Hard training

A month later, at the Huo Family Martial Arts School in Five-Peace Ward, Big Stone County.

Early that morning, Zhao Feng entered the front courtyard of the Martial Arts School. A scattering of disciples were already practicing their punches.

He had been there a month, yet he still could not recognize all the disciples at the Martial Arts School. The school consistently had just over thirty of them, including the Four Senior Disciples, who were allowed into the rear courtyard. There were around ten Registered Disciples, while all the rest were Apprentices, their faces constantly changing.

Those who left had failed their Gate Breakthrough, and every last one trudged away dejected. Every newcomer arrived brimming with excitement and hope. Then the cycle repeated.

Only two people greeted him when he arrived. One was the Silent Youth who had joined at the same time as him, named Chu Fan, who was two years younger. The other was the dark-skinned youth Wu Tiezhu, a year younger than him.

Zhao Feng nodded to them and began loosening up, thoroughly warming and stretching every muscle and tendon in his arms, back, legs, and waist.

Then he jumped onto the Plum Blossom Stakes and settled into his stance with practiced ease.

Time slipped by, and before he knew it, nearly a quarter of an hour had passed. A light sheen of sweat appeared on his forehead. From lasting only a few breaths on his first attempt to a full quarter of an hour now, the hardships along the way were not something he could explain to outsiders.

[Eight Extremes Stake Skill: beginner (130/500)]

The progress he had gained over a month was hardly ideal. At this rate, how could he possibly break through with only two months left? Panic stirred in his chest.

Progress in this Stance Training did not work like Archery, where every complete shot earned him one point. Its gains were entirely irregular.

Zhao Feng drew a deep breath, cast aside every distracting thought, and focused on his training.

He did not stop until noon.

Then the kitchen workers came out and handed every disciple two steamed cornmeal buns. The promised daily meal amounted to these two buns at noon. Still, no other martial arts school in the county offered even that.

"Junior Brother Chu, here." Wu Tiezhu gave Chu Fan one of his own buns.

It was the same every day, because Chu Fan's family circumstances were the worst of the three. He and his mother had fled here from elsewhere and had only each other to depend on. Sometimes he had just one meal a day, with nothing to eat at night, so the honest, good-natured Wu Tiezhu would give him one of his buns at noon. Wu Tiezhu would then scramble to do chores for wealthy disciples who disdained the buns. The Martial Arts School assigned miscellaneous chores to every Apprentice, and this way he might earn another bun or two. Of course, competition for such work was fierce. The Martial Arts School had plenty of poor disciples, all scrambling to work for the wealthy ones in hopes of getting a few extra buns.

"Senior Brother Wu, thank you," Chu Fan said quietly.

Squatting in a corner by the wall, Zhao Feng quickly finished both buns. He was no indiscriminate do-gooder; he could barely look after himself, let alone anyone else. Training consumed a great deal of blood and vitality, and two buns could not come close to replenishing it. That was why he ate meat at night every other day. Fortunately, those extra ten taels of silver had been enough to cover his rent and meat for the time being.

He trained until dark before leaving the Martial Arts School and returning to his home in North Third Ward of the Outer City. It was the easternmost room in a row of houses along the river, with somewhat foul-smelling water out front and a row of collapsed ruins behind.

Few people came there. Back then, Zhao Feng had spent several nights enduring the stench at the Cart Inn before the housing broker finally found him this place.

His neighbors in the row of houses were all working folk too: small traders, street vendors, and laborers who sold their strength. Rent was only eighty copper coins a month. The conditions were poor, but it was cheap.

Zhao Feng took an oil-paper parcel of roast goose from inside his robe and tore into it. Beef was naturally the best meat for replenishing and building blood and vitality, but it was too expensive. He only bought a little on occasion. Most days, he ate chicken, duck, or pork, and even that was a life fit for an immortal.

"Progress is too slow. I'll try eating meat every day." Zhao Feng could clearly feel the effect meat had on his Stance Training progress. The gains were noticeably different depending on whether he had eaten meat. He decided to stop scrimping and make sure he ate it every day. He still had more than seven taels of silver, enough to cover daily meat for the time ahead.

"The empty ground out back would be good for practicing archery. Too bad I don't have a bow or arrows."

His Archery remained at [minor mastery (265/1000)]. To avoid arousing suspicion, he had not brought his father's bow and arrows with him, and he could not yet afford to have a set made. Fortunately, he had no use for them at present.

There were weapon-forging shops in the county town. He would think about it once he had enough silver.

Early the next morning, he went not to the Martial Arts School but to the Weaving Workshop in the southern Outer City.

The day before, Little Aunt had sent word asking him to come see her.

Inside the Treasure Brocade Workshop, Little Aunt, Zhao Youfang, and Qiao'er were working, one weaving at a loom and the other sewing. Mountains of cloth and clothing were piled beside them.

Both had eyes reddened by long hours of work, but they smiled when they saw Zhao Feng.

"Cousin!" Qiao'er called.

Zhao Feng had visited a few times over the past month and told her stories, and the two had grown much closer. Seeing the wounds embroidery needles had left all over his cousin's hands, he frowned.

"Feng'er, take these!" Zhao Youfang pulled two cooked eggs and a dozen or so copper coins from inside her robe and tried to press them into his hands. Her nephew had come to the county town to learn martial arts, yet he could not stay at his own aunt's home. She had always felt guilty about it.

"I can't take them. I still have money!" Zhao Feng hurriedly refused. He truly did have money, but since he could not reveal just how much he had, for the first time, refusing her made his heart ache.

"Why stand on ceremony with your aunt? Learning martial arts costs money. You need to eat more meat to have strength."

Zhao Youfang forced them into his hands, and Zhao Feng could not turn her down. Just then, however, he caught sight of the marks on Little Aunt's arm, and his heart sank. "Little Aunt, does Uncle still... treat you well?"

"He does, he does!" Zhao Youfang said, her expression strained and her eyes evasive.

Zhao Feng narrowed his eyes, a flicker of anger rising in his chest. Then he drew a deep breath.

Seeing Qiao'er staring hungrily at the cooked eggs in his hand, he gave her one without allowing any argument.

Watching Qiao'er eat it happily made him feel a little better too. Senior Brother Wei had told him that once he broke through to Bright Strength, he could take on work on the side. Then he could openly help his aunt and Qiao'er.

"Cousin, you never finished telling me that story about Xu Xian and the White Lady last time. Tell me some more, please," Qiao'er wheedled.

"All right!"

Zhao Feng continued the tale of the White Lady while Qiao'er listened with relish, working her needle all the while. Once he finished that part of the story, he said goodbye.

Qiao'er walked him out of the embroidery workshop. "Cousin, your stories are so much fun. It's a shame I can't read the storybooks myself."

"Do you want to learn to read?" Zhao Feng asked. The Great Yan Dynasty did not prohibit women from studying or practicing martial arts.

"Yes. I can't even read the accounts. The supervisor always says I'm slacking and gives me loads of work," Qiao'er said, aggrieved.

Zhao Feng took her words to heart. As they turned the corner of the alley, four or five men dressed in black came swaggering toward them.

Qiao'er hurriedly pulled Zhao Feng aside.

The Black Tiger Gang? The sight of their clothes immediately put Zhao Feng on his guard.

"Well, if it isn't Qiao'er!" One of the men, with a large birthmark on his face, eyed her with a leering look.

"Leopard Lord," Qiao'er answered, lowering her head, her voice as faint as a mosquito's hum.

"Qiao'er, want to visit the Inner City? Come have some fun there with your Leopard Lord, eh?" The man with the birthmark chuckled.

Qiao'er trembled even harder.