun at his back.

Li Ping'an recognized the robes of an Internal Affairs deacon.

It was yesterday's supervisor.

The supervisor wore a smile.

It was no pleasant smile. It did not reach his eyes, and it made one's skin crawl.

"Yo, you're up pretty early."

Supervisor Wang strolled into the courtyard, his eyes sweeping over Li Ping'an.

"I thought these old bones of yours would have given out beside that fire pit last night."

"What, still alive and kicking?"

Li Ping'an did not answer. He simply stood where he was and watched him.

Supervisor Wang did not mind. Two chores disciples followed behind him, grunting as they carried a large wooden chest.

The chest looked heavy enough that the two sturdy young men carrying it were grimacing.

"Put it down."

Supervisor Wang flicked his hand.

The two disciples nearly sighed so hard their legs went weak with relief. They dropped the chest to the ground, and its lid cracked open a sliver.

A strange stench immediately slipped out through the gap.

That smell was more pungent than anything in the abandoned hall.

It was fishy and foul, mixed with an indescribable spicy reek. It choked the two disciples carrying the chest so badly that they covered their noses and hurriedly backed away.

Even from where he stood, Li Ping'an could feel the stench drilling into his nostrils.

Supervisor Wang, however, did not care. He raised a foot and kicked the lid off the chest.

With a clatter.

Everything inside spilled out and scattered across the ground.

It was a heap of black, sticky muck.

There were ruined pills from exploded furnaces, rusted fragments of tools, and nameless mineral slag, all mixed together into a single clump.

Most eye-catching of all were several pieces of spirit beast carcasses mixed in.

The remains had already begun to rot, oozing blackish-green pus and releasing that nauseating stench.

Li Ping'an narrowed his eyes.

All those things mixed together were heavily contaminated.

Merely scattering them around the courtyard had already begun to spread toxic fumes in every direction.

An ordinary body-tempering cultivator would have half his meridians ruined after breathing it in at close range for the time it took to burn an incense stick.

Supervisor Wang took two steps back and covered his nose with his sleeve, the smile on his face deepening.

"See that?"

He raised his chin, pointing at the filth strewn across the ground.

"That is your work for today."

"I brought it to you myself. How's that? Thoughtful of me, wasn't it?"

Li Ping'an looked at the pile without saying a word.

Seeing his silence, Supervisor Wang sneered, leaned closer, and lowered his voice.

"Stop standing around. Get to work."

"You will destroy this entire chestful today. Not a single scrap is to remain."

He straightened up and patted away dust that did not exist on his hands.

"Oh, right."

Supervisor Wang walked to the doorway, then turned back. There was an indescribable smugness in his smile.

"Tonight."

"I'll come by again."

"Work hard."

"I'll inspect it personally."