Return, Clothes

Feng Chen was flipping through a fist manual with its cover torn off when the bookstore clerk strolled over.

The clerk was in his thirties, thin, with a small tuft of mustache on his chin. He looked like an old hand who had worked in the bookstore for years.

Seeing Feng Chen reading so intently, he struck up a warm conversation. "Little brother, are you looking to practice martial arts?"

Feng Chen closed the fist manual in his hands and nodded.

The clerk pulled several books from the shelf and placed them before Feng Chen, introducing them in a ceaseless stream.

He was honest enough. Rather than praising these secret manuals to the heavens, he laid out their shortcomings plainly.

To put it bluntly, these martial arts manuals were all ordinary goods.

Truly good martial arts manuals could not possibly appear in a little bookstore in a small town like this.

After listening, Feng Chen understood.

He had not expected to find any peerless divine art in this town bookstore. What mattered most right now was finding an introductory manual and setting foot on the path of a Martial Artist.

After some thought, he chose a manual from the shelf with the words Tiger Fist written on its cover. The pages were still fairly intact, though one corner of the final page was missing.

According to the clerk, Tiger Fist was a set of fist techniques that imitated a fierce tiger pouncing on its prey. Its force was heavy and powerful, its style fierce and direct. It was considered one of the more practical introductory techniques.

If he mastered this Tiger Fist in its entirety, he could break through to the Martial Artist Realm.

Feng Chen flipped through several pages. Though the diagrams of the moves were crude, the key points for exerting force in every stance were marked beside them in tiny writing.

After thinking it over, he decided to keep this copy of Tiger Fist.

It cost two taels of silver. Incomplete, but sufficient.

Then he spent another tael of silver and twenty-five copper coins on several other books.

One introduced knowledge related to Martial Artist realms. It was a thin volume, and upon opening it, the first page bore eight large characters: Body Tempering comes first; qi and blood are the foundation. Beneath them were densely recorded the basic divisions from the Body Tempering Realm to the Qi Condensation Realm.

Another was a diagram of the human body's meridians and acupoints. Unfolded, it became a large folded chart, covered in the pathways of meridians and acupoints throughout the human body drawn in cinnabar and ink. Every meridian was marked with a fine line, and every acupoint bore tiny annotations beside it.

To practice martial arts, he had to understand these things.

He also picked out a book on medicinal herbs and medicine, its cover printed with the words Herbal Medicine Compendium. Inside, common medicinal ingredients were recorded in three categories—plants, minerals, and insects and beasts—with rough illustrations and explanations of their properties.

Those who practiced martial arts often injured their skin, flesh, tendons, and bones. Without understanding at least a little medicine, they could only grit their teeth and let their bodies bear it.

He planned to buy it and study it himself.

It was indeed difficult for ordinary people to teach themselves medical theory, but he possessed a Destiny Talent. He figured it should not be much of a problem.

Altogether, he spent three taels of silver and thirty copper coins.

"Customer, here are your books. May you cultivate diligently and become a Martial Artist soon."

The clerk carefully wrapped the books in oil paper, tied another thin hemp cord around the outside, and handed them to Feng Chen with both hands, his face full of smiles.

Feng Chen smiled as well and accepted them, weighing the bundle in his hands. It was quite heavy. "Thank you."

He tucked the books against his chest and turned to leave the bookstore.

The clerk stood behind the counter, watching Feng Chen's retreating back through the open door until the figure completely vanished into the flow of people on the street.

The attentive smile on his face slowly faded. He spat on the ground, his expression turning disdainful.

"You, a country brat, want to become a Martial Artist? Stop dreaming in broad daylight."

He had seen countless people like Feng Chen.

Every few days, young men like this would enter the bookstore, their faces dark red from the sun, their hands callused from hard labor. They would cautiously take out the bits of silver they had saved for who knew how long and buy a fist manual with a gaudy cover.

Most of them left with burning dreams in their hearts and shining eyes, only to give up in disgrace less than two months later.

He had once been one of them.

Back then, he had still been young. He practiced horse stances before the mirror, rose early to run laps around the town, and dreamed of relying on his own talent and ability to become a powerful Martial Artist.

