The wastrel

In the fifteenth year of Jingzong's reign, the Great Yan Dynasty suffered yet another year of disaster.

Jiazi Ravine Village, Greenhouse Township, lay in southeastern Qingzhou.

Cold wind slipped through the cracks in the adobe house, swirled around inside, then blew out through the weathered window with a rattling clatter.

A pale-faced young man lay on a wooden bed with his eyes tightly shut, covered by a ragged cotton quilt. A buzzing jumble of voices filled his ears.

"That wastrel actually pawned his sister-in-law's dowry behind her back to please Wang Jinlian."

"What a sin. And now he's gone mad-he's completely done for."

"Ah, their eldest went off to work on the river channel, and who knows when he'll be back? Now this has happened to the younger one."

"This family's going to fall apart..."

Amid the gossip came the sound of a woman weeping.

Zhao Feng's eyes snapped open. He realized he was drenched in sweat and gasping for breath. Looking around, he saw a dilapidated earthen house, and the smell of mold filled his nose.

Fragmented memories surged through his mind like a tide. The Great Yan Dynasty, a chaotic world of the Martial Dao... where the hell have I ended up?

Just a month ago, he had been a diligent beast of burden on Earth, barely scraping by under the principle of never buying a home, never marrying, and spending his wages only on himself. Who could have imagined that he and a dump truck would accidentally rush into each other's embrace on the road, sending him into this world of turmoil? The Great Yan Dynasty had stood for over five hundred years, but now troubles plagued it within and without. Bandits and gangs rose across the land, rebels stirred up unrest, and the hostile Northern Barbarians watched from beyond its borders like hungry tigers.

This had also fueled a widespread passion for martial training, and martial practitioners' status rose with the tide.

The original owner of this body shared his full name, but had been nothing more than an ordinary farmer's son from Jiazi Ravine Village-a mud-legged peasant. His family was poor, yet he relied on his parents' indulgence to loaf around, eating well and doing nothing. Someone had pushed him into the water, and he had never caught another breath. That was how Zhao Feng had taken his place.

"Wang Jinlian!" Zhao Feng recalled the name.

She had been betrothed to him. To please her, the original owner had stolen his sister-in-law's hairpin and pawned it for silver to buy her rouge and pork. Instead, he had caught her flirting with a local thug. When he confronted them, they beat him savagely and pushed him into the river, costing him his life.

Wang Jinlian had then insisted that he had slipped into the water himself.

Perhaps his soul had needed time to settle into the body after his transmigration. Though he had survived, he had remained muddled and delirious. Only today had he fully awakened and regained his senses.

Just then, a line of small text suddenly appeared before his eyes, visible to him alone.

[Archery initiate (20/1000)]

What is this? As Zhao Feng stared in surprise, information about the text appeared in his mind.

For now, he would call this line of text before him the Proficiency Panel.

According to the information it provided, as long as he practiced any martial skill or cultivation method persistently, his proficiency would inevitably increase, and he would never encounter a bottleneck.

From the original owner's hazy memories, Martial Masters held very high status in this world.

For most people who studied martial arts, each breakthrough was harder than the last-beyond every mountain stood a higher one. Breakthroughs could even be fraught with danger, all because of bottlenecks. But he had none!

This Proficiency Panel meant that Heaven rewarded diligence!

The original owner's father was a hunter, and he had learned archery and hunting skills from him since childhood.

But as he grew older, his laziness and aversion to hardship had led him to gradually abandon them.

Archery counted as a martial skill, so naturally the panel included it. The original owner's pitiful foundation in archery had been quantified as a progress value.

That being the case, he had every chance of using this Proficiency Panel to climb step by step to the pinnacle of the Martial Dao-the highest point his eyes could see!

If he could achieve success in martial arts, he could change his own fate and that of his entire family.

Excitement stirred in Zhao Feng's heart. He took a deep breath and quietly made his plans.