But in the end? He failed.

Ordinary people could not change their fate.

The clerk put that smile back on and went to greet the next customer entering the store.

Feng Chen left the bookstore with three manuals tucked away, the bundle in his arms heavy.

He found a quieter alley entrance by the street and stopped there, weighing the money in his pocket.

Of the five taels of silver, more than three had vanished in the blink of an eye. Less than two taels remained.

The expenses truly were not small.

Next, he needed to buy daily necessities.

Feng Chen tucked the books close against his body, then turned and plunged into the bustling main street. He found a general store and bought firewood, rice, oil, salt, and seasonings.

The rice was hulled brown rice, more than a notch better than the husked mixed grains at home. The oil was a clay jar of rapeseed oil, its mouth sealed with a sheet of oil paper. He also bought salt, soy sauce, and other seasonings, each wrapped separately in several small oil-paper packets.

Then he went to another grain shop and bought some coarse grain, filling a small sack to the brim.

This was for everyday meals. They could not eat fine rice every meal; life had to be lived like a thin stream flowing long.

Finally, he turned into a secondhand clothing shop, where all kinds of ready-made clothes hung throughout the store.

Feng Chen stood in the women's clothing section for a long while. The auntie selling clothes warmly asked who he was buying for, and he said it was for his wife.

The auntie immediately wore the knowing expression of someone who had been there before. She helped him choose a plain, dirt-resistant outfit of fine cloth. The fabric was not the very best, but it was far better than the coarse linen shirt covered in patches that Lin Qing'er wore.

Feng Chen had the auntie fold and wrap it, paid the money, and tucked the clothes into his supplies bag as well.

After spending every last bit of the two taels of silver in his pocket, Feng Chen stood at the entrance to the town with both hands full.

In his left hand was a large sack containing firewood, rice, oil, salt, and coarse grain. In his right was a smaller sack containing the clothes he had bought for Lin Qing'er and the books wrapped in oil paper.

The handles had pressed two red marks into his hands, but the solid weight made his heart feel steadier instead.

He glanced at the sky. The sun had already climbed to the middle, stretching the shadows on the street long.

Without delay, he picked up his things, left Green Mountain Town, and set foot once more on that winding mountain path.

The moment he entered the mountain path, there was no one around. Apart from his own footsteps and the occasional chirp of one or two birds in the distance, only the whisper of mountain wind passing through the treetops remained.

Feng Chen immediately used the Basic Movement Technique. The instant his foot touched the ground, he had already shifted his center of gravity into the next step.

Ding dong, Basic Movement Technique proficiency increased by one.

Half an hour later.

Ding dong, it has been detected that the host is diligently practicing the Basic Movement Technique. Destiny Talent trait, A Thousand Miles a Day, activated.

Hearing the sound, Feng Chen smiled.

Once that notification sounded, Perfection was not far away.

After his talent activated, his footwork became even smoother and more natural. The optimal line through every bend, which part of his sole should touch down first whenever he stepped on a stone—such subtle techniques were continuously comprehended and absorbed.

Sure enough, a quarter of an hour later.

Ding dong, Basic Movement Technique has reached the Perfect Mastery Realm. Host, please check it.

Related insights surged through his mind, greater this time than at any previous moment.

Feng Chen only felt the strength beneath his feet leap sharply again, as though a new force had been injected into his legs. Every step was light and precise, as if an elastic connection had formed between the soles of his feet and the mountain road.

He was much faster than before, and his footsteps were so light they were nearly inaudible.

Only, he was even hungrier.

The hunger had escalated from an empty feeling in his stomach to dizziness and blurred vision. Golden stars drifted before his eyes from time to time, and even his calves began to weaken.

Just hold on a little longer.

Feng Chen gritted his teeth, hitched the sack on his shoulder higher, and hurried toward Green Mountain Village.

Half an hour later, he arrived outside Green Mountain Village.

From afar, the gray little village lay quietly nestled in the mountain hollow at dusk, wisps of cooking smoke rising from the chimneys of each home.