Although the panel says there are no bottlenecks, I still need to verify it. Archery minor mastery needs several hundred more points. I'll start with archery to test my path in the Martial Dao. If it works, I'll look for an opportunity to join a Martial Arts School and learn martial techniques.

Zhao Feng struggled to get up and headed for the main room.

It was already dark. A dim lamp burned in the main room, and Zhao Feng saw his father, Zhao Youlin, sitting on the threshold.

He sat by the doorway silently smoking his tobacco pipe. Its glow brightened and faded, illuminating his graying temples and weather-beaten face.

"Mother, I'm not being heartless. I just can't keep going." A woman's tearful voice came from the main room. It was his sister-in-law, Tian Cuihua.

"I want to split the household."

Then came his mother Yang Shi's quiet pleas, begging her daughter-in-law not to divide the family.

"My husband went to perform his younger brother's labor service, and he still hasn't come back. Now his brother has caused such a huge mess. I have two children to raise. I can't keep going..." Tian Cuihua sobbed.

Zhao Feng's heart grew heavy. At seventeen, he was old enough for compulsory labor service. His elder brother, Zhao Shuo, had already served several times, but out of love for his younger brother, he had volunteered to go in his place. Yet the original owner had actually stolen his sister-in-law's dowry to curry favor with someone else. He really had deserved to die!

"Father," Zhao Feng called softly, standing before Zhao Youlin.

"I'm better now."

Zhao Youlin abruptly raised his head to look at his younger son. A light flashed in his tired, clouded eyes, and disbelief filled his face.

"I really am better. I'm going to apologize to my sister-in-law."

Zhao Feng entered the main room. At the sight of him, both his mother, Yang Shi, and Tian Cuihua fell silent.

"Sister-in-law, I was wrong. I'll find a way to redeem your hairpin." Zhao Feng bowed deeply to Tian Cuihua.

"Feng, you've come to your senses?" Yang Shi stared, dumbfounded, her face full of disbelief.

"Mother, I really am better. My head's clear now," Zhao Feng said.

"Thank goodness! Feng's better!" Yang Shi wept with joy and stepped forward to take his hand. Feeling her rough, callused hands, he felt an ache in his heart.

"As long as you're better! You mustn't behave like such a scoundrel again." Zhao Youlin entered behind him, unable to suppress the excitement in his voice. He could not bear to scold his youngest son, and a trace of indulgence still lingered in his words.

"Cuihua, Feng's come to his senses, and he knows he was wrong. Could we hold off on splitting the household, at least until he's married?" he asked Tian Cuihua, his tone faintly pleading.

Tian Cuihua nodded silently. She had only been venting the bitterness in her heart. She knew that if they divided the household and she lost her parents-in-law's support, life would be even harder for a woman with two children. Since her brother-in-law had recovered, however useless he might remain, it would be enough if his father could keep him under control. Besides, there was nothing left at home for him to steal.

As for Zhao Feng's promise to redeem her hairpin, she had no hopes at all.

"Good. Let's eat!" Delighted, Zhao Youlin and Yang Shi immediately busied themselves.

Soon, several bowls of brown-rice porridge sat on the low square table. It was thin enough to reflect a person's face, with a few wild vegetable leaves floating on top.

The harvest had already been poor in this disaster year, and Zhao Youlin's injured leg kept him from hunting. Zhao Shuo's departure for labor service had deprived them of a strong worker, while Zhao Feng loafed around and constantly stole things from home. Their family's circumstances had worsened by the day, until this was all they could eat.

"Feng, you haven't fully recovered. Eat more." His mother, Yang Shi, gave Zhao Feng the bowl with the thickest porridge.

"Mother, I'm fine." Zhao Feng shook his head and scooped the brown rice out of his bowl, dividing it between his nephews, Zhao Zihuai and Zhao Bao'er. One was eight and the other seven, and both had sallow faces and looked malnourished.

Zhao Zihuai and Zhao Bao'er were both afraid of their bad-tempered second uncle, who often snapped at them.

Even when he gave them porridge, they did not dare eat it and only looked at him timidly.

Zhao Feng's heart felt even heavier.

"Eat," he said softly.

Only after their mother, Tian Cuihua, nodded did the two little boys lower their heads and begin eating.

Nobody spoke. Clearly, none of them knew how to react to this idle loafer suddenly becoming considerate.

Dinner ended in that somewhat strange atmosphere.

"Grandpa, I want meat." Zhao Zihuai and Zhao Bao'er had drained their porridge bowls, but their stomachs still felt empty.

Before Zhao Youlin injured his leg, he had occasionally brought home wild game.

"When spring comes next year and Grandpa's leg is better, I'll go up Great Green Mountain and hunt rabbits for you," Zhao Youlin said.

Zhao Feng frowned slightly. Could his body really recover on nothing but brown-rice porridge?

In the days that followed, Zhao Feng no longer went out carousing, nor did he steal things from home to sell for food, drink, and entertainment.

Instead, he dutifully followed his family into the fields to work.

Whenever farm work was slack, he practiced archery diligently and earnestly learned hunting techniques and experience from Zhao Youlin.

More than a month later, on a barren hill behind Zhao Family Village.

Zhao Feng drew his bow with an arrow nocked, aiming at a crude wooden target made from a round slice of dead tree trunk thirty paces ahead. Whoosh! The arrow flew out and struck the edge of the target.

[Archery initiate (979/1000)]

After more than a month of persistent daily practice, he was not far from the minor mastery threshold set by the panel.

Zhao Feng continued drawing and shooting. The panel's assessment of progress allowed no cutting corners or merely going through the motions. He had to concentrate fully and complete every shot properly.

Before he knew it, he had shot several more rounds.

"One last time!"

Enduring the aching numbness in his arms, he held his breath and aimed at the wooden target.

Whoosh! The arrow flew out and struck the bull's-eye squarely.

A white light flashed through his mind. The panel displayed:

[Archery minor mastery (1/2000)]

"I did it." He let out a long, stale breath, then sat down against the dead tree to rest.

Now he could place his complete trust in the Proficiency Panel. His advancement from archery initiate to minor mastery had proved that its functions were real.

Over the past month or so, he had gained a more detailed understanding of this martial world. In these chaotic times, success in martial arts was vital for ordinary people. First, it could meet their urgent need for adequate food and clothing while clearly raising their status. If they passed the Martial Examination and obtained an official position, they could also reduce or avoid the crushing taxes and levies that weighed on them like a mountain.

But before any of that, learning martial arts was no easy matter-it was an enormous burden. He had heard that many poor families' children could not afford the tuition paid to a master, while the meat and medicinal supplements needed afterward were beasts that devoured vast amounts of gold. The saying that the poor pursued letters while the rich practiced martial arts was especially evident here.

If their martial training ended in failure, the losses were more than an ordinary poor family's child could bear.

But Zhao Feng was different. With his panel, Heaven rewarded diligence. As long as he could cross the threshold of the Martial Dao, there was no possibility of failure.

His top priority was finding a way to make enough money for tuition and join a Martial Arts School. Before that, of course, he needed meat to strengthen his blood and vitality. If his constitution was too weak, a school probably would not accept him.

For now, hunting was his likeliest way to obtain meat.

Zhao Feng looked at the thick calluses on his hands, then walked over to retrieve his arrows.

According to the panel's information, after reaching archery minor mastery, he would never miss a stationary target within thirty paces. Against moving targets, he could land five or six shots out of ten.

At present, his strength limited his shots to fifty paces.

He would also have to replace his father's battered wooden bow when he had the chance. It might snap at any moment, but for now he would make do.

Once he had rested enough and recovered his strength.

Zhao Feng sharpened the tips of the only three arrows in his quiver against a bluestone, then stood up, ready to cross the barren hill behind the village and enter Great Green Mountain.

While it was still early, he would see whether luck might bring him some game. Having reviewed hunting knowledge with his father during this time, he had already gained some insight into tracking animals.